Be your own cheerleader!

Last night there was a monumental event in our home. My daughter, ate something she had never tried before. This might be a regular event at your place, or you may also have the challenge of a fussy eater who balks at the sight of anything squishy, green or jiggly. I understand completely, I have yet to get over my fear of beetroot.

The best part was, just as I was videoing the attempt, with her sister and I encouraging her, I heard her say to herself “I’ve got this!” before she popped the spaghetti bolognaise into her mouth and swallowed.

I was there waiting with the spittoon, a little bowl in case she spat it back out. I was prepared.  The half chewed morsel often goes back onto the plate, meaning no one will touch it. She is sensitive. For her, some foods can be too slippery, soggy or like tuna, too smelly. Every day I throw out food, (and yes every time, I think of the poor children in Africa). Eating one meal as a family doesn’t really happen for us. So this was a major celebration with cheering and high fives all round. Now we can all eat spaghetti bolognaise, which is brilliant, as it’s close to the only thing I can make. I have tried sternly suggesting she eat other meals, but she is stubborn, she would rather not eat at all. Then, I feel like a terrible parent. I have offered money, bribes and chocolate with little result. I filmed this moment as her father was stuck in a meeting and I knew he would be impressed if she could eat a family staple.

Later, she told me that it wasn’t as good as we were all making out. It wasn’t my best effort, I agree. I told her next time if we are all lucky, Daddy might make it. She was pleased.

I think the only reason she managed to eat it was because she cheered herself on, psyched herself up and completely backed herself, to have the courage to face it. Mind you, it’s not mince she has a problem with as she manages to smash a cheeseburger in under a minute. It has become more of a habit now, to stay with the familiar, the known, the safe. Safe is fairly limited to mac and cheese, homemade pizza, bacon or fish, the occasional carrot, yogurt, an apple, a cucumber.

I’m thrilled she is now stepping out, supporting herself and becoming her own cheerleader. I love the phrase “You’ve got this!” I love hearing it from people who are cheering me on, I like saying it quietly to myself when I have to drive along a highway in a semi-trailer sandwich, or make a difficult phone call or face a work challenge. I love how we can be our own cheerleaders.

I think about my personal cheer squad, I can see them in my head, my close friends who say things like this to me all the time. Even though sometimes I shrug it off or it’s hard to believe, these are the words I say to myself as well. “You are awesome!” “I believe in you!” and “ You’ve got this!” These words are the words I say to my friends, or text, or iMessage. I have a local and international cheer squad I call on. Everyone needs a cheer squad. There are moments when I have to talk myself up, when I am anxious, catastrophising, or I am afraid. The moment when I feel like it would be easier to chicken out and do nothing instead.

Yesterday, I emailed a manager I worked with over a decade ago. I was hoping he might have some insight into a business idea I had. He replied to the email with his mobile number and suggested I call to discuss. Immediately I was nervous and felt like I was about 10 years old. It took enough courage for me to email him and I was sort of hoping he would email me back. I prefer email as I feel more in control. It gives me time to format my thoughts. I can delete things, use a more impressive word after I read it over, and not get all verbally jumbled up.

With the phone, I am unpredictable. Words just come out of my mouth. I left a garbled message like “Oh hi, it’s me – Rachel Wilkinson, well Britton, that was my name last time, so, alright, I’m just calling to talk about the thing we emailed about and um, if you can call me back, we can talk some more, about the idea I had, about the thing, this is my number, which you probably already have because I’m calling from it (maniac laughter) and um. Right – speak soon.” Then I said my name, like it was an email.  So I felt even more of an idiot. So many times, I wish I could erase my voicemail messages. I was walking around the kitchen berating myself, feeling inadequate, thinking about what he might think, when he called. I took a moment, looking at his name which I had added to my phone not five minutes ago. I breathed, and said to myself “You’ve got this” and took the call. I knew if I didn’t take the call, I would miss out on his wisdom and experience.

“Who is this?” he said, after I greeted him, my imaginary cheer leaders gathering into formation in the back ground. I told him and he said “ I never check my voice messages.”  Relief swamped me. We spoke about the idea, he told me it had merit, then said he was about to walk into a long meeting and he would call me in a few days. More relief.  Cheer squad starts to shake around their pom poms. He doesn’t know what a dickhead I am.

Then I realised I am my own worst enemy. I understood, that as much as I talk myself up when I need to, I am very quick to talk myself down at every other opportunity. I know every time I am thrashing out the last two minutes on the tread-mill, I am saying  things like “You’ve got this, you can do it, just 120 seconds now.” I am also the one lying in bed saying “ Ah screw exercise, who has energy for that stuff, I need sleep.”  I am a pretty good critic as well. I can now see I am the other team booing and hissing, I am not on my own team at all.

So today – I am imagining my cheer leaders, my brave friend in Canada facing her own trials every day, my sister in Minnesota and another in London who support me and cheer me on, my own family, and my adopted family. I am lining them up into formation, I am dressing them in red, white and blue cheer-leader outfits and getting them to pyramid for me. It’s those I am calling on every day in my mind, not the critics, not the 10 year old me. I will stand at the front and start the call “ Give me a Y” because we all need to tell ourselves, “You’ve got this!” Even if  you are on the treadmill, facing a big challenge or hovering over a plateful of slimy greens.  You are brave. You are awesome. You’ve got this.

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I am an acorn seller

My daughter has recently discovered the word tempting. A week after Easter, when she had happily chowed down on a multitude of Easter eggs she found mine in the fridge perfectly whole, golden and shining. She wanted it. I asked her why. She said “It’s tempting”. So I told her just because it’s tempting doesn’t mean it’s yours to take. I thought about things that tempt me. Time alone, a brand new book, going to bed at 8pm, watching back to back episodes of Game of Thrones, wine, a new dress, oooh and a knee high pair of red cowboy boots I found on line that keep following me around on websites and popping up in my ad feed. I am lecturing her suddenly on all the things I need to hear. “Just because it is there, doesn’t mean it’s yours, this is a lesson for you  in self-control.” I close the fridge and breathe out slowly. It’s Wednesday morning and I spied the half bottle of wine.

My sister messaged me about an issue and I text her back with some ideas I have about the path of discovery she is on. I can’t help myself, I tell her about life and loss and happiness and growth and send her some links to websites where she can find out more about the topic we were discussing. I suddenly want to share all my learning experiences with everyone. I send her a link on love and then realise that I should have read it as well as there are some things in there for me that I need to pay attention to. Everything is coming to me to teach me something. Nothing is said in isolation, nothing is brought to me without a reason. I know this. Sometimes it looks like a complete puzzle or shitfight or frustration and as I slowly untangle it I realise that maybe this lesson was about time, or slowing down or really considering an issue before diving in unaware. Sometimes it takes me weeks to work out. Then the light bulb moment happens. Oh that challenge was to test me, oh the reason for the internet being down for three weeks was so that I could reconnect with my kids, unplugged. Well, that and lose my shit at Telstra which resulted in them giving me four movie tickets to reconnect with my family, again. Underscored. Hello? Message delivered and received. Three weeks later.

I’m watching it all in amazement. I’m listening to myself say things like “I just want to feel supported and loved.”  Then I’m back in my course surrounded by all my wonderful counselling students and my children give me random hugs and drawings and even though my husband still goes away a lot I get what I want from that too – precious time alone, to write, to study, to be, to answer texts, to email friends, to connect and help others along the way and practice counselling.

So if you do get a text from me or an email or a message on FB which is completely bizarre, it’s me trying to work it all out, trying to make sense of life and learning and pain and love and joy. I message my sister a lot of this stuff and website links and then I message her again and say “ How are you? Sorry about all the stuff, but you know I am a counselling student. “ I love predictive text. I never notice it, edit or review it before I send. I am so rushed I press send before preview. Some of my favourites have been “Obama running late” sent in a traffic jam. When I told my little sister in London I missed her voice she messaged me to tell me she now sounds like “Julia Minibus” which was supposed to be Kylie Minogue, but Julia Minibus is so much better. So I tell my older sister “I’m sorry but this is what you get from a counselling student” counselling student came out as “an acorn seller”. So there I am. An acorn seller. Not as large as I think I am and obviously, a lesson in humility. If I am an acorn seller, you get the gift of a potential tree. It’s yours to cultivate. It’s not mine. You get to plant it, water it and later you can phone me to come over and I will sit under it with you, and we can share a bottle of wine marvelling at how great you are. Sigh.

I am in training, I am loving these gifts arriving at my doorstep in the form of temptation, acceptance, loneliness, friendships, disconnect and connect. As my super-evolved friend Jasmine prompted me on the weekend as we lined up for vegetarian lasagne and some kind of revitalising juice, “What lesson is this person bringing to your life?” Then I see it. Loud and clear. The question just needed to be asked, gently and with support. So then I cry in a café in Rosalie in front of the waitress and the dog-walkers and the vegemite smeared babies and the paper readers and the café latte set. But I’m okay about it – I’m learning some big stuff and every time I let a bit of the old sadness leak out, I open my arms to embrace new joy.

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Hormones – 6 ways massage can keep you calm

Hormones can be a wonderful thing and a terror. On one hand they signify the arrival of a new phase in life, where the body transitions into something new, and on the other hand the screaming, crying, throwing things part can be a bit terrifying.

I now pity my mother who went through menopause with three teenage daughters and a small child. We threw insults and hairbrushes with equal abandon. There were lots of shouty conversations, slammed doors and tears.

Moodiness and hormones are associated with pregnancy and menopause, but these are  not only restricted to the female of the species. Men express their anger physically, verbally and can also withdraw, internalise feelings and suppress emotions. What can happen when emotional stress is not released is that it resides in the body, manifesting as pain or illness. This not only impacts the individual but has a knock-on effect to family and friends.

We don’t want negative or stressful emotions to get trapped  – getting it out in some way or another is the best thing you can do. You can choose to paint, write, journal, potter in the garden, do some lounge room dancing, exercise, go for a walk on the beach, belt out ballads to the radio in the car, or get a massage.

These are the some of the hormones released by massage and this is why you want them:

  1. Dopamine – increased levels of this baby make you feel good and bouncy and want to dance. For me, but for you they make you feel calm, happy and sublime.
  2. Serotonin – balances the mood, assists with sleep and is helpful for depression.
  3. Endorphins – these guys reduce your pain receptors, so are helpful if you are experiencing inflammation or get headaches.
  4. Dopamine – this calms the nervous system and encourages joy and enthusiasm. I get this also when I buy shoes. Woo hoo!
  5. Oxytocin – helps with tissue repair and healing and also assists with sleep.
  6. Cortisol – we want this one to back right off, massage helps with that, Cortisol is a stress hormone, so the less of this the better.

If you have a shouty teenager in your life, a moody partner or even a headachy or pregnant friend, massage is always a good place to start. It will release a bunch of calming hormones which will assist with balancing mood, enhancing sleep and calm the farm in general.

Rachel Wilkinson is a massage therapist, a counsellor and a reiki practitioner. She operates from Step into Health, 1/69 Secam St, Mansfield Park, Brisbane. She sometimes gets shouty, moody and withdrawn and takes herself off for a massage. Her website is https://www.rachelwilkinson.com.au/ Email for appointments on info@rachelwilkinson.com.au

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The holding place

I’ve spent a lot of my life going through change. Before I turned 27, I had traipsed through some nine towns and cities in Australia. I’d worked in London, studied in Central America and volunteered in Africa. Last count I had packed up and moved to and from 27 homes and held 16 jobs, including part-time and university jobs. I have jumped into and stormed out of multiple relationships and met and lost many friends. I should be better at it. Facing the loss of identity, status, the grief of the ending part, the idealistic hope of the new.

I’m not. I suck at it. Every time it happens I find myself reeling, grief stricken and panicked and not knowing where to start or who to shout at first.

I text my psychic friend. This has happened, just like you said it would. On the day you told me it would. Change is marvellous!  You are going to be amazing. he texts back. “Yes until it fucking happens to you!” I shout text. His reply is almost predictable “oh yes, I hate change it freaks the heck out of me. I see the Facebook posts on others pages, read the wisdom and insight and quotes and hallmark freaking memes and I just feel gutted. Screwed over.  I wasn’t ready. No one is ever ready for change. The hallmark quotes appear in my social media feeds. The universe gives us what we ask for. I decide to meditate the fuck out of this change situation.

I do. I meditate twice a day, morning and night. I lie on my massage table with the headphones on, ignoring the pleas for food from my small children and I face it. I listen to the woman tell me that change is part of life and part of nature and the world and the seasons and I still scream into the fridge when I get to work – why is there always skim fucking milk here ? Where is the full cream milk? Is EVERYBODY on a fucking diet here? And I realise that the meditation is making me more sensitive and the friend that walks into my office when I have tears in my eyes wants to know if I’m ok and I can’t say anything. I tell her I hit my head on my doorknob, which I did, because I dropped my coffee pod then stood up too quickly under the doorknob and near concussed myself. I blink through the tears and she knows it is something else but I can’t say.

A wise friend looked at me one and said “ It’s just change” and she seemed so mellow and relaxed with it and my mind was going 100 miles an hour with the buts and what ifs and oh my god how will I cope?

I remember I am a therapist and my job is to guide people through life changes and transitions and why am I so shit at this? I know all that strategies and techniques and the meditation and the tapping and the breathing and the respond not react and the manifesting and the journaling and I remind myself I am good at lists and organising and writing and then I breathe and make another coffee in order to focus. I know I am challenged everyday in order to become a better human. I know these situations are sent to me to learn from. I would rather read the book thanks. Change and how to cope. I am better with the reading than the doing, going through part. Can’t I just read this? Do I have to actually do it? Fuck.

So I breathe and think and plan and drink more coffee and write lists and email myself and try not to eat too much cake and sugar. Whenever I decide to eat more real food, or clean food, or just food without a packet, my ability to find chocolate and lollies and biscuits and cake is phenomenal, it is like I am a magnet for sugar. I start adding sugar to my coffee for the first time in years, I need the energy for all the thinking and coping I am doing. I get fat. Then I worry about how fat I’m getting, then I make more rules and break them and I’m stressed and tired and not eating and I’m just a cow to my kids and husband and I hate everyone.

I get acupuncture and I sob. I used to feel like acupuncture was a great way to relieve stress like pricking a sausage and all the fat hisses out. I sob. I realise I am mascara-ing all over her white towels when I open my eyes I see big fat tears fall to the lino and then the snot comes in strings, I can’t breathe properly when I ask her for a tissue and she must think it’s pretty weird that I came in for shoulder pain and I am sobbing like a heart break.  She tells me that grief can manifest into shoulder pain. To me it feels like grief.

I understand that change is an opportunity that I choose to wrap up in fear because it is unknown. My guided meditation lady tells me for the 45th time that the unknown is just waiting to be known and it finally sinks in. What am I afraid of? If I manifest a catastrophe and it isn’t that, I feel better right? If I imagine I will be bankrupt and living in a caravan and then I’m not, life is good!  I realise it’s not really change I fear but it is the stepping away from the known. The routine, the 6am wake up, walk around the block, greeting my neighbours, patting dogs, feeding my kids, making lunches, getting dressed, putting on makeup, driving the same way to work every day and doing the same thing over and over. The familiar. The known.

I like being in control. I make spreadsheets when I go on holidays. I list all the hotel numbers and add weblinks for activities and flight numbers and times and dates and suggested itineries. I leave nothing to chance. It is the out of control and chaos that unravels me. When we had our kitchen removed and replaced last month, I was very unsettled. Not being able to immediately find things disturbed me. I thought I was organised and had planned it well but as the days became weeks and the saucepans were in my study and the rice cooker in the bookshelf I became very discombobulated. Combined with the work change and the comfort eating, it was a bumpy ride.

I realise I like comfort. I like order. I like predictability and with this comes the desire to protect it at all costs. I have many friends who ride out the storms of life, who are flexible, spontaneous, open hearted and accepting. I remember running into an old boyfriends’ brother at central station and he was holding his toothbrush and a book. I asked him what he was up to and he said he was going to the mountains for the weekend. I almost had a conniption. My mind automatically started the what ifs…he jumped on the train and waved. I so wanted to be like him but I’m just not programmed like that.

I did once backpack around the world with one pair of togs and one pair of boots and a yoga mat but that was about cost effectiveness. Now when I have a suitcase I am likely to take six pairs of swimmers, just in case. You never know and it’s best to be prepared. Things can change, weather, plans.

For what is change but shedding the old? I get such comfort from predictable. I look at my house decorated in the colours of a Mexican cantina, stuffed full of memories and photos and books, and my wardrobe sagging with clothes I hold on to because that was our first date skirt, and that was the dress I wore to her baptism and that was the top I bought on the Airlie holiday and I hold tight to all the sentiment wrapped up in it all. But its transient and it is not permanent and it slips through my fingers because it is just a moment, it is not life. Life happens around all the stuff.

The thing about change is that more often than not, we can’t plan for it. I can’t plot or write or make a list or spreadsheet it until it happens. I never know what it will be. Most of the time it is a shock and we are then in the holding place watching as it all plays out.

When unexpected change happened to me in the past, I faced it with a drink, the bravado of booze, the stoicism of vodka. I used to go with my friends to a bar to get over him, sink my severance check in a tavern playing pool, find the nearest local and wait for the next train.

So far change hasn’t killed me. So now I think, I write, I meditate, I breathe, I drink coffee, I think about my next move. After all, it’s only change.

This has been reposted from about 12 months ago from my blog site  – There are lots of other blogs there and some are a little bit sweary, In case

 

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Tantyville on Jacob

I’m sprinting up the street chasing my child, who is running away from home. I have bare feet, no bra on and I’m wearing my PJs. This outfit is so far from active wear. It’s inactive wear, lying on the lounge wear, not sprint wear.  The shorts have teal lace around the cuffs and matching coloured lace at the neckline. It’s 5.30 in the afternoon, my daughter has run away from home as a mini peak hour trails down our street, watching me, the maniac, bra-less mother sprinting up-hill after her crying nine year old. Just a normal day in the ‘burbs, really.

I broke a promise. She railed, screamed and cried, I stuck to my guns because of botulism and she didn’t understand. All she understood was that I had promised her pizza and now it wasn’t happening. After explaining patiently that Daddy didn’t know about the deal, he had been away, come home and defrosted chicken for dinner and that’s how it has to be. I had food poisoning from undercooked chicken once. My experience resulted in having to poo in a cup for the doctor, a fortnight off work, and passing out on the tube. It was all too risky and complicated. You can’t mess with chicken. I was not going to risk full scale chicken plague, vomiting and pooing in cups for the sake of one crying child. So I cancelled the deal, broke the promise and her heart and she decided to run away from home.

First she hid in the house, quite well in fact, when I did find her, she was camouflaged near a large unicorn head in her bedroom like ET. She shrieked and dashed to the front door. I may have helped her quest a little by calling her bluff, unlocking the door and telling her if she wanted to run away, go right ahead. She did. I watched her zoom around the corner and hide behind the neighbour’s hedge.

I stood at the door for a while, unconcerned for her safety until she crossed the road and slunk up towards the adjacent street. When I saw that, I left the house and raced after her, she already had quite a head start on me. That’s when it turned into a barefoot bra-less sprint. It wasn’t pretty. Every now and again she turned on me and  and abused me, telling me I was unfair and I never think about what she wants, and it’s always about me, and she was right. I finally had to stop and agree with her. We continued to throw shouty words at each other for a bit.

I agreed it was unfair of me to break a promise and I didn’t want to do it and I was sorry.  I then made another promise which I knew I could keep. On the weekend when she had a planned sleepover with a friend I would buy pizza from her favourite shop. I explained that sometimes adults had their reasons for things and it was complicated. She didn’t care. In her eyes I was still a meanie and a bad mother because I broke a promise.

I sighed, turned around and told her I didn’t want to chase her anymore. I was out of breath, wearing insufficient and unsupportive clothing and you know, there were people in their cars, watching us. Like they’d never seen anything so fascinating. This is as good as it gets people, reality TV out on the street. Tantyville on Jacob, tune in any night of the week.

As I turned towards home, she ran after me and that’s when I cracked open. I realised she is such a little person and she needs me. Even though she wants to hate me and run away, she can’t. At least not for another seven or eight years. So I scooped her up, put her on my back and we trundled home, with her reading me the riot act loudly in my left ear.

Here are some reasons I found on another mum’s blog site where she lists why it’s not a great idea to break a promise. Sandra W – if you are reading this, your daughter told me you promised her a dog if she won the cross country. That’s a big promise. Here is why your daughter gets a dog.

5 reasons to keep your promises with kids – extract from a blog by Dana Hall McCain

  • Keeping promises shows kids they can trust you
  • Keeping promises tells kids they are important
  • Keeping promises models integrity
  • Keeping promises builds respect
  • Keeping promises teaches them how to have good relationships

The thing with kids is they remember stuff. They remember the bad stuff, the times when it didn’t really go all that well, the times we lose our temper and say things we can’t take back, the hurtful things we do as adults because sometimes we are stressed, tired, in pain, sick or just need a break. Whether it is a bike ride, a day out, a movie or a pizza, it is better to stick to your promises, trust me it will end in tears.

Rachel Wilkinson is a counsellor, massage therapist, reiki practitioner and blogger, although she has done parenting courses and read a lot of books about kids, there are some situations which you cannot for the life of you even imagine.

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What is Reiki and how woo-woo is it?

Reiki (pronounced Ray-key)  is a method of healing which works by balancing the body’s energy system. It originated in Japan and was taken back to the wider world by an American woman who was trained in the 1930s. The word Reiki is made of two Japanese words – Rei which means Wisdom or Higher Power and Ki which is life force energy. So Reiki is actually spiritually guided life force energy. It isn’t a new age hippy thing. You don’t need to burn sage, use crystals, tuning forks, or a singing bowl. You can if you want, and some people do, but everyone taps into Universal energy for the client’s healing, balance and deep rest.

Reiki works on the chakra system. The person giving the reiki puts hands on the person receiving, in the positions where the chakras are in the body. There are seven chakras, six in the body and one at the top of the head, called the crown chakra. The practitioner begins at the head, cupping the head with his or her hands and passing over the torso working the crown chakra, the third eye, the throat chakra, the heart chakra, the solar plexus chakra, the root chakra and  base chakra. These all have Indian names too but they are hard to pronounce and don’t impact on your treatment if you don’t know them.

There are some places where the practitioner will hover the hands over a spot, generally chest area for women and groin area for men. Just because that is polite. The energy still transfers and can be felt as a warm relaxing heat.

When you learn Reiki you become attuned by a Reiki Master, they trace their lineage to either Japanese, Thai, Chinese, Tibetan, Indian or somewhere else depending on the system they follow. I learned from a German couple in Sydney who studied a Japanese technique. Call it what you want, it’s all the same -universal energy. There is also a form of energy healing practiced in some churches, called hands on healing. Whatever you call it – you are using universal energy to balance, energise, relax and often heal the person.

What is a session like?

Reiki sessions are often like the personalities of the people who deliver it. They can be diverse and varied. All I can tell you, is what my sessions are like. My first ever reiki experience was with a Dutch Naturopath in Sydney who learned her technique from an American Indian Shaman. It was complicated. She burned sage in a mother of pearl shell, swooped over me with a huge eagle’s feather to clear my energy, danced around my head with a tuning fork which freaked the hell out of me and also beat a handmade drum. Weird. I couldn’t relax because I had an eye pillow on, I had  crystals on my forehead and body so I couldn’t see  anything and had no idea what she was going to do next. There was no re-booking or follow up session for me. Sometimes you discover what you like by first working out what you don’t like.

I generally dim the lights or put the salt lamp on, lay you on a massage table and cover you with a light cloth in case you get cold. We begin with hand placement, and may talk or not, depending on your needs. I play music, some people fall asleep, or become really relaxed and have a deep, peaceful rest. Some people use crystals to increase the energy vibration, I find that my clients may take a deep breath, the crystals fall off and they then panic or think that it won’t work. I prefer less distractions. I will have crystals in the room somewhere, but it is more the acceptance of the treatment and the intent of the practitioner which allows the energy flow and healing, not the added bits.

Normally a reiki session takes up to an hour, but sometimes can be longer. Often I incorporate some reiki into a massage, if I feel the person needs it. Yesterday I incorporated reiki into a counselling session as we needed to physically shift some old thoughts and emotions. It can be a nice thing to blend or add to sessions. I have dogs who come running to me after I pat them and they feel the reiki energy from my hands. They remember.

So there you have it, not so much woo-woo, just a Japanese practice of energy balance. Reiki can be restful, restorative and healing. If you want it blended up with a bit more woo-woo, just ask.  I can dig out a Tibetan chanting CD somewhere from back in the 90s and I’m sure my neighbour would let me borrow her Tibetan singing bowl. Let me know, mostly people are happy just to lie down in the semi darkness with some relaxing music and have a rest, whatever you want to call it, that is a nice enough thing in itself.

Rachel Wilkinson is a Holistic Counsellor, Massage Therapist, Reiki and Energy worker. She has been practicing reiki on herself, family, friends, clients and Jasper the Cavoodle for a number of years.

Rachel works on Monday, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday by appointment at Wellington Point. To make an appointment text 0402 329 259 or email info@rachelwilkinson.com.au.

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