I’ve seen some pretty amazing things in my years as a chiropractor.
I’ve seen people regain their eyesight after an adjustment. I’ve had people carried into my office who left walking.
Things that still amaze me.
I consider it an incredible privilege to be able to participate in someone’s healing.
And after all these years, I still believe chiropractic can create miracles.
But here’s something that might surprise you.
I’m still looking for something better.
Not because I don’t believe in chiropractic. Quite the opposite. I believe in it so much that I want to keep discovering what else is possible.
That’s part of what led me to develop my own technique, DeFT, and my own way of doing things.
Sometimes getting better at what we do requires questioning what we’ve been taught. And frankly, our profession has enough dogma to keep us busy for a while.
I’ve never been particularly interested in doing something a certain way just because that’s the way chiropractors are supposed to do it.
I want to know what works.
And more importantly, what serves the person in front of me.
The Person I See
One of the things I do when working with someone is visualize them as healthy, vibrant, and whole.
I don’t care what condition they’ve come in with. That’s how I choose to see them.
I believe that the mindset I bring to the table matters. In fact, as much as I love the technique I’ve developed, I believe mindset plays an enormous role in the healing process.
And yes, I believe visualization itself can influence physical healing.
That’s my belief, based on what I’ve experienced over the years. I’m not suggesting that every remarkable result I’ve witnessed proves what caused it.
But visualization has become an important part of how I work.
Now, here’s where I occasionally get myself into trouble.
While I’m sitting there visualizing this wonderfully healthy, vibrant person, they’re busy telling me everything that’s wrong with them.
Everything they can’t do.
Everything they’ve been told they’ll never be able to do.
Every limitation they have.
And sometimes I get a little testy.
“Okay, that’s it. Lie down and let’s get to work.”
I’ve even been known to say, “Stop talking.”
Probably not something they’re teaching in patient communication seminars.
But there’s a reason I do it.
I don’t want to get sucked into their picture of themselves.
If I start seeing them as sick, limited, and broken, I’ve lost the picture I was holding of them as healthy and whole.
And I believe that matters.
But lately I’ve been wondering about something.
What if, in trying so hard to see someone as healthy, I’m not always hearing what they’re trying to tell me?
I Can’t Care More About Your Health Than You Do
There’s something I’ve said to patients over the years.
“I can’t care more about your health than you do.”
And I mean it.
I can give you my knowledge, my experience, my time, and my best effort. I can work with you financially because I don’t believe money should be the reason someone goes without the care they need.
But I can’t do your part for you.
I can’t make you follow through.
I can’t make you change habits that aren’t serving you.
And I certainly can’t make you want something you don’t want for yourself.
Now, I’ll admit something.
I get frustrated.
Really frustrated.
When I see someone who I believe could be doing so much better, but they don’t seem willing to participate in getting there, it bothers me.
Sometimes they’ll eventually stop coming. Sometimes I’ll refer them to another provider because I recognize that perhaps someone else can help them better.
And that’s okay.
At least, intellectually I know it’s okay.
Emotionally, I don’t always find it quite so easy.
Because I want them to get better.
And sometimes I want it so badly that I forget something important.
It’s their life.
Not mine.
What If They’re Afraid?
There’s a difference between someone who doesn’t want to change and someone who’s afraid to change.
And I haven’t always been particularly good at recognizing that difference.
Sometimes people genuinely don’t realize how their thinking might be contributing to their unhappiness.
Other times, I suspect they know something needs to change, but they’re afraid of what that change might mean.
And when you point it out, they can get angry.
I’ve noticed that.
Nobody particularly enjoys being reminded of something they’re afraid of.
But I’ve also noticed something about myself.
When I recognize that fear might be behind someone’s resistance, I soften.
I become more compassionate.
Suddenly I’m not looking at someone who’s just being stubborn or refusing to help themselves.
I’m looking at someone who may have a very good reason, at least in their own mind, for holding on to what they know.
Even when what they know is making them miserable.
And that changes how I approach them.
Sometimes I’ll do some emotional work with them to see if we can uncover what’s behind the fear.
What’s the resistance?
What do they believe might happen if they change?
What are they afraid of losing?
Because sometimes the very thing someone wants to let go of is also something that makes them feel safe.
And telling them to just change isn’t necessarily going to accomplish much.
Of course, not every difficulty or symptom has an emotional explanation. And someone struggling to follow through isn’t automatically choosing to remain unwell.
But when fear does seem to be part of the picture, understanding it can make a difference in how we work together.
Maybe I’m the One Trying Too Hard
Here’s where this gets interesting.
I spend a lot of time thinking about the mindset of the person I’m working with.
What they’re thinking.
What they’re believing.
What limitations they’re placing on themselves.
But what about my mindset?
What happens when I become frustrated because they aren’t changing fast enough?
What happens when I get so attached to seeing them as healthy and whole that I become impatient with the person who’s actually sitting in front of me?
Am I still being present?
Or am I so focused on where I want them to be that I’m no longer paying attention to where they are?
That’s an uncomfortable question.
Especially for someone who has spent years developing techniques and looking for better ways to help people.
Because there’s a difference between being committed to helping someone and being attached to the outcome.
I can visualize someone as healthy and whole without dismissing the pain they’re experiencing today.
I can believe in their possibilities without pretending their limitations aren’t real.
And I can want someone to get better without making their progress a measure of my own worth as a healer.
That’s easier to write than it is to practice, by the way.
The Healer’s Own Resistance
There’s another irony here.
I can become frustrated when someone resists change.
But what if I’m resisting something myself?
What if I’m resisting the possibility that this person isn’t ready?
What if I’m resisting the possibility that my favorite technique isn’t what they need?
What if I’m resisting the idea that I don’t have to be the one who gets them better?
I’ve spent years trying to become a better healer.
Learning new techniques. Developing my own approach. Questioning the dogma of our profession.
And I intend to keep doing that.
But perhaps becoming a better healer isn’t always about learning another technique.
Sometimes it might mean becoming more aware of what I’m bringing into the room.
My expectations.
My frustrations.
My need to see a result.
My desire to help.
Even my belief that I know what’s possible for someone.
Because as wonderful as those intentions might be, they can still get in the way if I’m not paying attention.
Getting Out of the Way
I don’t intend to stop visualizing people as healthy, vibrant, and whole.
I still believe in that.
And I certainly don’t intend to stop looking for better ways to help the people who come to me.
But I’m beginning to appreciate something else.
Sometimes the person in front of me doesn’t need another push.
Sometimes they need to be heard.
Sometimes they need someone to recognize that they’re afraid.
And sometimes I need to recognize that my frustration isn’t helping either of us.
Maybe being present means holding on to the possibility of someone being well while letting go of my insistence that they get there on my timetable.
Maybe I can see them as whole and still listen to everything they’re going through.
Maybe I can care deeply without trying to carry their responsibility for them.
And maybe the next time I feel like telling someone to stop talking and lie down, I should consider whether there’s something I need to hear first.
I’m not promising I’ll never say it again.
Let’s not get carried away.
But perhaps the next step in becoming a better healer isn’t always about doing more.
Maybe sometimes it’s about getting myself out of the way.
Live Long and Prosper,
-Dan
I’ve spent years writing, teaching, questioning what I thought I knew, and sharing what I’ve learned about healing, intuition, and life along the way.
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Dan