How to feel a little calmer while life has some challenges.

"Are you better now? I'm regularly asked.  It is a difficult thing to admit that no, since having covid in October 2022, I am still living with on-going symptoms.  My lovely GP has gently told me that four months of symptoms isn't actually that long in terms of covid, which feels both reassuring and frustrating.  All I want is to get better and soon.  But there is no hurrying the process along.   The trouble with not getting better after this length of time is that post-viral fatigue starts to be described as a type of long covid (of which there are a few different forms). When I first heard "long covid" being applied to my health a few weeks ago, it didn't really help!  Countless hours were spent either worrying about how long this was going to last for or frantically trying to work out what to do.  My sleep became disrupted and every time a new minor symptom appeared, I would worry further. Physical and mental fatigue remain my constant companions.  And som

Just imagine if "do less" was on your to-do list...  Rather than racing through the day with an endless desire to get things done, there was actually some space.  Perhaps you wouldn't just go from task to task all day, barely stopping for a breath.  Maybe you would do something radical, such as sit down with a cup of tea and relax without looking at your phone?  For much of my life as a teacher, I was always trying to keep up with the workload and doing less wasn't really an option.  I used to get into my busy-mode and "forget" how to stop.  Sometimes I would envy those who could work flat-out, run half-marathons at weekends and never get sick. Doing less isn't the norm.  I'm sure it has never featured on many people's New Year's resolution list.  A few years ago I decided at New Year to stop eating any processed foods to help boost my health.  It was with good intentions but resulted in every spare moment spent making everything from scratc

Getting covid for the first time was a bit of a shock, having managed to escape it for two and a half years.  I had just come back from a nourishing Ayurvedic retreat in Herefordshire and had been feeling relaxed and well.  A few days later, however, I rapidly felt ill with the classic signs: sore throat, fever and aching muscles.  I just knew that I finally had covid.  It was definitely more flu-like than a sniffly cold and took well over ten days to be out of bed very much.  But nearly six weeks on, I am still on the slow path to recovery... I keep telling myself that I am slowly improving.  The constant headache around the front of my head finally subsided which was a relief.  The muscle aches are less common.  I still cough, especially if I overdo things.  But the main thing left is the fatigue.  Like fatigue I have never experienced before.  It is not being tired nor low energy.  It feels like a strange creature has come to hang out in my body for a while.  Yet the fatigue also f

Living in such uncertain times feels draining.  We seem to be reeling from one change to another at such speed.  Even though I am very mindful about what I watch and read in terms of news (very little) it is difficult to not be affected.  I wonder if this is one of the factors that is affecting my immunity and health?  To find some balance and sense of wellness, I recently headed to Herefordshire to get away from it all.  It wasn't the easiest of journeys as I'd just been ill with a stomach bug which was taking time to recover from (although not infectious still).  But I knew I would be okay once I arrived, as this retreat was all about health and rest!  Arriving at The Clover Mill in the torrential chilly rain wasn't the best start, but I could still see the Malvern hills peeping out from the rain clouds.  Clover Mill is a small Ayurvedic retreat centre, where people come to learn about Ayurveda, eat delicious freshly prepared food, do some yoga and be generally nourished

I stood in a local supermarket early yesterday morning choosing flowers to lay at Green Park next to Buckingham Palace for the Queen.  I wanted to ask someone for advice or reassurance.  Could I just take a small bunch of carnations that spoke to me, in bright pink or yellow?  Surely for the Queen, I should take a specially made bouquet, with exactly the flowers that she loved?  I reasoned that there would be already a lot of flowers there and that a small, biodegradable gesture would be perfectly acceptable.   Clutching my pink carnations, I followed a number of other people from Victoria Station making their way up to Hyde Park Corner.  Having not been to London since the pandemic began, it already felt strange to be among crowds, traffic and police.  Thankfully I had arrived early and there was plenty of space to walk along the pavement.  Turning into Green Park, however, I suddenly saw hundreds of people all making the same pilgrimage to the flowers.  Drawn by the same force that h

I never thought I would feel so grateful for grey clouds appearing in the sky.  When I woke early this morning, just before dawn at 6am, I heard a sound I have recently forgotten... the pitter-patter of rain on the roof.   A light, brief shower that lasted less than a minute.  But it was something that will help our parched soils just a little.  I could feel myself breathe a small sigh of relief.  Here in England, I have always taken cloudy weather and rain for granted.  We live in, arguably, one of the most grey countries of the world, where we can go for weeks without seeing any blue sky.  Iconic images of the UK would include misty, damp and lush green rolling hills.   Any summer trip would involve packing a raincoat and a jumper.  We know very little about droughts and water shortage that many countries face on a regular basis.  Not until 2022 that is.  During this summer, the pattern has changed.  Clear blue skies and sunshine have become the norm and the only thing you need for a

"Rest more and take things easy for a while" is advice we have probably all heard or given at some point in our lives.  My GP told me recently to ensure that I rested while still recovering from a persistent virus and bronchitis.  I listened to her words of advice with a deep sense of relief, as if permission was being given to do what my body needs.  But simultaneously I wanted to ignore such advice and keep going as "normal".  I have a deeply ingrained habit of pushing on through, no matter how I feel, to get something done.  If I rest, I won't "progress" or "keep up" and will miss out on things.  Someone has to hold everything together I say to myself, that someone being me!  If I rest, the world could actually fall apart while I'm relaxing somewhere peaceful? Sound familiar?  Having ignored my body's natural need to slow down and rest for decades, I now find myself being forced to pay more attention due to my health.  If I overdo

Do you remember when we could only mix with people in our own household for months on end back in 2020?  And we couldn't sit on a bench outdoors and have a chat or a picnic. Sometimes I forget all of these strange, necessary restrictions now that we are back to some kind of normal.  Yet each time I take a step to try something that I've not done for two years I know that I feel different.  This week I wondered why I was getting in a flap about taking a train for the first time and then eating inside a restaurant later?  Because a) we still have covid around b) being highly sensitive means things seems so noisy and intense and c) it just feels strange after all this time. But I keep telling myself that things are better now.  Even though I personally enjoyed the quiet with less social expectations for the last two years, I can also see that it has not been good for society and communities as a whole.  We are social creatures and we need a sense of community with caring people f

Many of you reading this know that sadly, my elderly father died peacefully last August.  Even though I would never expect a friend to be "over" a significant loss in ten months, it has become harder to talk about.  Is this my habitual pattern of holding in emotions rather than sharing them I wonder?  Do I not want to "burden" others with something that feels so raw still?  Or is it just impossible to describe in words something so vast and aching in my heart, so I don't even begin to try?   When a neighbour cheerfully talked about Father's Day and told me about their celebrations, I didn't want to affect her joy.  I just wished I could share that I'd had tea and scones with my father in the garden of his care home.  When my father died, the shock and disbelief helped to dampen down the pain, only allowing the reality to peep through for moments until it hurt too much to bear.  In the last six weeks I have been forced to slow down because my body has

Our recent trip to Spain was a major step in our quest to find some "normality" again.   As someone who hasn't even been to a large supermarket for two years, nor been on a train, it was a big leap.  But it felt good to not only dream of relaxing in the warmth of Spanish sunshine, but to actually go!  It made such a refreshing change from just "getting through" these difficult times to remembering how to travel again.  Now back at home with a terrible cough and virus (not Covid according to numerous lateral flow tests), I am still basking in memories of Spain... My second week was spent in Nerja, a pretty low-rise town overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.  One of my dreams during the pandemic was to be able to sit outside eating salty chips in the Spanish sunshine again.  Somehow this represented normality and a sense of ease and well-being returning.  With a warmer climate, Nerja is blessed with more outdoor eating that you could wish for and to my joy, these ter

On Easter Saturday (2022) I arrived at the gates of Cortijo Romero in Southern Spain and was greeted by Lelly, the host for the week.  "How was your journey?" she asked kindly.  My answer to this was, "fine, everything had run surprisingly smoothly".  My EasyJet flight wasn't cancelled; there were no long queues at security as shown in the media;  I managed to breath comfortably through my FFP2 face mask for the entire journey (phew) and my digital NHS Covid Pass was accepted.  Having not left England for well over two years, there was definitely more effort needed to remember how to navigate travel again.  An element of uncertainty lingered in the background while making these plans to visit Cortijo Romero, but I accepted this as part of the "new normal" that we are supposedly adjusting to.  And, miraculously, each step of the plan fell into place until I was finally here, in one of the most peaceful and healing places that I know. As I walked around

Recently I heard the renowned therapist, Esther Perel , capture exactly what I have been asking myself.  She put it something like this: "how do we find a sense of ease when the ground beneath us is constantly shifting at the moment?"  As I continued to listen to her podcast, I realised with a sigh that she was not about to offer a quick fix.  We all know that uncertainty is a natural part of life but there seems to be rather a lot of it right now.  Nothing seems as steady as "before". Even the weather seems to be changing more rapidly than I remember.  Not long after our early spring sunshine came an abrupt change of season producing hail and sleet.  I went outside to experience the only snow of the winter, which lasted for moments.  This week produced more windy weather, with the sea becoming a wild, muddy brown landscape sending roaring waves onto our beach once again.  As I swam on a fairly windy day I was immensely aware of the power of the sea as I moved with

After what feels like a grey kind of winter I was more than ready for some sunny weather and blue skies.  Just a walk in the sunshine makes me feel more energised and alive.  As I walk, I notice that more people are smiling and saying cheerful hellos, commenting on how lovely the weather is.  We have escaped the winter months and that is reason to feel grateful.  Maybe spring is designed with melodic birdsong and colourful blooms to tempt us out of our hibernation.  Time to escape from the computer screen and spend more time in nature. Yesterday, we walked at Oare Marshes, a peaceful nature reserve along the estuary from Whitstable.  As soon as we arrived, I felt my spirits start to lift.  The landscape is unique with grazing marshes, freshwater dykes and salt marshes providing rich habitats for so much wildlife.  It is especially important for a diversity of migratory and local wetland birds.  We walked along the narrow path with boats moored up on our right and the wind blowing cool