‘I tried acupuncture for the first time – this is what it was really like’

“Deqi” in acupuncture describes the sensation of a needle striking the intended energetic pathway. For me, it was a seismic crackle; like a propulsive, revitalising flash of electricity shooting from my ankle up through my leg’s energy system and beyond the purely physical.

Visiting London-based Five Element acupuncturist Asha Chong, I had zero expectations. I’d heard enough good things to respect the practice — an ancient Chinese tradition dating back 3,000 years, designed to cultivate the flow of qi (energy) — but I knew that didn’t mean it would work for me. Plenty of people love Real Housewives, after all. Try as I might, I don’t.

This one-of-a-kind sensation of deqi, however, was more than enough to ignite my curiosity. As was realising – as it was happening! – that I trust my own judgement in people enough to let a near-stranger stick pins in me. (Asha’s warmth during a counselling-style session beforehand, in her comfortable premises on Wimpole Street near Oxford Circus, helped.) Side note: I’m no fan of needles – not even finger pricks for STI tests – but these are nothing. Less than a scratch, inserted with care and barely penetrating beyond a millimetre or so, leaving marks you’d need a magnifying glass to see.

“Five Element acupuncture connects us to nature through Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal and Water, each representing aspects of health, emotions and personality,” Asha tells me. “Imbalances can affect how we feel physically and emotionally. Treatment supports the dominant element – an individual’s core energetic makeup – to restore natural harmony. To do this involves plugging into sensory experience to gauge patients’ disharmony, as well as involved conversation about lived experiences and how their emotional and physical landscapes are shaped in the here and now. How do they move through life? What is the ease-to-struggle ratio? How might they take space in the world better? These questions serve as guide for effective, personalised treatment and care.”

“Tension, inflammation, spiritual heaviness – acupuncture had cleared it all out to almost surreal effect”

The deqi combined with that lesson in trust was a one-two punch of insight and value. But the full-body wave of feeling that washed over me the next day was worth its weight in gold. It started on the way home: walking to the Tube, I felt a slight gear change after years of chronic mental ill-health. By 3am, I awoke from a deep sleep to a feeling of blissed out euphoria. (A heightened feeling I didn’t wholly trust.)

By the next morning, however, that intensity had softened into something broader, oddly familiar, easier to trust and ultimately bigger. I analysed the feeling closely, determined to work out where I recognised it from. Then, looking at the sunlight filtering through my window, it hit me. The scene reminded me sun through the window of my teenage bedroom years ago, when I’d leap out of bed with a grinning, insatiable hunger for life. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt since I was 16. Balance, stillness, calm, and excitement for the future: a state usually reserved for the young. A body virtually free of physical signs of stress – tension, inflammation, spiritual heaviness – acupuncture had cleared it all out to almost surreal effect. 

It was a feeling I never thought I’d feel again. I’d somehow lost sight of the fact me and that 16-year-old boy are the same person. It was a stark reminder that so many of the limitations we place on ourselves are illusory. The feeling wasn’t permanent, of course – and I didn’t expect it to be. (Although it has been stirred up to a lesser extent in subsequent acupuncture sessions.) But this knowledge – that previous versions of myself hitherto deemed inaccessible are, in fact, accessible – has been a game-changer. 

It was sorely needed, too. I feel like I’ve spent most of my adulthood walking around with my shoulders up under my ears, unable to breathe – and I don’t exactly feel I’m alone in that. In truth, almost every adult I know well has had at least one, if not two, or more, major mental health struggles that I’m aware of, that has had an impact in their life.

The point is, part of the human condition is to suffer. Why not accept it – embrace it even, for the lessons that suffering imparts – and confront it, using every tool in the toolbox available to mitigate it.

Last December, after an acute period of stress, and the cumulative effect of all a lifetime’s worth of relationship difficulties, financial pressures and career volatility took its toll, a period of bruxism (night grinding), led to a cracked tooth, which led to pulpal necrosis (the tooth dying) and a full-on, EastEnders-at-Christmas-style breakdown.

Asha listened to all this and more, and tailored my treatment – indeed, harnessed energy – accordingly. 

This year has been all about taking active, baby steps to heal; a multi-pronged strategy of which acupuncture is just one aspect. But the success of acupuncture, specifically, has opened my mind to other forms of healing I might otherwise have been sceptical of. 

Days after my first visit to Asha, for example, I visited Charlotte Church’s The Dreaming in remote Wales for the Returning to the Queer Heart retreat. The success of the acupuncture made me more receptive to the retreat under the mentorship of Daniel Sutton-Johanson and Dr Sanah Ahsan, the former a registered psychotherapist with the UK Council for Psychotherapy (UKCP) and the latter a registered clinical psychologist for the Health and Care Professions Council (HCPC), plus an award-winning poet, writer, presenter, speaker and educator.

I wish every queer person out there who’s struggling could attend such a retreat, preceded and followed by acupuncture. I wish our opponents could too. I think, if they did, the world might be a very different place.

For more information about Asha Chong, visit her official website.

A Q&A with Asha Chong

How does your practice balance the history and legacy of acupuncture with modern needs?  

Five Element acupuncture honours the wisdom of seeing the physical, mental and emotional as a unified whole. This ancient understanding invites us to slow down, do less and create space for rest – elements that are often missing in our fast-paced, often stressful modern lives.

This approach recognises that true health and vitality aren’t about pushing harder or fixing symptoms in isolation, but about cultivating a gentle awareness of what an individual needs most: sunlight, rest, movement, nourishing food, connection and confidence. By blending timeless wisdom with a compassionate, intuitive presence, the session – often the only time that patients have in their schedules – creates a space where individuals can feel supported in doing less, being more present and allowing natural transformation to unfold. The idea then is for them to carve out some time in the everyday to practise quiet and stillness.

What are some ways in which your practice might differ from other acupuncturists’?

Something patients often reflect on after a session is the sense of being deeply seen and understood – even in ways they haven’t been able to fully articulate themselves. As an acupuncturist, I hope to bring a strong sense of empathy, intuition and presence into each treatment and create a space where people feel safe to be themselves, without judgement or pressure.

I want my sessions to feel like patients are talking to someone they’ve known for years, even if it’s our first meeting. That familiarity isn’t accidental; it comes from a commitment to truly listening, noticing the subtleties of someone’s mood and behaviour and holding space in a compassionate way. And often with a sense of lightness. I laugh a lot with my patients. It’s important for me to balance empathy with play and humour; to invite room for laughter even amidst challenge.

In Five Element acupuncture, the relationship between practitioner and patient is just as important as the treatment itself. When people feel genuinely met, not just as a collection of symptoms or labels, but as whole human beings, it can open the door to deep, lasting and positive change.

What would you say are the top reasons people have come to you to explore acupuncture over your career?

Most of my patients seek treatment for emotional and mental support – especially during times of overwhelm, anxiety, grief, heartbreak or feeling stuck in patterns like procrastination, apathy or ennui. And times of life transitions: changing jobs, moving, entering or ending relationships, starting and/or growing a family, experiencing loss or navigating age-related milestones. These moments invite reflection and Five Element acupuncture offers a meaningful way to pause, realign and respond to these changes with authenticity, clarity and emotional resilience.

What would your message be to a sceptic of acupuncture?

Acupuncture can seem abstract at first, especially with concepts like qi and meridians that don’t align with modern anatomy or physiology.

But what’s interesting is that despite the traditional language, acupuncture is more evidence-informed than people realise. Recently, studies have shown changes in brain activity during acupuncture, and it’s been found to influence things like inflammation, endorphin release and nervous system regulation.

Of course, not all the mechanisms are fully understood yet, and not every study is conclusive, but that’s often true for many medical modalities, especially those involving chronic or complex conditions. What I usually say is: You don’t have to fully buy into the theory behind it to see if it helps but approach it with a willingness to try something new and be open to how it might affect change. Many patients turn to acupuncture after other options fail and they’re surprised by how much better they feel; things like a shift in mindset, a change of heart, improved sleep, reduced stress and better digestion.