Something has been missing from my writing and podcasting in the last few months.

It’s me.

The truth is, the ‘expert’ voice doesn’t suit me terribly well. It’s not that I don’t have a lot of great (in my opinion) information to share, or that I don’t like teaching…it’s that facts are a dime a dozen and you can learn about herbs and food and self-care in dozens upon dozens of places.

After all, if you’re anything like me, finding the facts isn’t the biggest challenge. The real challenge is the day-to-day practices of caring for this body and soul of yours (and mine.) I must confess: I’m not some expert perched atop a perfectly figured out life with a perfect diet and perfect herbal regimen and perfect relationships and a perfectly realized life purpose. My real life is much messier than that.

And while I might long for a more picture-perfect day sometimes, the messy truth certainly makes for better reading. Hopefully, it also makes for a better, deeper connection with you. Maybe, just maybe, if I can find the courage to open myself up more and more to share the messy parts of what it looks like for me to walk my own healing path and to walk beside my clients on theirs, I can share a few morsels with you that you couldn’t find on WebMD or Livestrong or even in the writings of my herbal teachers.

So, with that, dear reader, I’m closing my eyes and hitting “publish” on this post. I dedicate this story to all of us in all of our glorious imperfection and tender human vulnerability.

It’s 6:30am and I had a terrible night’s sleep.

This has been one more tough night in a series of tough nights that’s seemed to stretch on for weeks. “Just as love crowns you, so may he crucify you,” the Gibran quote says. I don’t quite feel crucified; it’s more like my heart’s been wrung out like a dirty dishrag and used to mop the floor.

I step into the bathroom and switch on the light. My face. I no sooner see it in the mirror than the cascade of judgements starts about the puffy-eyed, yellow-pale, acne scarred, dry skinned face that’s looking back at me. I massage the cleanser in and inhale the grapefruit and cocoa butter smell then gently buff it off with the tiny circular motions of a warm washcloth. Try as I might, I can’t quite get this to work as a self-love ritual. I’m too attached to trying to fix the dry skin, the blueish tinge under the eyes, and the deepening lines on the sides of my mouth that insist on reminding me that I’m older than I’ve ever been before and my life is still so far from perfectly figured out. 

Then I stick out my tongue. The whole thing quivers like those unwieldy jello molds that my Mom continued to serve at Christmas dinner well into the 90s. At the tip of my tongue there’s a splash of bright crimson. The sides have tiny speckles in the coating as if a few drops of acid fell on my tongue and dissolved the top layer.  Only now, looking at my tongue, does the sourness of my outlook start to sweeten. I can see my body now. No social norms, no judgement about beauty or lack thereof, no criticism—just a printout of how my body is really doing this morning.

The 15 seconds it took for me to look at my tongue tell me so much.

My energy is low (hence the quivering) and I need to make sure that I eat regular meals today, with plenty of complex carbs. Meanwhile, the stress I’ve been under is taking its toll (the crimson tip), and I need to ease off the caffeine I’ve been relying on to boost my energy. Whatever it takes, I need a good night of sleep…maybe a restorative yoga class after work followed by a hot bath? And I’ll make sure to wear my earplugs to bed tonight, too.

This kind of intimacy and self-compassion is what daily tongue reading is all about. It’s completely different from the nasty way I used to talk to myself when I tried to “get healthier” or “shape up.” External “shoulds” and ideals about healthy living might be inspiring in the short term, but given the right conditions they start to feel oppressive. They can easily start to feel like something to rebel against. But when the motivation to change comes from really seeing myself, from clarity about exactly how my body is doing this morning and what she needs to feel better—well, why would I ever want to rebel against that?

When I look at my tongue, I’m really looking at a microcosmic reflection of my physical & emotional Self.

I can clearly see the specific, personal, real-time effects of my choices & circumstances on my body. There’s no judgement, just plain truth. There’s no criticism, just cause & effect. It’s from this deep place of witnessing and compassion for my body that I can re-engage with the healing practices that I need. There are herbs I can lean on, certain kinds of food I can cook, yoga classes to attend. None of it needed to be prescribed by an external authority, and none of it needed to involve shame, guilt, or willpower. Just love.

I’d love to teach you how.