6. Low Immunity and How Essential Oils Help

Targa Sahyoun

The “Low” Immune System:

There are many different versions of the low immune system story, none to be confused with autoimmune diseases (this is a completely separate topic). Today’s particular story started while my guest was in utero. Before Targa Sahyoun came out of the womb, she received three full blood transfusions. (I know, right!?) Her mother had a blood disorder where her blood produced antibodies that were set to attack her fetus’ red blood cells. With the blood transfusions, Targa survived, but was born three months premature, at just two pounds, Targa spent the first three months of her life in the incubator and was resuscitated seven times. (I know, right!?) She is a walking miracle, surviving with far less damage than initially expected—just the ol’ low immunity. Targa battled varying degrees of illness all of her life—the worst bouts occurred at eight years old and 31 years old in the form of mono and meningitis. She was consistently treated with loads of antibiotics furthering her gut issues and therefore taxing her immune system even further. Through trial and error, finding the right treatments and a ton of discipline with her personal self-care regiment, today Targa feels better and stronger than she ever has.

Essential Oils:

Essential oils are a widely used treatment today for ailments across the spectrum. They are the highly concentrated form of the natural oils in plants and extracted using a process called distillation. You can ingest them, sniff them, diffuse them, or rub them right on your skin (after you dilute them, that is). The most important thing is that you purchase therapeutic grade oil. Especially if you are ingesting them, you want a high quality oil, prepared and preserved correctly. Below, in the resources, you will find links to two highly trusted brands, and here is a simple guide to use.

Targa Sahyoun:

Targa oversees music video production at a record label here in Los Angeles. Outside of her busy career, she is passionate about her wellbeing, travel, friendships and, of course, essential oils. If you have any questions for her, you can contact her directly here.

Resources Mentioned in this Episode:

Listen to this Episode if you are Especially Interested In:

  • Essential oils and how to use them
  • Self-care regiments
  • Why Targa feels the best she ever has at 34 years old
  • Healing your gut
  • Low immunity
  • Healing joint pain
  • Saying no and refining your group of friends
  • Having a balanced life with your demanding career
  • How to advocate for yourself in the doctor’s office
  • Emotional stress adding to illness

 

Happy listening!

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5. How to use Energy Healing to Get Well

Emily Wallace

Energy Healing

Have you wondered just what energy healing is? All of this “woo-woo” stuff gaining traction in 2017? (Especially here in Los Angeles.) Learn about shamanism, reiki, and other weird but magical things in this episode from two unlikely women.

Emily Wallace

“Once I committed to my emotional, mental, spiritual health that’s when I started to thrive” -Emily Wallace

Emily is a NYC based Intuitive Energy Healing Practitioner and Shamanic Reiki Master Teacher. After many years of battling chronic Lyme disease—visiting the hospital, bound to bed, not working, cared for at home by her parents—Emily found her way to 75% through antibiotics and various herbs and supplements. Desperate to do more than merely survive, Emily found energy healing. She was an unlikely client, poking fun at the whole thing. But, to her surprise, it worked. After surrendering to this modality she truly healed and stopped hearing from her symptoms. Today, Emily is thriving at 100% and, after getting certified at the Omega Institute, she has turned her good fortune into a passion for helping others using her own energy work. She is the founder of www.lightheartedhealingnyc.com

To book appointments with Emily, please see above link or visit her on social media @lightheartedhealingnyc

Listen to this episode if you are especially interested in:

  • Lyme disease
  • Herxing
  • How healing the emotional, physical, and spiritual helps us heal the physical
  • Holistic healing—using Western and Eastern modalities
  • What Shaminism is
  • What Reiki is
  • What Energy Healing is
  • Why it’s important to track your symptoms
  • How to love your Lyme away
  • Awesome self-care tricks
  • Love languages
  • More on how I quit coffee

Resources mentioned in episode:

Happy listening!

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3. Lyme Disease: How to Self-Care with a Demanding Job

Halley Feiffer

 

Lyme disease:

 

Halley Feiffer ignored her symptoms until they were drastically affecting her lifestyle. It was backstage in the middle of a performance, when she realized that she couldn’t rely on booking effortless jobs and she needed to go to the doctor. Through treating Lyme and strategically monitoring her self-care, today Halley manages a jam-packed schedule and demanding atmospheres. Find out how in this episode!

More about Halley:

Halley Feiffer is a bi-coastal actress and writer. Currently she is writing on “Kidding,” the upcoming Showtime series starring Jim Carrey. Halley was diagnosed with Lyme disease three years ago in New York City.

Listen to this episode if you are especially interested in:

  • How to keep working with your symptoms!
  • How to self-care with a demanding job
  • How to manage stress
  • Dr. Richard Horowitz
  • Antibiotics vs. holistic treatment
  • Lyme diet options

Happy listening!

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Budd Chiari: How to Live Well with this Rare Liver Disease

Nick Smoke

Budd Chiari:

Nick Smoke’s life was overwhelmingly altered the day he found out he had a rare and life-threatening liver disease called Budd Chiari. At 24 years old, he was a working actor with a flourishing career and no reason to be seriously worried about his health —he didn’t drink or smoke, he took good care of himself, and had already come through a lot in life; It seemed like he could finally relax. The next couple years of his life tested him physically, emotionally, and mentally and, today, he sits on the other side: Back to work, in love, and excited for what comes next. Of course what happened in between is a story not to be missed—find out how Nick got better, and how he lives today so he can remain as symptom-free as possible.

More about Nick:

Nick Smoke is a working actor in Los Angeles. You can find him on instagram @mrnickys, on Twitter @nickysmoke and you can follow his Tumblr blog, Too Young to be Here. If you are a person dealing with Budd Chiari, you can direct message Nick on any of these platforms.

 Listen to this episode if you are especially interested in:

  • Veganism and how it helped Nick
  • California doctors specializing in this field
  • Transplant listing and surgeries
  • How to be a friend/ family member to someone in the throes of illness
  • Depression and how to move through it.

Give a listen and comment below or on any of your podcast platforms!

xo

 

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How I Went From Healer-Phobic to Healer-Friendly

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“I’m so horny! It’s killing me,” I whined, steeped in sexual frustration, in the backseat of a Toyota on Sunday afternoon. Three of us were squeezed in the back seat—two of my closest friends and me— and they had been listening to me have random sexual outbursts all day.  Ian is on his lengthy- as- fuck dream trip, and I feel a little…insane without him. “I barely even masturbate,” I yammered on, “it bores me these days, just makes me more sad.” My friend is a talented energy healer, and we’ve worked really well together in the past so she said, “OOOO, I wonder if I could try some sort of energy work on you where I could get you to an orgasm without even touching you. I’ve never done it, but it’s so fun to work with you because you’re so open.” Me, so open? I thought. “Hah. remember when I was NOT open to any of this nonsense,” I retorted, “And, YES, let’s absolutely do that!” I feel baffled when “healers” of any kind suggest that it’s so wonderful to work with me because I’m so open and available. That was so not me. Pre-illness I had the “luxury” of being  healer-phobic, the “luxury” of judging people, the “luxury” of being closed-mided,  the “luxury” holding onto resentment and anger, and the “luxury” of eating a nightly waffle sundae.”  We piled out of the car to stop in at an organic, over-priced, crystal-decorated Malibu eatery. It was the kind of place that attracts all of the wealthy white people on green-juice fasts who are willing to pay $15.00 for a tube of coconut oil and $175.00 for a beach towel. Did I think it was ridiculous? Yes. Did I love it there? ABSOLUTELY. The wall of supplements made me feel candy-shop-dazzled, the all natural body butter was enticing, and, oh my god, they served vegan, gluten-free and SOY-FREE grilled cheese. Heaven. All I needed was Ian near me, and I would have had an orgasm right then. Yes, all-natural sunscreen and kale wraps turn me up and on. No shame here:  I’m an oil-pulling, green-juicing, meditating, all natural healing… weirdo. It gets worse: Over our new-age grilled cheeses,  we talked astrology. I know very little about astrology, but I love when people talk about it. Let me rephrase: I love when astrology-interested folk want to talk specifically about me and my sign. We were looking at my chart, and our astrology-savvy friend took note that one of my moons was in one of my  houses (blah blah blah) , therefore, I’m a “wounded healer.” My eyes got all big, “wounded, healer,” I squealed, “Oh my god! My distance healer just told me that one of my archetypes is a wounded healer! How cool!”

How cool? What in the ever-loving fuck is this life? 

I grew up eating raisinets for a healthy snack and drinking coca-cola with  meatloaf dinner.  I  suffered from panic attacks and lots of random infections all treated with…you guesssed it…antibiotics. I breathed in smoke and mold all day, was harassed by my father, tried to take care of my mother, and lived in a fantasy land most days because it was safer than reality. By highschool, I  had bronchial infections every couple of months, and I lived on cheez-it’s, salami, funyons, the hangover BLT, and hazelnut iced coffee with tons of half and half. I self-medicated my anxiety with drinking, smoking in excess, and instigating unruly sexual situations that numbed the pain of my missing father. Self-loathing began intruding on every waking moment of my day activating my first major step toward a healthier living.

I cleaned up my act and stopped drinking. I bought a sports bra, got a membership at the 92nd street Y, started drinking some water, and ate some cottage cheese between my late-night waffle sundae binges. I thought I was the healthiest. Only the healthiest people eat cottage cheese and own sports bras.  Then my panic attacks resurfaced with a vengeance. When I was one meltdown away from becoming agoraphobic, I started taking anti-anxiety meds. I thought I oughta also dabble in meditation since I didn’t want to be on meds forever so I attempted a ten-day silent meditation retreat. I made it three days and claimed, as I left,  that I just wasn’t meant to be quiet.  I nearly lost my mind sitting with myself in the darkness and silence—there were too many  painful memories, there was not enough coffee, and no space to exercise. No, thank you.

Those three days validated my experience with holistic approaches to healing—they weren’t for me. I was madly-pro western medicine: Bring on the quick-fixes, the distractions, and the antibiotics! When it was convenient or it was necessary, I was down to be spiritual, but it was always short-lived. I never wanted to be TOO spiritual. A little bit of toxicity felt sort of YUM to me; I brought the FUN to dysfunctional. And I loved me some fatty beef.

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Something about being a sweet, peaceful vegan seemed so stale and virginal to me.If I could stay just a little edgy, a little hardened, I’d be more interesting, I thought. I wanted to be only half in touch with myself, only somewhat open-minded, and the adrenal burn-out version of healthy which looks like too much excercise and distraction while chowing on some kale every once in a while. The mention of eastern and holistic approaches to medicine and healing made me tighten. It was like people were talking about crossing an ocean in a row-boat—haven’t we got better things to do and my god, that sounds like unnecessary labor, hello, there are cruise ships these days! But, Jackie, cruise ships are bad for the environment, you said. “Well, I’d rather ignore that so I can get where I’m going faster, thank you.” It was true, I sort of (gasp) didn’t care about the environment, the toxins in the air, in my food, or in my water bottle. Not to mention my distaste for chakras, angel cards and acupuncture. What a snooze fest! I had already given up booze, drugs and cigarettes, did I really need to go full-on new-agey grandma? My judgments were just a way of covering up my extreme discomfort around “super spiritual.” I wasn’t ready to be seen. I was full of untouched trauma, stuffed to the brim. I felt like “Healers” had some sort of special powers. . .like they were the only people in the world who could see my thick and vast unbecoming wounds. Healers made me feel like my mask was being forcefully ripped off of my face, like all of the grime, sadness, jealousy, and petty resentment that I was hiding from the world— was suddenly visible. So, when I came into contact with one, I either got the hell out of there, or I put a thick wall up—pretending to have no feelings.  I had spent a couple of decades trying to keep my toxicity IN and under control, undetected.

My best efforts to control my humanness got me Lyme disease. And my best efforts to get well from Lyme disease—which included tons of antibiotics and distraction—got me much much sicker. The cruise ship I was on capsized after ten long months of doing it “the fast way”of western medicine.  I was left with that damn rowboat.  And, if I was going to survive, I was gonna have to get in and start rowing—slow and steady —with a shit load of patience. I was afraid of sitting with myself, slowing down, going soft, needing help, being seen, vulnerable and human. But my options were to go “there”—into the darkness of my soul/my truth with love as my main form of protection— and heal from Lyme, or to avoid “there” and probably stay sick. I surrendered completely. I was willing to be seen and to go into the pain so that it could lose it’s power over me became my focus.

I did everything anyone suggested from Ozone therapy, supplements, herbs, and body work. I changed my diet, I took the herbs, I meditated more, acupuncture became a weekly practice accompanied by chinese herbs, and I worked hard on self-love. And then—my biggest challenge— making friends with healers. Opening my mind so much that I could actually believe, for just a second, in something as silly as astrology. GASP.  But it helped! And then, reiki. And that helped. And then water blessings and neuro- feedback, group meditations, yoga, prayer, chakras, crystals, and getting hugged by Amma.   My  body sucked up this new way of life, like I was a plant that hadn’t been watered in a decade. I became a person that craved group meditations, green juices, acupuncture and reiki. Love gave me sunshine and alternative-medicine (in whatever form) gave me water, and some time later, I started to fucking bloom.

Becoming open to any possible form of healing has made me free— my life has become boundless with so many options. Yeah, I’ll talk about the power of crystals with an open mind, yeah I’ll talk about intuitions, heart, and powerful candles. I’ll also talk about all of the western approaches to healing that work—western medicine works when used correctly. I don’t give a shit what we are talking about as long as it’s something that helped someone else get closer to wellness realized. I light candles and I turn on an essential oil diffuser, and I sit on a yoga block while I practice breathing into my belly—INTO MY FIRST CHAKRA. I believe in magic because why not? In my experience and from what I’ve seen, you have to believe a little bit in magic and pixie dust if you want to beat Lyme disease. Beating Lyme disease isn’t even my priority anymore—thriving is my priority, and I won’t let any of my judgments, my resentment or my fear of being seen fully as a human get in the way of my best life. Healing from the inside-out is healing that lasts. I don’t know about you, but I intend to thrive for many many many many years to come.

With fun and love and weird ju ju,

Jackie

PS: Please use your discretion when choosing people to work with! OK? My “team”  came highly recommended to me by people I trust.

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The Power of Whispering “Please”

 

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I was in a yoga class last Tuesday afternoon, August 30th, 2016. I had spent an hour “opening up” (insert: eye roll), breathing, and getting in touch with the silence and stillness of my body, feeling so grateful for how far I’ve come on my way to wellness. After savasana, I felt all calm and centered, all like “mmm namaste.” Slowly packing up my mat and water bottle, I swiped my phone out of airplane mode simultaneously driving my energy to erratic and off-center. A message from my cousin immediately popped up that read, “I’m sure you’ve heard the news. Will you be at the funeral?” PANIC. I hadn’t heard the news. I was about to hear the news. My 23-year-old cousin passed away tragically in the earliest hours of Tuesday morning. “Passed away” suggests some sort of peaceful movement into another realm, but, I can assure you, nothing about it felt peaceful. Not to me. For me, it was more of a disorienting impact, like when those cartoon characters see stars after getting hit really hard. I couldn’t breathe. The same room I had just gotten all namaste in, held space for my hysterical tears. I immediately thought of his mother—notably one of my favorite people on this planet— and his brother. My heart aches deeply for them. I made a fierce and confident decision in that moment, on my knees in tears, that no matter what, I would be at the funeral. Yes, I knew it was across the country, I knew my health wasn’t super stable, and I knew that I was super short on cash, but I also knew that I WOULD be there. My (almost) three-year long struggle with Lyme disease has taught me a thing or two or three or four about compassion, about humanity, and about empathy. Well “you” taught me, actually. You know who you are—all of the people who have had my back again and again and again over the last couple of years—you’re the reason I know how necessary it is to show up. After I pulled myself together from the shock of the news—out of the hysterics, floating into more a cloudy daze of confusion—I got in my car and drove home to look up airline tickets. Apparently, I had spoken too soon and too confidently. The cheapest ticket was $930.00, and painfully out of my price range. And yet, I went, and I went fully available to my family. How in the fuck, you ask? Because just when I thought I had been shown my fair share of love in this lifetime, I was proven wrong, love saved the day. . . again. As it turns out, there might not be a shortage on that shit.

I’ve always been way more comfortable in the role of care-taker. I truly believed that I didn’t need— “you” clearly needed love and support and help, but, me? I’d be just fine. I’m tough enough, I can take it, I thought. As a kid, I would watch my brother or mother suffer under my father’s cruelty and wish/pray that I could just trade places with them, thinking that I had some sort of magical armor that they didn’t. I played that role for a good long while— giving, giving, giving until I used up all of my energy, got Lyme disease and had nothing left to give. OK, I had to stop giving, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask for anything. GASP. How could I? I would just take care of myself, like I always had.

I continued working as a waitress (I don’t suggest this) to desperately try to pay bills. I refused almost every offer of accompaniment to the doctor, assuming I would just need a couple of months and lots of antibiotics to get back to my “normal life.” Without my asking, a couple of friends jumped in over this short period— my dear friend ran a $1,500 fundraiser so I could cover some antibiotics, another friend took me to one doctor’s appointment, my mom paid for a months worth of an intramuscular antibiotic, and my boyfriend held me while I cried a few times. I thought, at that point, that I had used up my predetermined supply of love, help, and support one gets in this lifetime; as though, upon entering the world, we are handed an allotted number of chips or tickets, and each time we are loved, we hand one in, making us want to “save them for a rainy day.”

My storm came. I took a nose dive into the unfathomable darkness of Lyme disease and multi systemic chronic illness. If I was going to get well or survive, I was going to NEED help—next-level help. I certainly didn’t know how to ask or what to even ask for. It seemed like I needed too much—like I’d probably die waiting for my needs to be met. Finding myself in fetal position, terrified and disturbed, I whispered out into the universe, “please.” Just. . . please. Looking back, it seems like all I had to do—once I surrendered to reality— was sit back and ACCEPT what people were offering me. Here is just a glimpse into what people have done for me over the last two years:

You fed me : One friend flew across the country just to cook me batches of healthy food. My freezer was full of cauliflower soup, lentil stew, lamb burgers, tzatziki sauce, and carrot ginger dressing. Another friend delivers me groceries or home-made meals during every single IVIG treatment. I’ve been treated to countless lunches, dinners, green juices, and smoothies. I have been sent gift cards to Whole Foods or Gelsons just…randomly. I’ve opened my front door to surprise packages from friends and family chock full of nutritious sustenance—from meat, to protein bars, to nuts and tea. hehe. My boyfriend has spoon-fed me / force-fed me more times than I can count, and my family—oh, my lovely family that knows nothing about the insane diet I’m on worked their asses off last time I saw them to meet my dietary restrictions. THANK YOU.

You tucked me in: I kid you not, I have been rocked to sleep. My back has seen many loving hands, and my forehead has been calmly caressed by countless. I have been sung to, massaged, and even CHANGED into pajamas. YUP. Those were the days…when I’d be so sick I couldn’t take my own pants off. More than one person has changed me into comfortable clothing. More than one person has seen to it that I fell asleep. More than one person offered their bed or couch or arms when I needed comfort. THANK YOU.

You STILL take me to the doctor: In extreme ways and not so extreme ways, I have been taken to the doctor. One woman who suffers her own struggle with Lyme disease, took me to get blood drawn before she ever even met me a couple of years ago. Other friends held my hand for blood draws or took me to the doctor when I simply COULD NOT do it alone anymore. And then there were three special people who did long-term treatments with me. One friend took me to Florida and did a week-long doctor visit with me. He wheeled me around in a wheel chair so I could be a tourist in between doctor appointments and bedtime. Another friend traveled to Indonesia with me for two months, reading me books, singing to me, and cooking for me while all of my blood got removed, restored, and returned. My boyfriend met us during that treatment and has sat through days and day and days of IVIG treatment with me and doctor’s visits and ER visits with me, entertaining me with things like, “Heads up.”  THANK YOU.

You paid my way: We raised over $18,000 to help cure me. I think about 300 people donated to my health. 300 people! Each one of those souls played a part in my recovery. Some people donated 1,000 dollars and other donated 5.00 and every penny cracked me open a little more, showing me just how abundant love is. I needed every cent that came my way, and I still do. A sweet friend of mine just purchased me a very expensive air purifier that I couldn’t afford, my aunt and uncle got me a much-needed new pair of shoes, and my mama buys me supplements. I wouldn’t have had a chance in hell without your help. A certain “you” gifted me a laptop. UH, THANKS. And a certain “you” gifted me crazy expensive supplements, coffee enema supplies, meals, and striaght-up cash. THANK YOU.

You LOVE me: You have listened to me, you have let me cry on your shoulder, you have had endless compassion and kindness for me. You have talked to me for hours, given me advice, loaned me special weird healing things, cried with me, cried for me, sent loving texts, made me laugh, came to visit, taken me for walks, called to check in, skyped with me, and cheered me the fuck on. THANK YOU.

That’s just grazing the surface of the last two years. Here’s what happened in one day:

Last Tuesday, August 30th, 2016, I sat talking to two of my favorite humans about my cousin’s passing, “I don’t know what to do,” I said, “I want to be with my family, but I don’t know how to get there. I can’t afford it. It hurts to be so far away.” And one of those women, a woman who knows too much about death, said, “do you want me to put it on my credit card?” Just as I was saying “no. . . that’s too much..” my other friend casually said, “Why don’t I see if I have miles.” I’m still not super good at accepting help. I STILL think I’ve used up my fair-share so instead of saying, “oh that’d be great, thank you,” I was more like, “well. I mean. If you’d be willing and..” awkward weird space-filling chatter and shifting and nail-biting. While I got weird, she found a flight and booked it. When I said, “you’re an incredible human,” she said, “nah, just a human. You’ll do it for someone else one day.” Two people were willing to get me to my cousin’s funeral. And two other people helped me pack/decide what to wear, AND another person drove me to the airport at 4:30 in the morning the next day. I swear all I did was whisper please.

I landed in South Carolina on Thursday afternoon, walking into the heartbreak. I’m wordless. I just love them so much, and I don’t know what else to say about it.  I watched person after person flood the home of his mother with food, flowers, and hugs. I watched her struggle to accept all of the kindness. I watched people step up and pay for expensive and necessary things because death is not only so heartbreaking for the loved ones, but it is also bank-breaking. Grief is not a weekend deal. It goes on for a long, long time and so should support.

Before I left, I told my his mother, “keep accepting the help. Everyone wants to help you. Let them.” She looked at me and said, “But I’ve already gotten so much help over the last year.” She has been in the throes of her own serious health struggle this year. “There’s no point at which you’ve used up help, support and love. There’s always more,” I said. And I KNOW that to be true because of what “you” have shown me.

For some reason, I still slip back into thinking that I’ve used up my chips. I landed back in LA around 1 am on Sunday night and, get this,  two different friends offered to pick me up from the airport. At 1 am! Just when I thought I’ve had enough, my phone rings, a text comes through, a note comes in the mail, someone donates to my fundraiser, or I get a much needed hug.

I love you, my friends and family. I only hope I can give back an iota of what’s been given to me. Thank you, Lyme disease, for giving me an opportunity to learn about love so that I can show up during this trying time. And *please*, if you read this and know my family, show up for them right now and in the months to come. It takes a freakin village and every single person counts, every single hand, counts. And, I beg of you (I’m not whispering now) if YOU are the person who needs help, ask for it. Ask anyone.Because shame is deadly.

Here is my cousin’s memorial fund.

love upon love upon love,

Jackie

 

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Bang for Your Buck: Health Tips on a Budget

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Are you desperately trying to heal and unable to do many of the things suggested to you because you simply don’t have the funds? I feel you. I am well versed on that topic so i compiled a list of a few cheap OR free things you can do daily or weekly that can make massive changes. Caution: PATIENCE NEEDED.

1.) Coconut oil: You can get a jar of organic, cold-pressed, unrefined coconut oil from Trader Joe’s for about $6.00. Coconut oil is the healthiest oil to cook with as it contains healthy fats called medium chained fatty acids. It works as a natural anti-fungal, anti-bacterial and anti-viral when you cook with it, eat it by the tablespoon, spread it on toast, or use it as a mosturizer on your body! You can even use it to detox by oil pulling first thing in the morning—using one tablespoon and gently swishing it around for about 15 minutes, it pulls out toxins and infections AND whitens teeth! Check out all of the ways coconut oil can benefit you here.

2.)Epsom salt baths:  I’m madly- pro infrared saunas for a killer detox sweat, but when you’re sick and your money is going to all sorts of crazy things like doctors and supplements and FOOD, sometimes it’s hard to find the extra 20-50 bucks to sweat it out. Epsom salt baths are not exactly the same, but, in my experience, they work nicely as a powerful alternative. I try to stay in the bath for at least 15 minutes, with a glass of water nearby, a lit candle, and some good tunes playing. When I’ve sweat enough AND hopefully soaked up some of that magnesium from the epsom salt (which technically takes a total of 40 minutes but my body can’t handle that), I get out and rest for a few minutes. Make sure to hydrate a ton. Ideally, you own a dry brush and can do that before you bathe for extra detoxing.

3.) Hydration: Do you have a good water filter? I’m sorry to tell you that the Brita aint gonna cut it. Ideally, you’d get the Berkey, but those are super expensive (I think worth the investment, but we are hypothetically on a super tight budget). Zero water is the one I have—it came recommended through the Hippocrates Health Institue. It’ll cost about $25.00 every 6 weeks or so (filters that work actually have to be replaced a lot) to have very clean water ALL OF THE TIME. Hydrating isn’t enough on its own. If you’re hydrating with tap water in a bad part of the country, you are also ingesting a load of toxic shit like lead and chlorine. So, clean it up. Also, for immune boost, optimal hydration AND detox consider adding  lemons to your water—it’s cheap and it’s effective. Another cheap option (if you have a juicer or a blender) is celery (PURE CELERY) juice every morning on an empty stomach. That’s runs about $2.50 a day and has very powerful effects on restoring your gut health(where your immune system is) and moving your lymphatic system. And, as the day creeps by, a warm cup of tea might be so needed. You can buy organic ginger for next to nothing and make your own ginger tea—ginger is anti-inflammatory and good for digestion. I also consume coconut water, aloe vera in water, and other veggie juices. OH and I drink plenty of coffee, but that’s not a health suggestion 🙂

4.) Movement: You don’t have to pay upwards of 100.00 a month to exercise. Moving your body is effective, necessary, and a powerful action you can take on a daily basis no matter what your checking account looks like. If you have a little money but not much, consider looking on Groupon for some deals in whatever medium of exercise you feel like pursuing. Most yoga studios have a “first month deal” like $40.00 unlimited for a month. Check out the studios in your town, and ask for deals or work-trade. If you have ZERO dollars to spare on exercise then look at free youtube videos of yoga/pilates or again whatever kind of work- out you want to do. And, if all of that is too much then go for a walk. A short walk, a long walk, a fast walk, a meditative walk, however you wanna swing it. Over time, this will be of great benefit to your overall health AND happiness.

5.) Breathe: It’s totally free and it is POWERFUL. Even for the millionaires who can spend on whatever supplement and whatever treatment, the MOST healing thing any of us can do is BREATHE. Check out the Wellness-Companion newsletter this week for some in-depth details on breathing. Panic, anxiety and shallow breaths are poison to your central nervous system and your adrenal glands. Can’t afford the supplements?  Breathing is your adrenal support supplement. There are free meditations all over the damn place, get in on the silence craze! For 5 bucks, you can purchase the anxiety release EMDR app, it comes in handy for those of us that struggle with heavy anxiety, and it happened to be one of my favorite AND cheapest investments.

6.) Vitamin D: Go sit in the sun for 20 minutes without sunscreen. It’s that simple. Your immune system will thank you for it—so will your brain. PS: behind windows/glass it doesn’t count.

7.)Find a support system/go where the love is: Love is healing. Compassion, kindness, empathy, understanding, and affection go a really long way when you don’t feel well. Let people love you. We operate a whole company called wellness-companions around this concept because Eva and I KNOW how important it is to be heard and seen while healing. In my experience, It’s more effective to be loved than to take the “right” supplement. Release the people from your life that no longer serve you on this journey.

8.) Joy: You don’t need to spend $20.00 on popcorn and a movie or $100.00 on a trip to Disneyland to have fun. Find the things that bring you joy and do one of them every single day. Healing is a mind/body/spirit experience. In a desperate attempt to feel physically better, we tend to leave behind the mind and spirit, and healing won’t come without their companionship. So, whether it’s building a fort in your bedroom and watching Disney movies, coloring, taking pictures, writing, drawing, singing, painting, listening to music, audiobooks or reading, find your thing and do a lot of it. Do it especially when you think you should start googling about your condition—that’s your warning to pull out the big guns. . .play time!

9.)Diet: I wanted to stay off of this because it IS expensive to eat well. I get it, trust me. Unfortunately, it was also one of the most important changes I made. First of all, consider swallowing your pride and getting some government assistance—food stamps. GASP, I know. But this is about saving your ass, not your face. Eating fresh requires me to be at the supermarket almost every single day, but I’ve found some cheaper ways to eat nutritious, and fulfilling meals. One of them being to make a big ass batch of soup! Soup chock full of fairly cheap organic veggies. The whole batch could cost about 20 bucks and be your lunch for 5 days. Check out recipes by Kriss Carr and Anthony William. Planning nutritious meals and having them for the week or freezing them is a GREAT way to save money. You’ll rarely have to buy food out because you’re starving and have nothing in the house. Simple and inexpensive changes can  make a world of difference for your overall health: Choose fruit over candy, choose coconut water over soda, choose organic olive oil and lemon instead of bottled dressing, choose cauliflower mash over mashed potatoes, ghee or coconut oil instead of butter, almond milk over cow milk. It will take time to adjust—that’s ok. You don’t have to do it perfectly all at once—all you need to do is make a beginning.

10.) Let go: Stop trying to hold it together. Feel your feelings whether they are sadness or anger or pure elation. Once you stop resisting the experience of being sick, you will land right at the foot of the path to wellness. Some heartbreaking grief may follow, but the payoff is worth it. I promise. You likely have some emotional healing to do—go into it now and know that you will come out at the other side. It’s free, it’s safe, and it’s effective. Make sure you have some sort of support system in place when going through this part. Like a *sliding scale therapist,* support group or good friends.

11.)REST: I almost forgot this one. YIKES! Because I hate it. But it also probably saved/is saving my life so I highly suggest it— rest as often as you need. Give your body many breaks throughout the day to simply lie down and BREATHE. Fall asleep if you can—if not, just lie there doing nothing at all! Be sure you’re in bed for at least 8 hours at night. On your to-do lists every morning (that are probably too long) I urge you to put rest at the top. As Eva Fisher says, “rest is an active verb.”

To sum up: use coconut oil, hydrate with toxic free water all day, sit in the sun, go for a walk, find a feel-good hobby, let your friends love the shit out of you, love the shit out of yourself, make big batches of healthy soup, breathe deeply, take epsom salt baths, let your feelings OUT, REST, and,  my friends, you are on your way to wellness and spending next to nothing.

Fun and love and cheap healing is on the way!

Jackie Shea

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Treasure-Hunting? You Have the Map

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If you’re here looking for a quick-fix solution to Lyme disease, I will disappoint you. If you’re here because you’re googling in a desperate search for the way to “get better asap,” I will—sadly—disappoint you. I am a person that has a great deal of recovery from this disease and more to come, but the most important thing I have learned over my two- and- a half-year long struggle with Chronic Lyme disease is that there is no one solution, no one way, no magic trick. What works for my body, likely won’t work for your body and what works for your body would probably need to be modified for mine. Antibiotics do not work for everyone. Nor does The Cowden Protocol, the Buhner protocol, Ozone therapy, infrared saunas, eating raw, high doses of vitamin C, coffee enemas, IVIG, stem cells, reiki, and the list goes on. For most people(including myself), it’s a combination of many things, leaving an uncertainty around what ACTUALLY “did the trick.” But look at that list: yes, it’s scary and confusing that there’s no one remedy, no steadfast solution, but it is also a list that presents bountiful opportunities to heal; there are no real barricades, there’s always a new road to explore. Healing flaunts an abundant landscape. On this site, I can only write about my experience, the paths I went down, which paths led to an opening and a rainbow and which ones led to a moldy cave summoning death. I can only hope that one of the paths I suggest happens to help you. It was frightening when antibiotics — the most commonly known treatment for Lyme — didn’t work for me. It was frightening to look at all of the forks in the road and know that nobody, not a single person, had the exact directions that would lead me out of the woods. That my guidance needed to come completely from within was startling…lonely, but every time I relied on someone else’s map, it didn’t take me where I hoped it would go. It felt so hauntingly desolate to be that much of an individual— I felt I had already done enough work in this area, and I really wasn’t up for the task of a deeper relationship with my internal guidance system (fuck that), but it seemed like I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to heal I was going to need to become my own greatest ally, advocate, and traveling companion. And I wanted/want to heal.

As a result of how I was raised, I didn’t trust myself for most of my life. My personal instinct and self-trust— something that we are all born with— were stolen from me and replaced with extreme self-doubt. My notably powerful inner-voice was quieted by my father’s outer-voice, force-feeding me the idea that I was wrong… always.  That foundation left me endlessly seeking counsel on what I “should” do, the opinions around me seemed to hold more weight than my own. And then in my early twenties, I was faced with a big decision that no one could make for me, and I was forced to begin the scary descent into self.

I moved to Hawaii from NYC when I was 23, both for a boyfriend that made me feel safe, and because I didn’t want to do the NYC grind anymore. Deciding that I wouldn’t let an acting career control my happiness (I didn’t want to live in NY or LA or London), I moved, thinking, “if I love to act that much then I can act from anywhere.” And I did just that. I landed on Maui and within a couple of months was on stage and signing with an agent on O’ahu. There was one tiny little problem—I HATED it. I was a big fish on dry land. I loved the work I was doing, and I loved a lot of the people (some very talented) I was working with, but, in the end, there was a total disconnect: I did not belong. I didn’t want to talk about the surf, I wanted to talk about George Bernard Shaw, and I didn’t want to look at one more fucking painting of coral, I wanted the MOMA. And I didn’t want to be the best, I wanted to be INSPIRED and challenged by the best. But leaving Hawaii meant leaving my long-term relationship with my sweet boyfriend, it meant leaving a picturesque mountain home essentially on a goat farm. It meant leaving my very  comfortable life that COULD likely satisfy me on some level for a good time to come. I wanted to leave, but what if leaving all of that was a terrible decision? I struggled for over a year. YES, OVER A YEAR. Should I stay or should I go?  Or maybe I should move to O’ahu ? ON REPEAT, for a year, to anyone who would listen. I wished more than anything that someone could just tell me what to do, what the right thing was, or give me the instruction manual on how to live a fulfilling life. I attended Unity Church one Sunday, a non denominational experience of— I don’t know— spirituality, in a desperate attempt at peace. After the service, an announcement was made that there were prayer chaplains, people who pray with you, and I jumped up to be first in line— I was THAT desperate. I was seated opposite a mild-tempered man dressed in pale linens—his demeanor matched the luxurious breeze and lush scenery on the outdoor balcony. I was the thing that didn’t belong, dressed in black, a tea kettle about to scream. He looked at me and said, “what do you need today?” The blue sky and the green grass darkened, the breeze went stale as I shifted out of the present and into the fear of the future, and I burst into tears, “I don’t know…GUIDANCE. I need guidance, desperately.” I closed my eyes to deepen my breath, he gently and lovingly— like he was an old friend— took my hands and… said a bunch of spiritual stuff that I don’t remember. I opened my eyes, now bored and still without an answer, and that’s when he said one last thing, “may you always know that the guidance is inside of you and nowhere else.” DING DING DING. I did know. That deep-knowing that I had been trying to repress for so long came storming through the surface, like a breeching humpback whale, and bellowed, “please leave. You need to go, you need to leave your guy, and you need to go to LA.” Motherfucker. My heart wants the most complicated shit. Plenty of people would have wanted to stay, plenty of people would be happy and thrive doing exactly what I was doing, but I am not plenty of people, and I cannot steal your desires. I cannot rob you of your internal guidance system because I can’t locate my own.

I went— I went terrified, in tears, and with almost no money, but I went, and I claimed for months that it was the hardest decision I had ever made. I don’t know why—I had already chosen to quit drinking, quit doing drugs, move multiple times, cut off my father, welcome him back in, leave multiple relationships, quit college, continue my education as an actor, quit jobs, take jobs, turn down jobs, etc—but something about leaving that relationship and that goat farm on Maui for LA life truly felt like the hardest decision. I turned 25 in Los Angeles a few months later, and I was high on my new life. I had made the right choice, I was thriving.  And then, suddenly, my worst nightmares started to manifest. I went overboard, and the only thing that threw me a life-raft when I was a hot- second away from drowning was my internal voice.

I was profoundly tested in the waves of a destructive romance and a new decision needed to be made that would deeply affect the rest of my life—would I deny myself and submit to his storm in an act of feebleness or trust that the life-raft would lead me safely to shore?  My inner voice was wild and loud. I knew from the moment I met him that he and I would clash so profoundly it could be deadly, and I repressed myself again, manipulating my truth to get what I intellectually wanted—self-betrayal is almost a betrayal of the Universe and, in my experience, it has always led me to the depths of despair. Again, what was my near-death experience is probably someone else’s fantasy life. Someone else could have happily been in that situation, but I wasn’t—I wasn’t just unhappy, I was suicidal.  When the act of not listening to my gut was actually going to kill me, I gave in—I left him, I flew to NYC to recover from what was a traumatic experience, and I vowed to trust myself, to listen to my inner voice from there on out. It knew better than my brain did. I would stop denying myself, betraying myself, abandoning myself, and I would pay attention to what my body wanted instead of shutting it up with some damaged part of my brain.

Again, I thought I had learned enough at that point: there would at least be a couple of years  of smooth sailing. NOPE— I got sick just a couple months later. While all of that previous experience gave me a foundation to grow from, trusting my guidance system when it came to how to treat and heal from an illness—when literally EVERYTHING (my life) was at stake and literally NO ONE had the one answer— that is next-level shit. I actually had no idea just HOW MUCH information my body held. Our bodies are very smart.

When the common treatment of long-term antibiotics didn’t work for me, I was faced with the horrifying task of trial and error. I learned/ am learning to submerge myself in patience and self-care. Slowly, the practice of staying in touch with my body, consistently doing what felt “right” to me, going where the love was, and being my own greatest ally has dropped me here—in a much healthier place. We are each dealing with distinctive chemical structures/illnesses/traumas/brains and therefore, we all heal differently. I found out that the guidance system I hold within my little self is a perfectly detailed map to the treasure, inviting me to use it freely whenever I want. I still turn down the offer sometimes because I’d really rather not walk through the Lion’s den that is sometimes life, but it’s there, and it’s the best tool for healing Lyme disease I’ve got. I am sorry if this disappoints you, but that is what I have to share today: find your own way, trust your body, and learn to love the shit out of yourself. Find a few (or a hundred) loving hands to hold on the journey but you lead the way—the benefits are miraculous and empowering.

With fun, love, and an abundance of healing,

Jackie

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The Phlebotomist and My Body: Who’s in Charge Here?

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I was anxiously waiting for my name to be called in yet another poorly-lit waiting room. Doctor’s offices were once just an occasional means to an end: I went feeling shitty and I’d leave with a script from the omniscient doc to feel better. Now, they’re as common as my trips to the grocery store, and they no longer inspire hope but instead hopelessness. Lyme disease has both blessed and cursed me with a deep connection to my body so I KNOW immediately when something feels bad, and these rooms— they feel fucking bad. I waited, growing more anxious, feeling like I was stuck in a cage, wanting to see the sunlight, jealous of all of my friends enjoying the beautiful day. Call my name, call my name. I got up three times to check the sign-in sheet. Twitch, Check my phone, shift positions, take a sip of water, look at the clock, check my phone, try to focus on something else, and repeat. And one hour later, one second before I developed Trichotillomania, my name was called. However, this is always a false sense of relief since all that happens in this time is that I get to stretch my legs while I’m ushered into the next room where I’m asked to wait just a liiitttttlllee while longer. This particular experience was at Quest Diagnostics, a lab for drawing blood, so I felt extra annoyed that what could take five minutes —IF PEOPLE WERE FUCKING INTELLIGENT— was becoming a full-blown interruption to my evening. The woman who was about to draw my blood directed her stink of apathy at the computer screen, never even looking at me. I hated her for it— she wouldn’t even acknowledge me if we were riding an elevator together yet she was about to wrap a giant rubber band around my bicep so that my veins screamed and then jab a sharp object into the one of her choosing. I sat staring at her. FUCK YOU: ACKNOWLEDGE ME. Acknowledge the person whose information you’re staring at: You know my full name, birthday, weight, height, marital status, physical ailments, and my fucking financial bracket based on insurance so LOOK UP AND SAY HI. I was super moody. When she finally turned around, it was to grab my arm, get a vein, and stick me (I get stuck with needles at least three times a month so it’s not like I’m a stranger to the sensation or super uneasy about it anymore). This one hurt, and the fact that I had been holding my breath in anger for almost 2 hours wasn’t helping. It hurt so much more than I had expected, and it didn’t stop hurting. It throbbed. I squealed which provoked her to unsuccessfully attempt pulling the rubber band off which only made the needle shift in my vein so it was jabbing me harder. “Stop pulling the rubber band,” I pleaded. “Oh my, I’ve never had this happen before, I’m sorry,” she kept saying. I didn’t believe her. She pulled the needle out and the crease in my elbow pulsed with no relief until I passed out.

When I finally came back to full(ish) strength, shivering because I had sweat so much, I started to cry. I felt so violated…again. I was flooded with memories of doctors, hands, and needles meddling with my body. I thought of all of the healthcare providers who treated me like a mere inconvenience. I was overwhelmed. After another few minutes of getting back into the present where there is infinite safety I realized, for the umpteenth time, that my body is so smart, and it was teaching me yet another lesson. I hadn’t been on point with my self-care the previous couple of days, and it was like my body needed a reset. I needed a reminder that self-care comes first — I had been pushing myself both physically and emotionally: I didn’t eat enough that day, I had rushed to the doctor’s office, I had packed my schedule too tightly resulting in anxiety, and I wasn’t giving myself space to process Ian being gone, my Mother being here, and IVIG dose number four starting the very next day. I was being hard on myself about finances and beating myself up for all sorts of things. I had gotten out of my habit of ninja-level self-care, unfairly leaving the weight of my needs on my phlebotomist which resulted in a loss of consciousness. Interesting.

It was a much easier time when I trusted “the doctor.” I was taught to always trust medical professionals. “The doctor” always knew better: “what did the doctor say? did you go to the doctor? The doctor said you need to take this. The doctor said you were fine. The doctor said it’s just anxiety. The blood work came back fine so let it go..” I LOVED the virginal world of trusting people with any sort of medical degree. In 2013, I walked in to see my first lyme literate ND who happens to also be famous for her experience and research in the world of Lyme. I immediately undressed so she could see all of my rashes and, after 30 minutes of face-and ass-time, I left with prescriptions for three different antibiotics. She didn’t order any blood tests or get much of a history on me — she was busy and it was fine. I’m impatient anyway; I’ve always been on board for a quick-fix. Hence, I’ve always loved antibiotics. When the first round didn’t work, I gave over my credit card number freely for 15 minute conversations with this ND, and I took her advice for 10 solid months. I took something like 450 oral antibiotics over that time, prescribed by her. In all fairness, she continued to ask me if my body could handle them and I continued to say, “yes, if YOU think it will get me well then I can handle it.” I took crazy expensive herbs prescribed by her and my acupuncturist, never really researching anything. I didn’t want the responsibility of caring for myself, truth be told. Who does? I need so much —can’t “you” just do it? I was like, “charge my credit card, charge it however much you need, as long as you say what I’m buying will work.”  Then, one day, my body fought back and started screaming at me. I had not had that experience yet — the experience of being in -tune with my SELF. Up until then, ten months into illness, I simply dosed myself as much as possible, blindly letting my doctor do what was actually my job: decide what was right for my body. So when I started experiencing a profound weakness every time I went to grab a bottle of antibiotics, I was confused. I would gag at the thought of swallowing another pill, I could actually feel my muscles weaken when I went to open a bottle. I couldn’t deny that my body was telling me something. It was shouting at me to STOP.

In retrospect, that’s when my recovery truly began: November of 2014. I needed a new treatment plan. It was between getting a PICC line and going the all- natural route(something I had NEVER in my life wanted to touch. I was madly pro quick-fix, and nothing about chewing on celery seemed quick to me). I had two friends in my life, both of whom had recovered from Lyme, one with a PICC line and the other all-naturally. But they gave me the same advice, “listen to your body, only you know what is best for your body. No one can tell you what to do, everyone is different.” This is true especially with elusive illnesses like Lyme disease where there truly is NO ONE WAY to getting better. Each body is different, and listening to my own intuition was the best advice I could have received .It was so clear. I knew, for some reason, that the only hope for my recovery was a natural route— healing from the inside-out. I began seeing certain medical professionals that treated me with kindness and care, and I started treating myself,  researching and listening first and foremost to my body through all different kinds of herbs and treatments. I was improving, but I wasn’t getting nearly as well as I wanted to be. Again, I listened to my body and to what was being shown to me by “the Universe,” if you will, and all signs pointed to Ozone therapy with a Doctor, who treated many Lyme patients  with success (now including me!), in Bali, Indonesia. It was in Bali that I first noticed just how much my relationship to my body had changed.

Lying on a long, flat medical table in a dark room finished with medical equipment that reminded me of a mad-scientists basement, I was waiting anxiously to get stuck with my next needle for round two of Ozone. The previous needle had brought me close to fainting, but after my best friend spooned sweet tea into my mouth, I recovered just fine. My doctor, a warm, light-hearted Balinese man in flip-flops, was leaning over me, his shirt falling on my face, gripping my forearm in search of a juicy vein. Squeeze- nothing there. Squeeze harder ..HARDER… a little something but not enough. Then he shifted to my left arm while his nursing assistant kept hold of my right.Get off of me, get off of me. Tears formed, I grew hot, and my body was shaking. I wanted to be treated with delicacy. That was the first time I realized I was traumatized from all of the doctors who grabbed me, touched me, poked me, dismissed me, misdiagnosed me, and mistreated me. My body, the same body I had abandoned and dismissed, the same body I had betrayed (especially when I went to visit the doctor) the 27 years prior, was now like my own child: I had lost my naivety, and I knew that if I didn’t protect my body then NO ONE would. Treating myself with such delicacy and love has been a major factor in recovery. Ever since I started being my own greatest ally, it’s been an uphill journey—albeit slow as fuck because apparently I needed a lesson in patience, but uphill nonetheless.

My doctor in Bali wasn’t doing anything wrong (he needs to find a vein) and my ND, though over-saturated with patients and a bit careless, was doing what I asked of her: more antibiotics! My phlebotomist, that bitch from last week, wasn’t NECESSARILY doing anything wrong either. My doctors aren’t supposed to act like the parents I never had (which I seem to just expect from EVERYONE). In this confusing world of illness, where I am so powerless over so much, including certain provider’s bedside manners, AND competency, I can focus on the one thing i do have power over: self-care. Am I showing myself the kindness and love that I wish the medical world would show me? Am I eating enough, drinking enough, and resting enough? Am I welcoming joy and wellness into my life? Am I keeping my schedule manageable? Am I turning to my friends for help with doctors appointments and blood-draws and IVIG treatments? If I think I’m not getting the right treatment, it is my job to first listen to what my body needs, second to do the research and see how I can get my needs met, then walk into a doctor’s office and advocate hard for myself. A doctor, like everyone else, is ICING ON THE CAKE. First, I need to bake the cake. I AM IN CHARGE HERE.

With Fun, love, and power,

Jackie

PS: for support on your journey with illness, we are here

 

 

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