I sometimes make a morning drink for joint pain.
Read this post in Swedish ->Min morgondryck mot ledvärk – mer för tanken än för mirakel
Not because it cures anything.
Not because it’s magical.
But because it feels kind – and because sometimes the mind does more than we think.
This is not medicine.
It’s a ritual.
A way of taking care of the body without demanding that it become something other than what it is.
And maybe that’s exactly why it works.
Because even if the healing only happens in the mind,
the body still feels better –
and then it has an effect.
I Am Here – Today
I am here now.
Today I woke up at five and started the day by getting ready to go to the swimming hall.
The bag was packed. All that was left was brushing my teeth – and off I went.
On the way there, there were a few obstacles.
A truck, probably doing something other than watching the road, was driving slowly, and time kept passing.
And right in the middle of it, it hit me that I had forgotten to put on the wristband that serves as my swim pass.
When I go swimming, I often listen to the radio.
There’s usually some kind of short devotion – different priests speaking for maybe five minutes.
I’m not a churchgoer.
My faith is fragile.
But I appreciate those moments of reflection.
Not for the religious aspect itself, but because the words often set thoughts in motion in me.
About how I see things. How I live.
Today a bishop talked about a small cabinet he had built – as a hobby.
And I got stuck on the question:
What kind of cabinet am I building?
Maybe the blog is my cabinet.
Even if it isn’t about Jesus.
Maybe this is my way of building something that holds thoughts, everyday life, and care.
Once I arrived at the swimming hall, I had to ask for a wristband at the reception.
Time was tight. I usually enter at 6:15 and am in the pool by 6:20.
Today it was a bit later.
I managed to swim maybe 700 meters before I had to get out.
At 6:50 I need to be in the shower to make it home by 7:30.
But now I’m sitting on the sofa.
And the feeling is clear: the workout is done.
It’s finished.
Now the day can begin.
But when the body has been allowed to move without demands,
without performance,
it becomes easier to keep being kind.
And that’s often where my morning drink for joint pain comes in.
Not as a solution.
But as a continuation.
How I make my joint pain drink
I use turmeric, black pepper, cinnamon, ginger, red onion,
a few cloves and a small sprig of rosemary or thyme.
Everything simmers in water for a while.
Not hard. Just long enough to let it take its time.
I use lemon in two ways.
A few slices go into the pot – that’s for the taste, the acidity, the whole experience.
But when I drink it, I always add a fresh slice of lemon to the cup,
for the vitamin C. It doesn’t tolerate heat very well.
When the drink has cooled, I pour it into a bottle
and keep it in the fridge.
Some mornings I want it warm.
Then I pretend it’s tea.
Half hot water, half of the drink.
And the honey comes last.
Not when it’s hot. Never then.
If it’s too warm, the good things in the honey are destroyed.
So it waits until the drink is just lukewarm.
Small details, perhaps.
But it’s exactly those small details that make it feel like care.
Not much left. I’ll make a new batch tomorrow.
Why these ingredients?
Not for miracles.
But because they are traditionally associated with inflammation, stiffness and pain.
And because together, they make sense.
But most of all because this is something I do.
Not something I expect to fix me.
A filling breakfast that goes with my morning drink for joint pain
Along with the drink, I often have a breakfast that makes me feel steadier.
Not strict. Not perfect. Just kind.
Peanut butter without lots of added sugar, instead of butter.
A few strawberries on top, instead of jam.
A bowl of yogurt with some berries
and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
It keeps me full.
And it keeps my body calmer.
Cooking from scratch – care in the doing
I believe that care is not only about what we eat,
but about how we prepare food.
Cooking from scratch does something to the nervous system.
Hands that peel, chop, stir.
The smell that slowly fills the room.
A pace that can be lowered.
And all the vegetables.
All the colours.
They do something to the eye.
To desire.
Like colour splashes on a plate –
almost like painting a picture.
The kitchen as a place of rest
When I worked at a residence for unaccompanied minors,
I often stood in the kitchen in the afternoons, cooking a pot of porridge.
There was nothing special about the porridge.
The care was the point.
Lost souls needed something warm.
Something that simmered slowly.
Something that didn’t demand words, but still invited them.
I remember a boy who often came when I stood there.
We talked about professions, about goals in life, about the future.
During the day he could be harsh in his manner.
His words could be sharp.
As if they were needed to keep distance.
But there, by the pot, it was different.
The words were softer.
His guard dropped.
The stress in his body eased.
There, he was allowed to just be.
Without protection.
Without defence.
And maybe that’s exactly what happens
when something is allowed to take time.
When hands are busy.
When the pace slows down.
The whole
For me, all of this belongs together.
The drink. The breakfast. The cooking. The swimming.
Small actions that don’t perform miracles on their own,
but together make the body a little easier to live in.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
For me, all of this belongs together – my joint pain drink, the breakfast, the cooking and the swimming.
Questions for you who are reading
Do you have a small ritual that makes your body kinder to live in?
Is it the taste, the warmth, the doing – or the moment itself that matters most to you?
Have you noticed how your body responds when the pace slows and your hands get to work?
And do you believe, like I do, that even if healing sometimes only happens in the mind,
it can still feel like real relief in the body?
AHA – between the lines
This post isn’t really about a drink.
Nor about food or joints.
It’s about control that isn’t harsh.
About care that doesn’t demand results.
When the body hurts, it’s easy to want to fix things.
But here, there is something else:
to stop, to stir, to wait, to feel.
To do something small that says:
I’m here. I’m listening. We don’t need to hurry.
And maybe that’s where something loosens.
Not in the joints first,
but in the tension around them.
This post isn’t really about a morning drink for joint pain.
Nor about food or joints.
Reflection
I notice that every time I choose something kind –
a warm drink, food cooked from scratch,
movement that doesn’t push,
a kitchen where time is allowed to exist –
something happens.
The body stops fighting quite as much.
The thoughts aren’t as loud.
And even if the healing only takes place in the mind,
it feels as if my whole self gets to rest for a while.
Maybe that’s how healing begins.
Not with big changes,
but with small choices that make the body willing to cooperate.
And right now, that is enough.
The body carries my history.
What I do today is felt in the present
and shapes what is to come.
What has been shows how I have taken care of myself.
Links on Malix.se
For me, this drink is connected to other things that are also kind to the body.
Like swimming – that slow movement that asks only for presence.
👉 Swimming and presence – when consideration begins from within
And if you want to read more about everyday care, body awareness and presence, you’ll find more texts here:
👉 Self-compassion in everyday life – a morning that turned out just right
👉 Presence in everyday life – swimming, soup and time
If you’d like to read more about different perspectives on food and health, you’ll find information here:
https://www.naringsmedicinskaskolan.se
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