The lighting of the beacons

Today, I feel like talking about hope. I started to mention this topic in my previous newsletter, and through my recent sessions with patients, I started to feel more and more like this could be an utterly important topic that needs to be shared with my fellow readers.

Hope is a complex topic. We can easily fall into the trap of cheesy optimism, that actually prevents us from accepting what the situation is. And let me make it clear: I am not a believer. Therefore, I do not mean hope as a way to escape reality and hope that one day I’ll earn billions working as an osteopath. I am talking about something that lies in the depth of every single being, waiting to be set free.

Not just a belief

Please no. I am not talking about lying to my patients. I am not talking about trying to convince people they can get better simply by telling them that everything is going to be all right.

I have no interest in injecting my patients with a belief called hope, expecting that it would cure them of the belief called despair. That would be like replacing a tension with another tension. Or like going from a drug addiction to smoking, and finally getting into running. Same problem, same misery (I hate running). You see, I am not in the business of misery. Hence, I am not wealthy. Haha. I’m not crying.

A new hope

This article was born in my mind earlier this year when I started to wonder why some people would suddenly start making a few adjustments to their life after seeing me, and why some wouldn’t. Or why, although smokers know smoking is bad for them, some of them can’t quit. And why the fuck do people like to run.

After all, I am an osteopath. My job is to help people get healthier. And every single patient knows that should they like to be healthier, they need to sleep properly, they should have a balanced diet, etc. Still, most people don’t do it. Hey, I don’t blame you guys, this is how I make money. (I also get quite a part of my income from massages: I get at least 5 patients a week who come and see me because of some pain triggered by a massage!)

I have been working for more than 14 years at the time of this article, and I don’t believe that I have ever met a patient who felt like I had just revealed one of the most kept secrets in the world by telling them that exercising is a great way to have less back pain.

So I guess the real deal is to find a way to ignite the engine of change. This is the heart of medicine/osteopathy/relationships as an art. And I’d argue it is something that can be worked on.

Support and kind words are not enough

Yeah yeah. Bla bla bla. Active listening, bio-psycho-social model, etc, etc. I know all that. It’s interesting. But I really don’t think that’s enough. And the reason for that is that unfortunately, hope, just like most things happening in our bodies, doesn’t belong to the realm of the most superficial layer that we often believe we are.

Hope belongs to the depth of our subconscious mind. Hope belongs to our cells. It is there. Not as a thought. Oh for sure, support is nice, and being told we are worthy and capable is lovely. But making someone FEEL they are capable is nothing comparable to giving people kind words.

When a patient feels pain, I won’t go very far by telling them they shouldn’t have pain because they don’t have any damage. This is not enough. They know they have no damage, they have already been told by many people that they are crazy and it’s all in their heads (Most of them really are, though)

No, we want their cells to realize there’s no danger. They need to feel it. They need to experience it. Support and kind words are not enough. Flattery isn’t enough. This is not Tinder!

Obviously, kind words and support are necessary. But I am pointing at a hierarchy issue. Your kind words have to be the results of your cell activity. Your kind words must be made of a felt sense of hope. Otherwise, they are just nice words that nobody will believe because they won’t be experienced. They won’t move people.

Hope is something that needs to be communicated to this:

Nice words and support will fall short.

Hope as a felt sense

In my previous texts, I mentioned how a therapist can experience their patients’ pain as their own. I also talked about how one can feel their tension and other things. I should probably have talked about emotions because, in my opinion, most people have a very superficial idea of emotions. They are acting, but they don’t know what emotions are. I did talk a bit about this topic though when I wrote that people’s kindness can be felt too.

I really have this idea that feeling people’s pain isn’t a skill per se. I am not better at feeling stuff. I am better at being aware that I feel stuff. I became aware of it because I am really good at being still. I am pretty amazing at listening. And on top of that, I am really good at not building crazy theories about what I experience.

Now that we’ve established that I am probably the best in this field (and I mean, by far), I want to tell you something major.

If we are constantly reacting to our environment, then patients do the same.

Again. Patients do the same.

And just like most people, they are asleep.

Which means, they are not aware of it.

But, just as much as you can feel pain, tension, and depression or trauma when someone walks into your room, they can feel who you are.

They can feel what your cells are made of.

They are moved by you.

They are moved by your presence, by your words, by your touch. By your pain, by your greed, by your ego, by your depression.

But, just as how you can feel kindness, they can feel hope.

Wow, I am actually writing a beautiful article here.

Patient-centered? NO

Are you with me? Hope isn’t found in your patients. Hope is found in your own cells. Hope is not a belief, hope is something that must be your truth so it can be shared with others.

“Hope is kindled” says Gandalf.

This is the perception you need to have at the end of your session, especially if like I do, you end up treating many cases who have lost hope.

That’s why I insist on the fact that treatments are not supposed to be patient-centered but osteopath-centered. Find hope, anybody can find despair. Experience it. Know it is there, dormant. Let the patient share their pain with you, and give them hope in return. A hope that is more than words, an experience of hope, a felt sense of hope.

If you manage to do that, your patient’s immune system will join the battle, and miracles can happen. But it all starts with the lighting of a single beacon. It’s never been about cracking a back.

I hope you see that by now.

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now, ride! Ride for ruin and the world’s ending!
Death! Death! Death!

The ride of the immune system Rohirrim, from LOTR.

That’s all for today. Should you like to receive my newest articles via email, you can subscribe here.

Love,
Jules

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