Letting Myself Ramble

Woman crying with hand on chest - using this to ramble about grief

Have you ever wept openly for a stranger before?

In the privacy of my car as I drove back home today, I did just this, shortly after I received an email from a blogger I followed with the announcement of her death. The announcement was made from her husband. His words were laced with grief. And there inside my car, listening to the saddest song, I surprised myself by shuddering with tears, as if she had been a close friend. A family member, even.

“How do I know what I think until I see what I write?”

This quote by Flannery O’Connor was offered up as a writing prompt earlier this morning by my writer friend who runs a virtual online writing circle that I am happily a part of. Today we talked about allowing yourself to ramble on the page. Many times, she said, people will apologize mid-sentence: “Sorry for rambling,” they’ll say. “But rambling,” she reminded us, “is the shuffle between your heart and your mind. This is how your true authentic voice comes out.” So here I am practicing the art of rambling. Here I am being authentically me. Trying to figure out what I think as I write this out, faced with layers upon layers of grief.

This stranger who died had lost her four year battle to cancer. Even after two remissions. It hit me on so many levels. The bright hopeful faces of the happy young couple in photos throughout her blog. The sense of humor that emanated from her words, from her advice for others newly diagnosed or someone trying to help a loved one with cancer. (Please check out her blog as her husband is leaving it out there as a resource should anyone need it.) Even as she searched and landed a clinical trial, her words conveyed hope and joy for life. I didn’t always read all of her posts when they popped in my email in-box, but throughout the years, I popped in and out of this stranger’s life. I don’t even know how I came upon her blog. She had first gotten cancer in Dec 2015. My husband found out about his cancer only a year before, on November 7, 2014. It’s a date we both shall never forget, as it divided our lives into PRE-CANCER and POST-CANCER. Yet hearing this sad news of this beautiful stranger is a reminder that cancer is a beast. It’s ugly and it just might rear its head again. For anyone of us. What are the statistics again? “Globally, 1 in 6 will get cancer.”

This grief I felt was also coupled with the grief I have been carrying since this past October, when a good friend’s partner left this planet and his children through suicide. Sometimes I just sit and try to fathom the utmost despair he must have felt to have taken his own life. I mourn for his family left behind, trying to grapple with his very last actions. I worry that I’m not doing enough to help my friend, even as I grapple with my own mental health, taking care of it as if it is my most precious baby. Because what is life when you’re lost in debilitating depression?

The saddest song I was listening to in the car today as I wept for this stranger (who feels like a friend) was the same song I listened to after I learned of my friend’s partner’s suicide. It was playing in my headphones as I flew from Austin to San Francisco to stay with her, as my family emerged from the BART station to walk to the house where they once lived, where my son spent most of his summer this past year as we searched for an apartment in Austin. Our then 14-year-old boy had grown tired of living in a RV with only his parents in Mexico. He wanted to go to high school, not be unschooled, as we were doing, not big believers of the traditional education system. Over the years, at least a decade, we’d hear the father’s voice as my son and his sons played Minecraft together, his loving voice reminding them to eat dinner, to go to bed. His voice merged with that of his kids inside our RV the past year and a half when we lived full-time in it, having sold our house after my husband’s own cancer.

Then this memory merged with that of my sister’s friend, a young man who had once gone to the movies with us, a young Asian American vet. His meds were configured wrong that day when he killed himself and the women who worked in the VA home in California. My sister was distraught when she found out about his death, about the other deaths, what he had done. She, who has attempted suicide many times throughout my life, has never been the same again.

I had wept for strangers before, I realize as I ramble. I wept when Anthony Bourdain died, shortly after Kate Spade had taken her own life only days before.  I wept as if they were old friends, old relatives. Their suicide deaths motivated me to come out on Instagram about why I was using keto for bipolar disorder (type 2), not just for the prediabetes I often talked about, or how my husband had used it as an adjunctive therapy along with conventional treatment for his own cancer.

And here I ramble. I forget. Yet the threads of life, of other people’s lives, braid themselves along with your own. And a single song can gather this compounded grief, reminding you of all those lost, either through cancer or depression.

Yet we move forward. We ramble through life, trying to make meaning of it all when it often feels like nothing makes one iota of sense.


Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

Brainspotting — A Tool for Bliss and Calm

photo of brain - am using this for blog post about Brainspotting as a tool for bliss

Have you ever had one of those mornings when you awoke instantly overwhelmed?  That yet again, you had managed to transform every single thing you wanted and loved to do into a torturous task, an onerous obligation?

Well, I had one of those mornings today. The kind where I felt like a failure before I was even fully awake. But now, after talking to a friend who also happens to be a talented therapist, I feel as though the weight of the world is no longer on my shoulders like an anvil of despair. Instead I feel light, filled with possibilities, bliss — as though I just returned from a spa. And all I did was talk to my friend as I stared at the tip of my pen!

Last year, when I was living in a RV full-time with my family in Mexico, my friend and I decided to strike up a barter. Every week, we’d chat with each other over the phone or WhatsApp, either audio or video, and trade time with each other listening or helping. Because my background is in writing and editing, I helped my friend with some editing in her own personal creative writing, and because her training is as a professional therapist and life coach, she used whatever tools she had in her toolbox to help me when it was my turn. (Honestly, I feel like I got the better end of the bargain, but my friend says she also enjoys it when it’s her turn to chat with me, when she’d often ask me to press the “mute” button on my phone and simply listen to problems going on in her life without me actively interrupting her with my two cents — this has helped me grow immensely as a better listener, something I suck at, as someone often impatient, finishing other people’s sentences and anxious if I can’t hear myself speak to fill up the silence.)

Anyhow, today when it was my turn to chat with her about my problems and what’s been going on, she listened, then told me she had just returned from a Brainspotting training. (Immediately my mind went to a movie I loved, Trainspotting, with Ewan MacGregor). She said she’d like to try Brainspotting with me, if I didn’t mind. “Of course not,” I laughed with her. “I always enjoy being your guinea pig.” One of the best things about my friend and I is our propensity to laugh out loud while talking to each other. Her happy clients often comment on how her sense of humor employed during their time together can be so profoundly healing; I whole-heartedly agree.

After telling my friend about all the people and tasks overwhelming me, to the point of feeling like an absolute failure today, my friend told me that me feeling this way was probably connected to the emotional trauma and wounds from my childhood with an over-critical mother and lack of “attunement.” What the heck was that? “You know when you first gave birth to your son and your eyes locked together?” I nodded, remembering that time so long ago, back in the end of 2004, when I lovingly locked eyes with my baby. “That’s attunement,” she said. She told me that when agitated, I’m back in those feelings of not being attuned, telling me briefly about Brainspotting. Founded by David Grand, who discovered “Where you look affects how you feel,” brainspotting is a way to get you out of your thinking mind, your neo-cortex, and into your mammalian and emotional brain, the sub-cortex. From the website: “It is the brain activity, especially in the subcortical brain that organizes itself around that eye position.”

My friend had me think about the overwhelm I felt earlier this morning that was weighing me down like a heavy anvil. She asked about all the people I had named that I perceived were disappointed in me, were judging me. “So how does that feel in your body,” she asked.  I told her I felt it in my chest, heavy the shame and despair, my own disappointment in myself for not being able to get back to people, to get stuff done, including my own personal creative writing projects.

“On a scale of 0 to 10, how activated or agitated are you?” she asked.

“About a ‘8,’” I said.

She had me put one hand on my chest where I felt the heaviness of disappointment and agitation and then had me close my eyes to do a bodyscan to look for a point in my body that felt calm and neutral. I found it in the middle of my back.

She then instructed me to hold up a long-ish pen (I used a tall Tombow dual-brush purple pen), ideally a pointer like a teacher would use (I laughed and suggested a Harry Potter wand; I knew my kid had one somewhere we had bought him one year for Christmas).

Next she had me focus just on the top tip of the pen. Then I was to move it along the x-axis, first left. Then middle. Then to the right. All this time I stared at the tip, that point. She had me compare which point felt the most calm. I discovered it was in the middle.

She then had me just stare at the tip of my pen I held up in front of me in the middle, the tip of my pen at eye-level, feeling the calm. Then she had me move the pen up and down, slowly. She said I did it too fast, so I moved the pen up and down the y-axis more gradually in front of me. She had me stop at a point where I felt the most calm. I found that when I moved the pen upwards, I felt surprisingly more calm. Now I stared at it, letting my body enjoy the sensation of utter calm. She didn’t talk. And neither did I. Soon I began to lose track of time.

She interrupted me to ask me, “On a scale of 0-10, how agitated or activated are you now?” I told her I was now at about a ‘3.’

Are you happy with the ‘3’? Or would you like to go down to ‘0’?

“Zero,” I laughed. “Of course. I mean, why not?”

So then she had me try it without the pen. I shut my eyes and she had me imagine that reference point, that spot that was similar, she said, to a dancer’s who uses a spot to twirl. I remembered taking a jazz/ballet class once as a teen and learning how to fixate my eyes at a spot in the distance as I spun my body, always returning my eyes to that particular spot. She said this was the same thing. Even with my eyes closed, I was to imagine that particular spot that made me feel calm.

Next she had me simultaneously focus on the calm spot on my back I had initially discovered earlier at the same time as I focused on the imagined spot of that pen in front of me. As I focused on both spots, I felt a tranquility wash over me like a cool mist. Again, I lost complete track of time, as if in a sublime trance. All my troubles disappeared. I actually forgot I was on a FaceTime video call with my friend until I heard her voice call my name!

“What the hell?” I marveled as I came back to reality. “I felt like I was at the spa. This is like magic!” She laughed and said this was powerful work, and she was happy she was able to try this out on me for the first time. To become certified in Brainspotting, she had to go through 50 clients.

“Well, now you have only 49 to go!” I told her and we laughed together. I told her I’d hunt for the perfect wand for her.

Before our call ended, she told me that this was something I could practice on my own. That I could even use this practice of spotting when talking to someone I feel nervous with, at a party or wherever. She said I could imagine the spot in front of me as I talk to that person. She said if interested, I could seek out a Brainspotting therapist near me. But this was something I could also do on my own. The next time I feel agitated, I could return back to this practice. These were her instructions:

How to Try Brainspotting on Your Own

  1. Rate from 0-10 how agitated or activated you are.
  2. Do a bodyscan and search for a point in body that’s calm and/or neutral. (This can be different each time you do this.)
  3. Use a wand/pointer/tall pen or pencil and move it along the x-axis — from left, then to middle, then to the right, keeping your eyes trained on that point the whole time. Decide which position on the x-axis you feel the most calm.
  4. Stare at that spot and wait until you’re calm.
  5. Rate your agitation/activation and gauge if you should repeat process (adding in the simultaneous focus on that calm spot in your body plus the spot in front of you). Or not. If you feel good, simply stop and enjoy the bliss!


Photo by Robina Weermeijer on Unsplash

The Case for Better Meat


As a conscious meat eater who eats meat for my mental and physical health, I can’t wait for this documentary, Sacred Cow, by Diana Rogers, to come out. In fact, you can donate to help fund the film, so more people can learn how to help our planet while also responsibly eating meat. Whatever your political inclinations, there’s absolutely no reason to feel ashamed for eating nutrient-dense meat!

Excerpt from website:

At our grocery stores and dinner tables, even the most thoughtful consumers are overwhelmed by the number of considerations to weigh when choosing what to eat—especially when it comes to meat. Guided by the noble principle of least harm, many responsible citizens resolve the ethical, environmental and nutritional conundrum by quitting meat entirely. But can a healthy, sustainable and conscientious food system exist without animals?

Sacred Cow probes the fundamental moral, environmental and nutritional quandaries we face in raising and eating animals. In this film, we focus our lens on the largest and perhaps most maligned of farmed animals, the cow.

Enjoy the Silence

Woman who meditates to enjoy the silence

Enjoy the Silence
It’s the name of one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands, Depeche Mode (a band that plays a prominent part in the plotting of my still-work-in-progress novel I’m currently revising).

But learning to “enjoy the silence” is also something I’ve grown to crave the older I get. More and more, I’m realizing that success in life has everything to do with how good you feel, and success for me is about feeling inner peace inside, to shut down the “fight or fight” sympathetic nervous system and to instead activate the portal to the parasympathetic (“rest and digest”) nervous system.

photo of asian woman enjoying the silence meditating
Photo by Le Minh Phuong on Unsplash


Below are some thoughts on enjoying the silence in your life — portals that transport you to a magic time that brings about relaxation, ease and bliss:

Many times in my life, I have tried to meditate. The first time I discovered meditation, I was in a yoga class at San Francisco State University. My teacher told us that yoga was a way to enter meditation, which we did as a class in the dark. As someone who is perpetually tense — toes tightly gripping the floor, calves pressed against the legs of my chair and stomach clenched in agony — meditation was the first time I experienced inner peace.

I had heard that practicing regularly can help make you more calm, more focused. After all, I dreamed of the day I’d finally be comfortable in my own skin. I was sick of drowning in my own negative thoughts. So I began to meditate more. With CDs, on my own, I read books my writing mentor gave me on Kundalini, a book by Jack Kornfield. I attended sits at spots in Marin County at Spirit Rock. POC sits in Oakland. Day-longs. Walking meditations. I signed up on a waiting list for a 10-day silent meditation retreat near Yosemite in Northern California but didn’t get in. I thought about signing up for TM, but it seemed too expensive. I began to use apps from Calm and Headspace and Shine. They were all amazing. But then I found Ziva. I had read Emily Fletcher’s book, watched a few of her videos, loved her soothing-like-honey voice, so decided to give her online course a shot, on how to cultivate a regular daily meditation practice. I liked the part about actually including manifesting into the meditation, along with breath work and mindfulness, for cognitive performance. Now, since May of 2019,  I’ve been meditating for about 20 min almost daily, and for a while there, I was meditating twice a day. It’s made such a difference in my mood and sleep, as well as anxiety around to-dos and people. Since we moved from living full-time in the RV to an apartment, I’ve fallen off the wagon and just meditate mostly once a day, first thing when I wake up. My goal this year is to meditate twice again, to fit that second meditation into my afternoons. I did it yesterday and really feel the difference today. I may look into a group meditation place in Austin…

NADA (aka AcuDetox)

Yesterday I sat in a large circle of strangers and shut my eyes, patiently awaiting the needles in my ears. he first time I did it, I was nervous. I didn’t like needles and I didn’t like pain. But the needles are so tiny, thinner than thumbtacks, and as the volunteer from the graduate school of integral medicine in the acupuncture school gently inserted paper-thin acupuncture needles into both ears, I felt a buzz of bliss. The NADA protocol (ear acupuncture) is a non-verbal approach to healing emotional trauma, as well as addiction. It was even used with healing children after the disaster that was the Nepal earthquake.

Early Morning Solitude
There is something about being awake in the morning surrounded by darkness that feels so healing. With no one around, no chatter around you, this solitude wraps you up like a warm blanket, comforting your nerves, your mind. It’s almost 7am CT here in Austin, TX, but it is still dark outside. Of course, I can see cars with their headlights blaring whiz by outside the windows, where I sit and write. But there is no one within proximity. No one awake. My kid is still sleeping. Soon, I’ll make coffee and breakfast for him. But for now, I bathe in this healing solitude, parked in front of my laptop, breathing in sheer ease.

I am realizing I’m actually most energized in the morning, actually enjoy the quiet mornings when I wake up early. The other morning I awoke at 4am to drive my friend who was visiting me to the airport. After dropping her off, I decided to drive myself to a 24-hour diner (Magnolia Cafe) on South Congress and eat an early breakfast of eggs and meat. It was still around 5am. I was one of a handful of people eating that early, and even as I yawned, I marveled at being up, actually awake, eating while most people were still dreaming. It brought me memories of my early twenties, when I worked in San Francisco doing tech support for an online stock trading company that required its customer-facing employees to be up the same time as the stock markets opening in NYC. Back then, I was living in an apartment in San Francisco with about four others my age (my share of the rent then was merely $300, unheard of now, I’m sure). And every morning, I’d drive my bike toward Market Street from where I lived near the Castro area, carefully maneuvering my bike so as not to get caught in the Muni train tracks, so as not to fall. My sister, who was a bike messenger in San Francisco, had warned me about that. I remember the quiet of the dark mornings as I rode to work, greeted by a shock of bright florescent in-door office lights as I walked to my cubicle area to answer calls from traders at home who were still making sense of the internet, in a time of Compuserve, AOL and Mozilla.

The words tend to pour out of me in the morning, which is a fantastic time to do your Morning Pages, as Julia Cameron suggests is a way to empty out your mind, to clear out the debris, like windshield wipers does to grimy car windows.

What do I want to say about HeartMath? It’s a biofeedback tool I discovered that helps you meditate from your heart, bringing your heart, mind and nervous system together to reduce anxiety in a state they call “coherence.” I don’t use it everyday, but when I do, I feel more compassion and kindness for myself and others, similar to how I feel when I practice the kindness meditation (when you say to yourself and others in your mind: “May you be happy, healthy and filled with ease”). You use a sensor you attach to your earlobe and open up the HeartMath Inner Balance app which senses your pulse and heart rate variability, able to tell you if you’ve reached a coherent state. It’s interesting to practice when you’re anxious or angry, because you can see your heart rate variability in real time, jagged, at first. But then as you focus on a memory of a happy time or place in your life, the jagged valleys turn into even sine waves, reflecting inner ease (I think about the one time I tried LSD for the first time as an adult with the intention to heal while at Burning Man and experienced the utmost of peace and tranquility, completely egoless and suspended in a space where time was never running out, an example of how integrating psychedelics into your regular daily life can be useful). I even ordered their book on how to use Heart Math to manage anger, which has been helpful as a parent of a teenager.

All this is to say that cultivating silence, truly learning to enjoy the silence more in my life, is key to my sanity, my mental health and physical health. After all, everything is linked!

Inspiring Writing Quote from John McPhee on Mark Twain

book art mural on wall in Utah with Mark Twain book among other classics

“Repeatedly, he tells his reader how a project such as this one should be done—randomly, without structure, in total disregard of consistent theme or chronology. Just jump in anywhere, tell whatever comes to mind from any era. If something distracts your memory and seems more interesting at the moment, interrupt the first story and launch into the new one. The interrupted tale can be finished later. This is what he did, and the result is about as delicious a piece of writing as you are ever going to come upon, and come upon, and keep on coming upon, as it draws you in for the rest of your life. If ever there was an old-man project, this one was the greatest. It is only seven hundred and thirty-five thousand words long. If Mark Twain had stayed with it, he would be alive today.”

— John McPhee on Mark Twain’s autobiography

Taken from The New Yorker (Personal History section)

“TABULA RASA: Volume One” by John McPhee (Jan 6, 2020)

Happiness Is …

Happiness is a woman smiling

Happiness is …

Discovering a brand new song (“Neon Moon” by Cigarettes After Sex)

Keeping promises to yourself (ex. writing every day, eating carnivore)

Sipping homemade bone broth

Singing old songs on the top of your lungs (Toni Braxton’s “Un-break My Heart”)

That surge of pride after doing two almost-perfect chin-ups

A giant heartfelt hug from your teenaged son

Spending time with a close friend laughing out loud

That sensation of ease after meditating for more than 15 minutes

Being able to articulate on the page a knot you’ve been trying to unravel

Basking under the stream of sunlight coming into your apartment

Learning about how you can improve your vagal tone and sharing it with loved ones

Not giving a f*ck about what anyone else thinks!



Photo by Eye for Ebony on Unsplash

Press the ‘F*ck It’ Button

giant red f*ck it button

I won’t lie. Even after all the books I’ve read on how not to give a flying f*ck about what other people think, I still care. A lot. In fact, just a little bit too much.

A personal incident came up recently with my child and I was telling my friend who was visiting me about it. I didn’t want to make a big deal but I cared too much about what the other parties thought. About how I was parenting. About how I was possibly perceived. “All you have to worry about is you and your relationship with your child,” she counseled me. “Not about the other parents. Do what I do. Press the ‘F*ck It’ button.” With a dramatic push of an imaginary button with her index finger in the air, we sat side by side in my parked car.

I realized a lot of my anxiety, especially social anxiety, revolved around others’ perceived judgements, criticisms, and disappointment in me. Shame would automatically bubble up from out of nowhere like a geyser at Yellowstone, and this would arise from my own thoughts. It’s uncanny how your own thoughts can keep you imprisoned.

So much of my life I’ve self-sabotaged because I fretted over what others might think about me. One of the reasons I have trouble putting my writing out there is because of this perceived shame and judgement. I’m afraid of rejection so I don’t even try. And even with social media, I’ve decided to take a giant step back from it because it’s suddenly become much more daunting since we’ve stopped our full-time RVLife. Suddenly I don’t want to be in that perceived spotlight anymore, afraid we’d be seen as failures for stopping a life we had dreamed up so dramatically following my husband’s cancer. Which in itself is stupid beyond f*ck for caring. Life is essentially full of stops and starts. We fall and we get up. We go and we stop. There is no linear path for happiness or success. We’re still the same people we were before we began our trip. Yet at the same time, we’ve grown. And it will never be perfect.

This year, I’m going to press that ‘F*ck it’ button much more often. Life really is too short to care so much about other people’s perceptions of who you are. If you’re a good person inside, that’s what really matters in the end, right?


How Remembering to Allow and Detach is Simply Learning to Trust

A lone egg in red background knowing how to allow and detach

Allow and Detach
Allow and Detach
Allow and Detach
Allow and Detach
Allow and Detach

This is the phrase that kept popping up in my head during and after meditation this morning. I realize I’m oftentimes pushing for things to happen. Stuff on my to-do list. My kid to clean up his room. Wishing I was faster at finally finishing my novel. Catching up on all the stuff I said I’d do for clients, for work. Wishing I had put more effort in how I showed up for this or that.

But then I remembered the “Egg Wisdom” I read about in the book by Kate Northrup (Do Less), recommended to me by my amazing nutritionist who is also a life coach. I’m paraphrasing here, but in the book, she talks about how the egg released inside a woman’s body naturally knows how to do things in its own proper time. She doesn’t obsess or fixate on whether or not the sperm is coming along. In fact, she’s not waiting on him at all! She’s not calling all of her friends wondering why the sperm isn’t there yet, hasn’t called or responded to her text. She’s not rushing to get where she’s going, stressing and worrying along the way that she isn’t doing enough. She’s simply enough.


She’s demonstrating the ultimate in TRUST. She’s allowing and detaching.

Allow and detach.


I want to do more of that this year. This decade. This life.

I’m tired of rushing, stressing, worrying, ruminating, nagging (either myself or others).

And isn’t there a better time to practice allowing and detaching–to simply trust–than now?

A Tiny Story about Tigers from a Tiny Book

a bengal tiger sits calmly

Today I read a tiny story from this tiny book I bought many years ago in Berkeley, the same tiny book I let my friend who will be visiting me tomorrow in Austin read while she was in the hospital in Oakland, birthing a tiny baby. The name of this tiny book? The Pocket Pema Chodron.

The tiny story I happened to flip to resonated so much that I feel compelled to share. It’s the story of a woman being chased by tigers. She runs away but reaches the edge of a cliff on a mountain. With nowhere to go, she glances down and finds a sturdy vine to climb down. But as she hangs onto this vine, she becomes aware that there are tigers below her. And what do you know? A hungry mouse is nibbling that vine. That’s when she sees a patch of wild strawberries. She looks up and sees the tigers up above, she looks down and sees the tigers below. She sees the mouse, still nibbling away at that vine. What does she do? She snatches a strawberry and savors each bite.

The title of the story is this: “Tigers above, tigers below.”

“This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of birth and death,” Pema Chodron writes near the end of the page.

“Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life, it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life.”

The next time I feel stressed, overwhelmed or worried that time is running out, I’d like to remember this story. You can be chased by beasts with sharp teeth from above and below, everything seeming like doom and gloom, yet at the same time still enjoy what is right in front of you: this life, this moment, what is.

The Next Time You’re Stressed, Ask Yourself: So What?

so what is the question this woman is asking in the snow with both hands in front of two trees

The next time you wake up in the middle of the night, worried and stressed about disappointing others, try this helpful stress-reducing tool:

Ask yourself: So what?”


So what if so-and-so is disappointed in you because you didn’t do x, y and z. What’s the worst that could happen?

Well, so-and-so may never want anything to do with me again.

Then you ask “so what” again. Repeat it again until you get to the bottom of it.

So what?

So … if that happens, I’ll probably feel like crap and be depressed for a while.

So what?

I guess that after a while, I’ll eventually get over it and move on.

So what?

So you know what? I’m going to be okay. I won’t be stressin’ about this person being disappointed in me 30 years from now.

By the end of this self-interrogation, you realize your problem that you’re worried about really isn’t as worrisome as you initially thought, quelling any tightness in your belly, replacing it instead with ease.