We all have monsters we are running from. At some point there is a monster chasing us that we can’t outrun. It is this monster who will eventually either consume us, or force us to turn around and look that monster in the face. And notice that when you do, that monster loses some of its power. Maybe even goes away.

The fear, the grief, the sadness is swirling around in front of you. But it’s not you. Your breath brings you deep into what is behind all of that.

 And on that journey you may notice parts of yourself that need tending to. Perhaps a younger version who is absolutely exhausted from carrying, gripping and trying to hold it all together. And for what?

“Movement is good for the body. Stillness is good for the mind.” - Tibetan Buddhist Sakyong Mipham

I love you, I'm listening. 

My intention, my prayer, my soul's whisper is currently: Teach me to love more.

There is no fear in love.

I am in a tough season right now. The kind that feels heavy, sludgy and a bit never-ending. That is not to say it is not also rich with blessing and joy. But there is loss, grief and confusion. Tending to myself is currently less about wellness rituals and more about a true turning in, listening to the cries of my frazzled nervous system and fearful body - and deciding to choose love.

‘I was again absorbed in writing Ikigai at night. As I was overflowing with ideas, I played quiet pieces on the piano for one hour partly to make my children fall asleep and partly to calm myself. What a moving experience it is that I can use all my past experiences and studies to create a unified whole through my writing!’ - Mieko Kamiya 

How do you let go?

I know that holding on to all that you've learnt and all that you've got, feels safe. Feels familiar. Even important. I also hang onto these things for dear life, because it's the only life I know. I too hide behind victimhood and the story I think I've been served. I get tired sometimes thinking the challenge is too heavy to look for the light. But here's the thing…

“Once the quietness arrived, it stayed and spread… It rocked him to the rhythm of an ancient fetal heartbeat.”  - Arundhati Roy, God of Small Things

Who were you before the noisy world told you who to be?

The external noise, feeds our internal noise. And then we use external noise (podcasts, music, even guided meditations) to hush our internal noise. The problem with this is our world starts to be shaped by someone else's ideas. Our belief system becomes someone else spirituality.  

To live a life that is our own, to exist in our ikigai, one needs to access the kind of quiet that re-connects us to ourself. Not so you can manically work towards some big overarching purpose, but to find a daily rhythm that is so deeply attuned with who you are, that you can rest it, bathe, be inspired by it. Even if it's challenging and mundane - even more so in fact.

"The need for quiet, the need for air…  The sight of the sky and of things growing seem human needs common to all" - Octavia Hill 

Are we all in recovery in some way? Recovering from patterns and learned behaviours we absorbed before we even knew we had a choice.

 This past month has felt a bit… Heavy. A kind of seasonal limbo, mirrored quietly in life as well. My body and nervous system are feeling it a little.

Recently I was confronted with a simple (and pretty uncomfortable) realisation: I needed to be more me again. Not by “carving out extra time” (eurgh, what does that even mean), but by returning to a quality of presence. So that even amid the  charm-filled challenges of a busy little life, l still makes space for a sense of self. Beyond being a mother, a solo-entrepreneur, a wife and everything else in between.

“Find a place where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain” - Joseph Campbell

We closed out January covered head to toe in mud, collecting treasures in the woods, debating whether full moons affect baby sleep and soothing ourselves by a crackling fire. It's a reflective time for us: We plan to leave London this year, but are unsure where we will next call home. 

During this transitional time I've been considering what does home feel like? And can I access the felt experience of home within my body?

*Arraigado - deeply rooted, belonging, ingrained 

We have just returned from our three week road-trip to the Swiss mountains, with toddler and pup in tow. It felt like a Christmas pilgrimage of sorts. We tootled along, eventually arriving in a tiny village on the side of a mountain. No cars, but lots of stars, and definitely closer to the moon. As our stimulation shifted from city noises to birdsong, we got a little quieter.

One morning, after our normal breakfast feast that would set us up for our daily hiking adventures, my 1.5 year old snuggled deep into my chest for the closest, warmest cuddle. A Spanish woman walking past, lovingly remarked “ah, arraigado”. I learnt that this describes being so deep in the comfort of one who loves you, you are quite literally ingrained. There isn’t really an English word for it. Our little boy is calm, happy and curious, but he needs to feel that level of closeness in order to operate independently with joy and confidence.