When life is uncertain or we feel anxious there is a tendency to turn to the safety of routine. I swapped the fairly rigid routines and structures of being a school teacher for the freedom of being at home with three very small people and soon discovered that creating a routine was the key to getting through the day relatively intact. We walked the same route around the village lanes and across fields every morning, come rain or shine. The same fields that a friend, Simon Howell photographed recently on an early morning dog walk. When COVID swept away our daily lives as we knew it, we soon established new routines to break up the day – walking routes, family quiz nights on zoom, time in the garden and kitchen. But routines can feel mundane. Rituals are quite the opposite and it’s interesting to see the difference they can make to the way we navigate the potential stress of the holiday season and the darkness of winter in particular.
Rituals can be defined as having three main components – intention, attention and repetition. Lighting a candle on the kitchen table seems pretty routine but where it is done mindfully to mark the transition between the working day and a relaxing evening, that’s a ritual. Many of us have rituals around Christmas which elevate the ordinary into something special like wrapping our presents in front of an open fire with a glass of mulled wine and Christmas songs playing or making a fresh batch of mince pies on Christmas Eve whilst listening to the Lessons and Carols on the radio. One of mine is to spend time looking through the seed catalogues on one of the slow afternoons between Christmas and New Year. Some family or community rituals are deliberately designed to strengthen connections, preserve tradition, reinforce values and mark transitions. But individual rituals can reduce anxiety and bring comfort and meaning
Keep some of the magic of the holiday season flowing through the dark days of January and February by engaging in micro-rituals, tiny, mindful actions done consistently like a pimping a cheap bunch of supermarket daffs with some foraged greenery on a Friday. Or a Wednesday evening bubble bath. Even starting more slowly in the morning by establishing a coffee making ritual.
I saw this week that amateur photography enthusiasts have descended on Durdle Door in Dorset for that iconic shot of low winter sun shining through the archway. Winter sun shining through the trees or, as in the case of the picture above, illuminating the end of a cobbled pathway near York Minster is one of the sights that makes me catch my breath and brings me joy. I’ll never tire of it. What is it about light in the darkness that is so welcoming, that quietens the noise and gives us hope?
Whatever it is, we all do it, or so it seems. Christmas lights, fairylights, firelight, candlelight, bonfires, fireworks – they all bring joy to millions.
I remember one off my colleagues who was supporting someone in such a deep depression that they were housebound for months. The tiny step that helped to shift their perspective and begin recovery was opening the curtains and letting in the light.
A client I worked with navigating a significant bereavenent had set up her home to make the most of the morning sun, which made beautiful patterns on her bedroom wall and allowed her to wake up slowly and painted her living room in dark colours, acquiring lamps and using candles to make it a cosy and reflective place in the evenings.
The short days and low light levels of Winter can be an uncomfortable place for some and it is perfectly natural to want to bring in more light. But darkness invites intimacy and coziness, ritual, creativity and reflection. It’s much more difficult to be vulnerable and honest in the glare of the Summer sun. If you want to connect to yourself and to those you hold most dear, turn off the lights and light the fire. Some of my most powerful insights have arrived alone beside the woodburner. My deepest connections with my children have been sitting around our garden firepit under moonlight. For anyone working with a group, campfires are rich resources for building community.
In the darkness, beneath the earth right now connections are being made, dormant plants and bulbs are putting down roots, preparing for their time to send up shoots, grow and bloom in Spring. If we can lean into the same vibe, embracing the darkness of Winter, we too will be in the best place from which to grow when the time is right.
‘A change is as good as a rest’ was one of my granny’s mantras. As the mother of twelve children, I don’t suppose she got much rest at all but I have taken on board her advice about switching things up to give your brain a rest, working from different parts of the house, varying the tasks I do or altering the shape of my week especially in Winter when it’s not unusual to go to work and come home in the dark and for one weekday to look very much like another.
This week however I managed a change AND a rest on one of the few breaks I have ever taken during school term time – which made it even more delicious. We skipped the summer holiday this year and booked a few days away in November, breaking up what is usually a really busy time at work. Who wants to approach Christmas on their knees? And so a Winter break was just the job.
We stayed in this cute, comfortable and extremely toasty rotunda on the Ickworth Estate in Suffolk. There were leisurely pub lunches, plenty of reading, catching up with old friends in Cambridge (Fitzbillies’ chelsea buns are way too sweet for me now!), time spent with all three of my children at the same time and walks in the woods in late Autumn. All in the middle of a working week. I returned home with one or two ideas for the expansion of the Grief Cafe and having broken my habit of rewatching detective drama on the tellybox in the evening, picking up a good book instead.
The dark months of Winter – especially after Christmas can be difficult but change interrupts a mentally draining routine. Some people book a week of Winter sun or a skiing holiday but a more affordable option might be to rearrange a room or take a different route to work. Either way, we awaken our senses and spark curiosity by making a change to our usual routine. This mental stimulation can be as refreshing as a holiday.
Change also pushes us out of our comfort zone – essential for building resilience, increasing confidence and bringing a sense of accomplishment. We’re alive to new perspectives and possibilities, fresh ideas and generally more creative.
And who wouldn’t want that when you open the curtains and look out on another dark, rainy day?
As we hurtle through November at an alarming rate, thoughts inevitably turn to Christmas – both present and past. Back in the dark ages of the seventies (quite literally, if you remember the Three Day Week ), one of the great excitements of November was when my mother went to the bank to get the Christmas Club money and distributed it around the members. For the uninitiated, a Christmas Club is an informal but organised way of saving up for a Fortnum and Mason-style Christmas hamper.
Distribution day was special. A coffee evening with home baked cakes, a basket of beautifully gift-wrapped envelopes of cash, a dozen or so mothers and a combined vibe of unadulterated joy. The simple act of putting aside a few pounds for eleven months of the year meant that you could treat yourselves to some luxuries at Christmas, without going into debt. Simple economics but so much more than that. With every pound note ( yes, it was a few years ago) club members handed over in January or May or September they were investing in future happiness. They were also providing themselves with a dopamine boost there and then, which had a number of positive benefits. Dopamine affects the areas of the brain that govern motivation, energy and mood. It is a positive, future-focused workout for the brain leading to a more optimistic outlook. In essence they were giving themselves some Future Directed Therapy.
Having something to look forward to (anticipatory pleasure) prepares us to get the most benefit from something good, like a holiday, a meal out, a new book or a new item of clothing. In fact, it turns out that the anticipation is often better than the actual event, free as it is from real-world imperfections. By giving yourself something to look forward to you are improving your emotional regulation, setting goals, practising gratitude and mindfulness and engaging in visualisation. So next time you wait until Sunday to watch the next episode rather than binge-watching a box set, you are giving yourself some free therapy.
To turbo boost the effects even more, there are three key takeaways. With all of them my mother’s Christmas Club were fully on board.
Plan experiences that unfold over time. If you are planning a holiday, take your time to research places to stay, sightseeing opportunities, great restaurants, activities. It all builds. If you want to enjoy a bumper Christmas, put a little aside every month and visualise in detail how you are going to spend your December windfall.
Create rituals around positive experiences. If you are an exhausted teacher, get up early and drive the long way round to work on a Friday and stop off at the coffee stand. (My personal win for years).
Practice anticipatory pleasure in small ways. Schedule them. Clean sheets on a Saturday, the next chapter of a book before bed, a Monday night bubble bath, the first coffee of the day, a Sunday morning walk with a friend.
It all fosters an air of optimism and optimistic people respond differently to stress, approach problems with a more positive mindset, expect good outcomes and are better at regulating their emotions. There is a wisdom in waiting. It doesn’t just make you happier; it also makes you more effective, more resilient and more creative. We may be heading into the depths of winter. Instead of instant reward, opt for anticipatory pleasure and get double the benefit.
Like the famous marshmallow test but for grown ups.
I write about the wellbeing benefits of movement, in particular of walking on a regular basis in this blog. Walking is particularly helpful for the groups of people I work with most – those who are grieving and students who are required to remember large quantities of information and creatively manipulate that information to solve a problem, to write an essay or craft a pithy answer to an exam question. When I was a teenager, if I was wrangling with any sort of difficulty, Dad would tell me to sleep on it. There’s plenty of science to validate his belief that sleep does help the brain to problem solve. I am just as likely to tell my own children to walk on it. And I too am following the science.
This week’s reading has been 52 Ways to Walk by the appropriately- named Annabel Streets. We all love a 52 ways book, don’t we? The neatness of one activity for every week of the year appeals. As well as this, Street has created something highly readable, well-researched and evidence-based. Did you know that we remember more if we walk backwards? Or that hiking in new places keeps your brain youthful? And that just two minutes of silent, phone-free walking is enough to reset us? I admit to having lived experience of the latter from years of working in schools and having to calm disregulated teenagers. I soon discovered a silent ramble around the school field for a few minutes was the best way to start any restorative interaction.
In Winter of course our walking adventures may be somewhat hampered, unless we hail from intrepid Scandanavian stock. They’ve built a life on the concept of friluftsliv. We are much more likely to be navigating grey and wet than white and crisp over the Winter months. But take heart. You can do a lot of good for yourself with sensible clothing, sturdy footwear and just twelve minutes walking close to home.
When it comes to movement for wellbeing there are some universal truths
any movement is better than none
movement outside is better than movement inside
there are equal benefits to be gained from movement with others and movement alone
if you move, you should also rest
varying your movement is better than repeating the same kind
movement helps your brain as much as your body
There are two types of walking I’ve wanted to try for quite some time – Nordic walking and firewalking. I’ve just found the details for a popular Nordic walking group in Bath that uses a park near The Urban Garden, one of my favourite independent garden centres in the area. That’s something for 2026. A firewalking opportunity has become available sooner. And so, on December 6th I will be walking over hot coals in aid of my local hospice. If the weather is cold, at least my feet will be toasty. If you are feeling generous, a small donation would be very welcome and will help support folks going through tough times. You’ll find details here.
Keep moving!
UPDATE – please hold off on the donations. Dorothy House have emailed to say they are rescheduling the event to a different date!
On a recent visit to Sissinghurst we spotted this at the entrance – a homemade ‘theatre’ of what the garden was offering up, designed to change weekly through the seasons. I have a more homespun collection on the kitchen windowsill – a few dahlias, gourds, hazelnuts, acorns, conkers and russet coloured leaves. Obviously there’s plenty to bring pleasure to the eye and solace to the soul in Autumn but what about in the depths of winter? I don’t mean cold, crisp, sunny, tramp about and blow on your fingers kind of days; I mean those weeks of never-ending mizzly, bone-achingly numbing greyness as we head into Winter. Can we find light on those days too?
The answer is yes – but only if we lean into the rhythms of the season. Winter is a fallow period with a slower pace of life, an opportunity to take our time, rest, reflect, make plans, connect to ourselves. If we take our lead from Mother Nature, come Spring we’ll have built the ideal conditions for growth. Do the prep and you’ll be rewarded with a better harvest. Start now in slow, deliberate ways. Deep not broad. Inwardly not outwardly. Gentle not frantic.
I’ve been doing a lot of reading and research on approaches to Winter to inform and enhance the counselling work I do and for my own self-care. The most significant lesson I’ve taken onboard is that how we approach Winter tells us a lot about how we navigate those wintry moments in life – unsettled, stormy, monotonous, dark, rainy, cold, even frozen times that life has a habit of lobbing at us all. Over the next few weeks I’m going to try to distil my research, reading and experience into some bite-size nuggets to help anyone tolerate or even embrace winter, both real and metaphorical, beginning this week with the concept of gathering. By this I mean assembling what you need to survive (or even thrive) over Winter.
Balance ‘social butterfly’ you with ‘hibernating dormouse’ you by adopting a winter mindset. This a fallow time, one for rest and regeneration. At the very time we naturally want to sleep more and slow down, we force ourselves to speed up with a crazy amount of socialising, partying, Christmas shopping and generally putting ourselves out there. The school term is packed with mock exams alongside Christmas concerts and shows. Pace yourselves, people. Nobody needs to enter January feeling frazzled. By embracing Winter as it’s truly meant to be, even if all you can manage is slow moments every day, you’ll reap the rewards.
Secondly be more squirrel. We need to collect the resources for Winter. I’m never averse to squirrelling away what I need. Thanks to my agricultural heritage that I am well-versed in harvest practices. From August to October I am occupied picking, preserving and storing produce to see us through the winter. Then there is the ritual of making the Christmas cake and stocking up on the raw materials to wrap presents, making sure the log store is full, that we have a healthy supply of candles and a regular supply of books to read, puzzles, jigsaws and anything else that makes a winter evening pleasurable.
Like the Scouts, be prepared. Carry out the maintenance needed before the dark days really set in. In practical terms it might mean getting the chimney swept, the guttering cleared and the car winter ready. Sensible not sexy. Making the garden winter ready, cleaning and sweeping slippery paths, keeping your wellies near the door will all help. In personal terms winterising your wardrobe or your house will give you plenty of reason to enjoy the season. The day when I decide to dust off the under-bed storage baskets is my version of Paris Fashion Week. A whole new wardrobe of clothes and household textiles to play with- thicker duvets, cosy blankets, my favourite Nordic socks, scarves and warm coats. When you live and work in centrally heated, insulated spaces and drive between the two, in theory you could pretty much survive with the same wardrobe all year round. But where’s the fun in that?
And finally establish some rituals. They offer ways to create meaning, instil hope, and build a sense of community in dark times. When life is uncertain, rituals provide structure and a sense of purpose. Our ancestors knew this and so it isn’t surprising that there are numerous light festivals, opportunities for gathering together and feasting in Winter. But an intentional candlelit supper on a Friday night, reading a chapter of your favourite book before bed, a Sunday afternoon walk with a friend or a coffee at daybreak in your favourite mug are just as helpful.
Winter is Coming. In Game of Thrones it’s a threat but in reality it’s an opportunity to give your life balance and lean into the opportunity to clear, reset and prepare for growth.
I popped into Bath on Friday to attend an event organised by a fellow trainer at Kindwaves. At lunchtime, dodging the showers with my packed lunch in a nearby park, I spent twenty minutes daydreaming and people-watching before wandering back for the afternoon session, appreciating the city in all her Autumn finery, beautifully captured above by local photographer Roy Newport. (Check him out on Facebook if you fancy some ‘Bathcore’.) His shot is beautiful, isn’t it? Later on I bumped into a former colleague, a teacher just about to begin his Half Term break. The joyful expression that a week’s holiday from school brings was undeniable – the prospect of long lazy mornings, lunch dates with friends (or just time for lunch), reconnecting with family, time to sort out your home admin, an altogether slower pace of life. In that slowness dwells creativity, solutions and space to reclaim our health. And after another few weeks of activity, as is my ritual, I too am taking a break.
I’ve been thoroughly enjoying neuroscientist Dr Joseph Jebelli’s recent book ‘The Brain at Rest- and finding so much in it that resonates. Over the last few weeks I have adopted all of the strategies he explores in small ways but this week I am going to dive in fully and enthusiastically.
Constant busyness, overwork and potential burnout is to our age was smoking was to my parents’ generation. It’s so tightly woven into the way we live our lives that we do not stop to question the harm it is doing; perhaps even the harm hasn’t been fully researched and understood. Jebelli’s reason for researching the benefits of rest or ‘doing nothing’ as he calls it centres on his own experience and that of his parents. In seeking to avoid the burnout his father experienced he has evolved a better approach to how he spends his own days. By making tiny shifts he has achieved big changes. So far, so solution-focused. They are the kinds of tiny steps that anyone can incorporate into their lives. It’s less resign from your job and take yourself off to an off-grid cabin in the woods for the rest of your life and more give yourself permission to eat lunch in the park or day dream. There are seven key ways you can turn your back on the road to burnout – one for every day of the week or in my case, one for every week before I take the next week of downtime.
Limit. Fewer long days spent entirely focused on work. No seven day working weeks. No hours spent in front of a screen. Deploy the Pomodoro technique (25 mins focus followed by 5 mins wandering, daydreaming or making a drink).
Sleep. It’s sacrosanct. Get the hours you need and nap in the day.
Detox from technology regularly. Take yourself off to the forest and retreat into nature.
Move. Aim for a minimum of 150 minutes of moderate exercise spread over five days.
Play.
Daydream. Twenty minutes watching the clouds, staring out of the window or into the flames brings innumerable benefits. Spend time alone with your thoughts.
Say no. Protect your boundaries.
Which one will you embrace this week? Start small and build up.
It’s a good year when I get all my Spring bulbs in the ground before December; happily, so far this year I am on course to accomplish it. A simple, mindful, hopeful activity that I recommend to anyone and especially to bereaved clients as the leaves fall, the evenings close in and life feels that bit more melancholy. It’s a bittersweet time of year, a time of endings, for going inwards and solitary reflection. Navigating the emotions that surround this, especially for the grieving can be complex. Bur gently leaning into the ebb and flow of the season helps.
I ordered my bulbs online back in July – it’s one of my annual rituals but it’s easy and relatively inexpensive to pick up a few bulbs in the supermarket or garden centre right now. Bulbs have the food they need to grow within them, so they don’t need particularly rich soil. You can plant them in a pot, in a border, in the lawn or go rogue and become a guerilla gardener, popping them somewhere in your neighbourhood to put a smile on the faces in the bus queue. You might even be able to find a local community bulb planting activity to join.
Whether you do it alone, with a friend, family member or connecting with a group the benefits are obvious. When you bury a bulb a few inches down in the soil you are indulging in a spot of self -care as well as earth care, improving the environment for yourself, your fellow humans and for pollinators. For a more detailed breakdown of the personal health benefits of this simple activity, here they are.
gentle physical movement
connection to nature
mindfulness
the stress-busting, mood- boosting, immunity-inducing benefits of putting your hands in the soil
a sense of purpose and accomplishment
time outside, rebalancing your circadian rhythm and promoting better sleep
hope for the future
Now go forth and plant.
Post your pics on social media and maybe we’ll start a (r)evolution of hope to see us through the dark days.
Autumn leaves on the forest floor make the perfect opportunity for a bit of Andy Goldsworthy-inspired mindful creativity. Much as I would love to claim this beauty as my own, that would be dishonest. There was a time, nearly twenty years ago now, when I was partial to a bit of mandala-making with the school gardening club for the harvest festival and running family workshops at the local National Trust gardens – and I would do it again. Now I’m not averse to rearranging the glass jars in my pantry. That too is mindfully creative.
One of the keen memories of my early childhood is the patterns my mum used to draw in an exercise book for me to colour in. Then I graduated on to illuminated letters. I’m pretty sure she was carving out a bit of time for herself, whilst ensuring that I didn’t wander too far from home before supper – I had an outdoor childhood! Clearly she was also way ahead of her time; mindfulness colouring is now a multi-million pound industry.
Of course, there is absolutely no need to spend money to indulge in a bit of mindful creativity. All you need is a bit of uninterrupted time, a curious mind, a spirit of experimentation and play, a lack of judgement, total acceptance and zero expectation. Break free of the modern preoccupation with perfection, completion and permanence. That is absolutely not the approach to take. The positivity lies in the process and leaning into the realisation that everything is transient.
My go-to activities are gardening, writing, making chutney (all that therapeutic chopping and stirring) and rearranging my cupboards, as I said before. I’m not a crafter, although the mindfully creative positives of yarnwork have been highlighted recently by England rugby’s Abby Dow and before that by Tom Daley. The Red Roses used it as a team-bonding exercise too and that is certainly true of the very many Knit and Natter groups that exist up and down the country.
I’m drawn to trying nature journalling over the next year – documenting what I notice on daily walks around my neighbourhood in a creative way. Another way I’m tapping into childhood memories. One of the many ‘projects’ I dreamt up was identifying wildflowers in the fields around my home and researching them, then drawing or photographing them and presenting them in a scrapbook. I’m a firm believer that our childhood interests reveal our true nature and purpose. Mine is linked with the outdoors, mindfulness, research, presenting information in an accessible way, starting up projects and connecting people.
What is yours?
Choose a mindfully creative activity and that may well illuminate your nature and purpose.
Moving on from classroom teaching and no longer having school-age children means taking a break during term-time. It feels rebellious and I am embracing rebellion in my fifties like never before. I recommend it. A lot. If we take a mini-road trip, we often stay off-grid. Cue plenty of exploring, daydreaming out of the window, gazing into the flickering flames after dark with a mug of something delicious and piles of books waiting to be read. Pretty much what our holidays were like back in the nineties.
How did we manage before mobile devices?
The answer – very well indeed. I only caved in when my mother-in-law insisted that living in a rural community with three small children meant I really should have a mobile for those occasions when the car broke down, miles from anywhere.
It didn’t. And I’m still not sure constant connection was a good idea.
Now of course we’ve come full circle and ‘influencers’ who make a living from t’internet are extolling the benefits of life unplugged. The irony isn’t lost on me but neither is the idea. Every time we look at our devices (and for many, that’s several hundred times a day), we get a dopamine hit. The kind that out ancestors got when they found food or shelter. It’s a tool for survival, which has become warped into an addiction. I see the same behaviours in some young people in school with their phones as I did when I supported alcoholics as a volunteer counsellor in the nineties. Dopamine (the pleasure hormone) is replacing oxytocin (the happiness hormone). Low levels of oxytocin lead to restlessness, anxiety and low mood. And just as the more dopamine you have, the more you want, with oxytocin, the more you have the more you produce. Which would you choose?
It’s not rocket science that one of the ways to better mental health, connection and long-term contentment lies in regular unplugging or ‘phone fasting’. But how to do it?
You can of course go full detox and choose to live off-grid -although that comes at quite a price in many ways.
Then there is the regular wilderness retreat – also pricey unless you are one of those forward-thinking Scandinavians who repair to their wood shack every summer.
Much more achievable is the phone equivalent of the late Michael Moseley’s 5:2 diet – no tech for two days of the week. At the very least, eliminating technology for the first hour of your day and the hour before you go to bed will start to tip the scales in favour of a more calm and contented you. And you can easily replace those dopamine hits during the day too.
Whether you go full detox, withdraw in stages or just limit your consumption, you will feel the benefits.
being more present and better connected with your loved ones, your colleagues, everyone
living more mindfully and intentionally
embracing boredom, which leads to daydreaming and creative problem-solving
managing your cortisol levels
What will you try this week and what benefits will you notice?
Forage and Flourish 
