On back-ache, and conversations with the mirror...

Most of the time, I feel quite young.

(Well, not quite 44 - not yet - at any rate)

I look in the mirror and it agrees.

(Always providing I ask it's opinion before my contact lenses go in and after the shower has misted it's surface, that is).

Sometimes, I'm asked my age by strangers.

And I wonder if it's a random act of kindness when they act surprised as I tell them truth.

Othertimes - like today, when I'm inching my way slowly to the car - I feel less young.

(And yet again, the mirror agrees - the turncoat)

I collect my children from school and even hefting an empty rucksack onto my shoulder is an effort.

I wonder then how I ever thought I might look less than my age.

So then I look for help.

This time, it comes in the form of a combined reiki and Alexander technique session from a friend.

(Should I worry she's not a formal practitioner? The mirror has no answer on this one).

I lie on the carpet as she hums and ha's, stretches my recalcitrent limbs, and moves my energy around.

(All the time wondering, 'Am I really buying into this hocus pocus?)

Apparently, I am carrying a lot of tension.

(You don't say.)

But slowly I start to visualise the toxic stress seeping out of me.

In my mind it looks like black ink, swirling through the air like water, dissipating into nothingness as it reluctantly leaves my tensed-up muscles.

I still hurt.

But I thank my friend for her efforts, leave her house, and hobble painfully towards the car, the school run, bathtime and bed.

(All the time still wondering, 'Am I really buying into this hocus pocus?)

I lie in bed for long minutes before sleep takes me, aching. Is it less? I can't tell.

And yet, when I wake up, I feel better.

(And the mirror thinks so, too.)