Needles & Nerves

I haven’t tried acupuncture.
Not yet.

But lately, something in me keeps circling back to it — a quiet tug, almost like my body already knows it wants to be part of the story. Not because I’ve read about it. Not because it’s trendy. Just… something real. Something that feels like hope.

It started with a story a friend told me.

She’d been feeling low. Deeply low. Life was heavy, messy, painful in ways I recognised but couldn’t name. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Didn’t want another deep-dive therapy session or to drag her heartbreak back into the light for the hundredth time.

And then someone suggested acupuncture.

“I didn’t need a box of tissues,” she said.
“No hours of chat about the past. I just cracked on. And I’ve never felt better, honestly. I stopped feeling down about things that were utterly heartbreaking to me. I just felt alive. Happy. Free.”

And she looked it.
Even as she told me how she still had to do all the hard things — like caring for someone unkind, enduring the jibes and nasty remarks — she said it calmly, without weight.

“I just crack on,” she said again.
And it landed.

That was the moment I felt something shift in me.

Maybe it’s my knee, still sore when I rush.
Maybe it’s the strange tightness in my chest I can’t quite explain.
Maybe it’s the quiet exhaustion of holding everything up — family, work, emotion — and pretending I’m fine.

I’m not broken. I’m not falling apart.
But I’m ready.

Ready for something that doesn’t require me to explain myself.
Ready for something that just… helps.
Quietly. Gently. Without words.

I don’t know if acupuncture will be the thing.
But her story gave me something I hadn’t had in a while: hope.
Hope that healing doesn’t always have to be dissected.
Hope that there are other ways to come back to yourself.

And I’m following that.
Not with fanfare.
But with curiosity. And breath.
And just enough courage to book the appointment.