Navigating personal and political grief in a time of chaos and change

‘I don’t know if we were meant to carry so much grief in one body… Yet, we are not alone’ (Alexandra/Ahlay Blakely)

-These are the lyrics of a song that I’ve sung with others at song circles, protests and other events where groups have assembled to process and express grief (alongside other emotions) and to share the experience of trying to make sense of things that feel big, scary and unfathomable. The song also contains a part that is essentially a tuneful wail, in a bid to reconnect us to the embodied, messy, loud and cathartic nature of expressing grief. Right now, I’m struck by the ways in which reclaiming ritual, authentic expression and communal grieving can be forms of resistance to the legacy of colonial, Victorian Britain, where emotional repression and sanitised grief processes became the only socially acceptable options.

I’m thinking – and feeling – a lot about grief at the moment for two reasons. Firstly, because I recently experienced an important loss in my own life. My family has always been small and very well versed in grief and generational trauma. For the last twenty years, my Gran was my last living close relative. She died two weeks ago, at the age of ninety five. The loss process was a slow one, with so many of our ‘lasts’ taking place over a period of months, years and even decades. It’s been a long time since the last of our trips to the garden centre for coffee, cake and unnecessary purchases of hand cream and silly ornaments. It’s been a few months since we had a real, two-way conversation that I could be fairly sure was understood. It’s been six years since I cleared out the last of my childhood homes, which contained three generations worth of photo albums, favourite mugs, books, school reports and the like. And so, this particular grief process has been less of a crash landing and more of a slow glide than others I’ve experienced, although it also feels even more significant in some ways. My main regret is that she died while I was on my way to say goodbye and support her transition. But I’m relieved that she was not alone at the end, and that we’d had a conversation about dying while she was still able to communicate. When I finally made it to the nursing home, I had a first experience of witnessing death up close, and I reflected on how odd it was to have never done this before. I sat beside Gran, still in her bed, and chatted with a relative and the local minister in a way that felt strange and surreal, yet somehow, also normal and natural. We played one of her favourite songs as she was taken to the funeral home, and the nursing home staff lined up to say goodbye and send her on her way. At the funeral, although I felt safe, held and not especially overwhelmed, I was struck by a familiar sense of disconnect between what my body wanted and what felt possible and acceptable in the relatively formal environment of a crematorium and church service. I feel sure that I wouldn’t have been judged for a loud or physical expression of grief, and I didn’t especially feel the need to wail or collapse in that moment; and yet, something in my body said ‘this feels too distant and mysterious – how am I supposed to be present in this space?’

All of this has made me think about the need for more open conversation, ritual and encouragement of authentic emotional expression in the culture I’m part of. Social media and public health campaigns are awash with messaging about the importance of sharing our feelings through talking and other forms of expression. That’s a step in the right direction, though it might sometimes feel like a bit of a platitude. But what about the impact of bracing against and repressing our expressions of grief in order to stay acceptable and ‘sane’? And what might happen when a person’s expression of grief becomes too noisy, inconvenient or disturbing to be considered healthy? Like most people I know, I’m a passionate advocate for accessible, free and de-stigmatised mental health care, but I also feel I need to acknowledge the ways that psychology and psychiatry have been used as forms of social control, and have pathologised responses to grief and trauma that may be culturally specific or entirely rational in the face of irrational and intolerable circumstances. What might happen if we allowed ourselves and others to reconnect with the full experience of being human - the moments of irrationality and madness; going through and holding each other in moments of despair, rage, exhaustion, guilt, hope and new growth; witnessing the full cycle of life in all of its magical and sometimes horrifying glory? It feels like something that we need to explore further if we  want to stay well both individually and societally. And I say this as someone who often has a hard time expressing vulnerability and big emotions. I feel things deeply, but I’ve always tended to save them up and channel them through singing and other forms of creative expression. Embodied practices, especially if they involve music, have always cut right through my defences, and I find them incredibly powerful when I need to process big or sticky emotions (hence why I coach others in finding embodied tools that work for them). I’m hopeful in general about change in relation to how we sit with, process and express difficult feelings. But a move towards widespread emotional intelligence is in direct opposition to the global rise of the far right and backslide on gender equity – fascism venerates the ‘strong man’ and seeks to shut down forms of self-awareness and communication that might lead to cooperation, inclusion and collective power. And so, we’re seeing disenfranchised communities and lost young people being encouraged to shut down any expressions of vulnerability, grief or fear in favour of turning the discomfort outwards into rage at women, at refugees, at trans people, or whoever the latest scapegoat might be. It’s depressingly familiar, in that we all learned about a similar political climate in the run up to the war that was supposed to remind us to never let this happen again. That took place in living memory for some people – it’s certainly something that profoundly affected my Jewish immigrant Gran, who was brought to Scotland at the age of four in the 1930s. She was an avid follower of world news, and I’m glad that she wasn’t able to see and understand the direction things seem to be heading in the final part of her life.

This leads me to the second reason I’ve been thinking about grief, which is the experience of collective grief over witnessing a genocide that seems to be never ending, and the criminalising of that grief in several countries, including the UK. This also feels consistent with the colonial project of shutting down communities’ own forms of expression in favour of whatever presents the least threat to the people in power. I think it’s fair to say that protesting genocide is an expression of grief. I’ve cried at almost every national march I’ve attended in the last nearly-two-years, and each time felt disbelief about needing to ask for our elected representatives to stop participating in acts that contribute to an unfathomable number of deaths. I’ve also bowed out of protests at times when it’s been too much for various reasons, and felt guilty, since showing up seems to be the very least I could do in the face of such atrocity. But this is where community becomes important – we let each other take breaks and remind ourselves that our power is in being in it together. This is something that we can apply to grief more generally too, since it can feel like such an intensely isolating experience. At this point in ‘late stage capitalism’, division is lucrative, because we’re more vulnerable and malleable when we’re isolated, and because rage creates engagement, which turns into profit. So, our resistance and our healing needs to happen in community. That’s not a particularly new or radical idea, but it feels like the sort of thing I need to remind myself of frequently in this time of chaos. And while nobody can process my grief for me, the power of being witnessed in a moment of full, messy humanity feels like it could be pretty transformative.

5 Reasons to go on a Burnout Prevention Retreat

If you're anything like many of my clients, you're probably really invested in personal development and wellbeing, but a bit fed up with wading through busy online spaces full of quick fixes and wonder cures. You might be feeling the weight of supporting others while struggling to maintain your own work-life balance, or noticing the early signs of burnout creeping in.

1. Deep Reflection Beats Quick Fixes

Let's be honest - there are no magic bullets when it comes to preventing burnout or reconnecting with your sense of purpose. What I've found has a much bigger impact is taking dedicated time out to do some in-depth personal work. Unlike trying to squeeze reflection and recovery into the gaps between meetings, a retreat offers the rare gift of uninterrupted time to tune into what you truly need at this stage of your life and career.

2. A Whole Person Approach to Burnout

While there are many valuable ways to address burnout - from counselling to medical support - most tend to treat specific issues in isolation. I approach burnout from a whole person perspective, recognising the connections between our emotions, thoughts, body sensations and behaviours. This retreat offers not just respite, but practical tools for recognizing early warning signs and establishing sustainable practices that work for you.

3. Embodied Learning That Actually Makes Sense

If you're new to embodied approaches or skeptical about some of the more magical claims sometimes made in the wellness world, you're not alone. I won't offer you unrealistic promises or pseudoscientific jargon. Instead, you'll learn practical, evidence-based techniques for tuning into your body's signals and re-regulating your nervous system. These tools can help you navigate challenging situations with more confidence and authenticity.

4. Small Group, Big Impact

Working in a small, carefully curated group creates something special. It's not about doing deep work in a large room full of strangers, but about building real connection and trust. Maybe you're used to being the supporter, the fixer, the one who holds space for others. Here's an opportunity to receive support yourself, benefit from outside perspectives, and remember that you don't have to figure everything out alone.

5. A Different Kind of Reset

Sometimes, making decisions from a place of exhaustion leads us to focus more on getting away from problems than moving towards what we need. This retreat offers something different - a chance to step back, breathe, and reconnect with your most up-to-date, wise Adult self in a beautiful, nurturing setting.

Is This Right for You?

I’m offering a burnout prevention retreat, specifically designed for people who:

• Work in supporting roles (e.g. third sector leaders, coaches, facilitators, frontline support workers)

• Value personal development but may be new to embodied approaches

• May be feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, or disconnected from their sense of purpose

• Want practical tools for preventing burnout and maintaining healthy boundaries

• Need time and space to reflect and re-evaluate who they are and what they need now

I know it's a big step to take time away from your responsibilities to focus on your own wellbeing. But here's the thing - investing in your resilience isn't just about self-care. It's about ensuring you can continue to show up effectively for others and maintain the impact you want to have in your work and life.

Remember: taking time out isn't a luxury - it's essential for sustainable performance and wellbeing. Sometimes the most powerful step we can take is creating space to receive support in a setting designed for deep, transformative work.

Secure your space today - click here to book or contact me to find out more.

‘So what is it that you actually do?’ – Stories from a coach and facilitator with a niche job title (Part 2)

I offer coaching, facilitation and consultancy in a wide range of contexts with people in very different situations. But there are some common themes that arise for many clients – these include:

*Burnout and compassion fatigue

*Finding it difficult to express themselves or state their needs

*Feeling stuck in a ‘freeze’ response

*Working out ‘who am I now, and where next?’

*Creating community and finding places where they feel a sense of belonging

These challenges can show up in different ways and different situations, and it’s not always obvious at the outset that these are things that might need some attention. Sometimes, the reason a person comes to coaching is that they’re stuck with a specific issue in the workplace, difficulty communicating with someone in their life, needing support to make life decisions, or because they feel that they need some space to focus on improving their wellbeing.

But when we get below the surface, a lot of the themes that come up for people are human experiences that so many of us share in common. As a species, we’ve evolved to survive and thrive through cooperation, and we can be motivated by a need for belonging. That’s part of the reason that the relational aspect of any good coaching can be so transformative, and it’s also why I often find myself focusing on relationships, communication and what’s going on psychologically, emotionally and somatically in relation to them, regardless of what specific issues a client has come in with. Underneath a fear of speaking up and asking for a specific need (or want) to be met is often a belief such as ‘I’m too much’, ‘I’m not enough’ or ‘I mustn’t risk rejection’, which was likely a result of interactions with significant people earlier in life. Although coaching differs from therapy by being predominantly present and future focused, rather than spending a lot of time reflecting on the past, understanding why we’re carrying around self-limiting beliefs or struggling with a particular aspect of communication, self-care or decision making can be powerful in terms of breaking cycles and creating meaningful change.

So, what do I find useful in addressing these big topics?

The Coaching Relationship

A major foundation of any effective therapeutic or personal development focused relationship is building rapport, trust and enough safety to allow clients to express how they really feel and know that this will be met positively. That in itself, along with any interactions that lead to feeling seen and heard can be a powerful intervention for someone who is working with internalised beliefs about being ‘too much’, ‘not enough’ or ‘taking up too much space’. This might look like – for example - explicitly stating that emotions are welcome in the coaching space, responding calmly and warmly to what a client has shared, demonstrating reliability and showing that I’ve heard and understood, and offering permission to clients to be in the space, in their body and in the coaching relationship in whatever way they need to.

Beyond this, I might offer an experimental, sometimes slightly playful approach to collaboratively working with clients to discover what tools, resources and communication styles work best for them. I may use gentle challenge and checking out assumptions to support them to move past self-limiting beliefs. We may explore models, frameworks and metaphors or stories to make more sense of something a client is stuck with. These are tried and tested aspects of coaching work, and I’m always delighted when they result in a new insight that leads to meaningful change – like when one client realised that there was a pattern of discounting her own needs when communicating with others in her personal and professional life, and began working on a strategy to address this that led to huge improvements in her work and relationship with her partner.

An Embodied Approach

I also find an embodied approach to addressing some of these big themes is really effective. We’re finally starting to move away from approaches to personal development that seem to view us as floating heads with clear distinctions between the cognitive, emotional, physical and behavioural aspects of ourselves. It’s becoming clear to more and more people that we can’t really separate our thoughts, emotions, experiences, body sensations and physical/mental health. I got into embodiment work because I was in a wellbeing and communication crisis of my own, and because most of my coaching work, at least in the early days, focused on performance and presentation, which have embodied aspects to them. We communicate using our bodies, and when this is in the context of verbal communication or vocal performance, our body is our instrument. There’s a feedback loop between the physical sensations we feel, whether we’re holding tension in our bodies, how we’re taking up space, how we feel emotionally, and what we communicate. On a societal level, we’re learning more and more about the ways in which we can re-regulate an over or under-stimulated nervous system in order to get back to a place of calm, clear thinking and here-and-now presence. That’s really helpful in situations where we might feel stressed, anxious, angry or overwhelmed. So there’s always an element of embodied practice in my coaching, even if that ‘only’ involves encouraging clients to notice physical responses and offering sugggested ways to ground themselves when things get challenging. We might also play with embodying a particular thought, feeling or experience, and seeing what happens to the client’s communication, emotions or thought processes when they try different ways of breathing, taking up space, engaging muscles or letting go of tension.

Connecting with Intuition

Offering tools that support deep relaxation, connection with our most intuitive, Adult selves and space to meaningfully reflect can also be transformative when someone is stuck in a place of feeling ‘frozen’, unable to work out what to do next, or afraid to set courageous goals that will bring them what they need in order to feel as healthy and fulfilled as possible. Using breathwork, guided visualisations and other tools that can help clients to enter this deeply reflective space can be a great jumping off point for identifying values, working out what they would ideally like their life to look like, connecting with what they feel passionate about, and moving on to take steps towards the goals they have set from a place of calm, curiosity and intuition. Sometimes, we can surprise ourselves when we tap into feelings, ideas and dreams that we’re less aware of on a conscious level, and that can lead to powerful insights and ability to get ‘unstuck’ in decision making processes. One client came to coaching because of burnout and a need to address work-life balance. They hadn’t had the time or space to reflect on what they wanted to do next in life or how to achieve a more sustainable pace while satisfying their career goals until they found a way to protect some time for coaching sessions in which to slow down and consider this. We used visualisation exercises to connect with the client’s values, needs and passions. This was the first step in a change of career that they later fed back brought them joy and helped them to feel more like their authentic self than they had in a long time.

Self-Expression Work

I also support clients to express themselves with courage, authenticity and clarity. That might be in the context of speaking up about their own needs and views, performance and presentation, addressing a fear of being seen and heard or all of the above. It can be so helpful to have a practice space in which making mistakes, ‘saying the unsayable’, being vulnerable and making noise are explicitly welcomed and encouraged. Again, the working relationship makes a huge difference here, as it’s far easier to take risks when we trust the person who is supporting us to do so. It’s important to go at the pace that works best for each person, and for them to be reminded that they are in control of the situation. Permission to stop, say no and ask for a specific need to be met are important in letting a client know this – especially if they have a history of needing to over-adapt in order to please others and stay safe. Beyond this, there are lots of ways that I might support someone to express themselves more freely. Inviting a playful approach can be helpful in some situations (and absolutely the wrong thing to do in others – tailoring support to individual need is so important here). Distraction can help in cases where someone is caught in a feedback loop of self-criticism and stifled expression/communication. I enjoy seeing the difference it can make when I support people to connect with their emotions and speak, sing or present as themselves (rather than emulating someone else or trying to be who they think others might want to hear). The changes can be subtle or hard to pin down, but the difference is in the emotional connection – it’s so exciting when someone expresses something in a way that sparks a real human to human connection and helps me tap into my own emotional world for a moment. That’s an example of courageous, authentic communication, which can be so transformative in contexts from moving past conflict, to advocating for our needs, to being able to move and inspire an audience.

If you’d like to find out more and discuss how I might be able to support you with any of the challenges described here, I’d love to hear from you – you can contact me here.

Embodied communication – using body wisdom to support difficult conversations

Dealing with disagreement

It’s an interesting and turbulent time here in the UK and further afield, politically speaking. I’ve found myself having lively debates at the pub, emotionally charged conversations with family members, colleagues and acquaintances, and difficult interactions with people who hold fundamentally different views and values to my own. This has led me to think about how we might connect with the wisdom our bodies have to offer in order to support us with sensitive, challenging and potentially triggering conversations. How might we tune in to signs and signals of potential overwhelm, re-regulate our nervous systems during and after a charged interaction, and stay grounded enough to actively listen and speak from a thoughtful place?

I have had an embodiment practice of some kind in my life for many years. I know what works for me when I need support, and I help others to connect with their bodies and to communicate from as calm and grounded a state as possible. And yet, I don’t mind admitting that there are some times when all of this awareness temporarily goes out of the proverbial window, and I find myself reacting from a place of emotional impulsivity, waiting impatiently to speak instead of listening and finding myself in a state of hyperarousal. The reason I got into embodiment work and found it so transformative is that I have a highly sensitive Autonomic Nervous System,  and I tend to feel things intensely on a physical and an emotional level. Recently, I found myself in one of these situations, as I found myself hooked into a discussion where someone expressed views that I found distressing. The sudden and unexpected feeling of being unsafe had me holding my breath, feeling a little dissociated and ‘spaced out’, and then moving into a state of preparation to fight it out. I did my best to maintain a level of diplomacy and to try to listen to what the other person had to say, though no doubt on some level, they will have sensed a disconnect between my attempts to maintain a calm, curious and measured approach and whatever signs of stress were visible in spite of my efforts. In the end, this wasn’t the right time and place to delve further into a sensitive, contentious topic, and we left the discussion feeling unresolved. I was aware of carrying some of the tension created by the situation into the rest of my day, and had to make a conscious effort to decompress later. I’d like to give myself some grace and consider that this might have been the best I could do under the circumstances. But what could a really good version of this conversation look like, and what else could I have done to use an embodied approach to support myself in this situation?

Re-regulating our nervous systems and listening to our bodies

Firstly, it’s worth considering the environment in which a difficult conversation is taking place. Are there distractions and external stressors? Can you and the others involved in the discussion give each other your full attention? Is there some level of privacy and a sense of containment offered by the space (particularly if you are sharing deeply personal experiences, feelings and views)? Personally, my neurotype means that I am easily distracted and stressed by conversations in busy, noisy environments – putting a lot of energy into blocking out conversations happening at the next table in the pub doesn’t leave a huge amount of capacity to keep myself grounded and regulated. If stress levels begin to escalate during a conversation, it can be helpful to check in with how your body is feeling, and notice if anything external is contributing to any sense of discomfort. You might consider suggesting that the conversation is moved to a space that offers a sense of containment and calm, or rescheduled to a time when you’re able to focus more easily.

In our fast-paced, dopamine-fuelled world, it’s easy to forget that it’s okay to slow down. But when a difficult conversation begins to feel stressful and escalate into a place of conflict and distress, hitting the brakes can offer an opportunity to check in with ourselves, breathe and consider what might help us to begin to build bridges instead of putting up walls. A simple way to slow down is to pause and consciously notice what your breath is doing. Do you feel it high in your chest, shallow, fast, or are you holding your breath and bracing for impact? Taking a moment to send the breath lower into the body (in other words, ‘belly breathing’, which engages your diaphragm) can instantly help to re-regulate your nervous system and let you think more clearly.  Related to this, getting comfortable with moments of silence can help – we don’t need to respond to another person’s point straight away, and we’re not communicating at our best if we’ve been waiting to get our tuppence-worth in, rather than listening to what’s being said. Taking a moment to ponder and consider our response can help to slow down a potentially escalating conversation, and also offers a chance to check in with and adjust what’s going on in our bodies. When I unexpectedly found myself in the aforementioned difficult conversation, I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was holding my breath and physically bracing against the psychological impact of the other person’s words. But I was also aware that time to continue the discussion was limited, and it seemed as if I couldn’t possibly slow down for long enough to take a breath and consider my response. Of course, this wasn’t true, and if nothing else, taking a moment to ground myself would have allowed me to walk away from the situation feeling calmer.

Responding to warning signs for stress

Are you aware of your body’s equivalent of warning lights on the car dashboard, alerting you to a need for something to shift before you find yourself in an inconvenient or dangerous situation? There may be some experiences that many of us will share in common in terms of early warning signs of stress or trauma triggers (such as changes to our breathing patterns), but each person and body is so different, that it’s useful to spend some time getting to know your own patterns. Often, our bodies react to a situation well before our conscious minds have a chance to process and interpret what’s going on and how to respond. Some of my own warning signs now feel so glaringly obvious to me that I sometimes wonder whether people around me notice them too (for the most part, I’m pretty sure they don’t). Developing a sense of what our bodies might be trying to tell us can save a lot of time and energy, particularly in stressful situations where we might lose our ability to think and express ourselves as clearly as we can when we’re calm. The next step in the process of connecting to this part of our body wisdom is considering what we might need when the ‘warning light’ we’ve identified is illuminated. Is it trying to tell us to take a break, to ground ourselves, to re-energise, to leave the situation entirely, or something else? Developing this awareness and slowing down to tune into our bodies can really help to strengthen connections with others and improve communication, as well as reducing the stress often associated with conflict and difficult conversations.

What are our bodies communicating?

It can also be interesting to consider what we’re communicating with our bodies – much has been made of body language, and I’m sometimes a little skeptical about the idea of consciously trying to manipulate what we want to convey through careful use of body positioning and movement. But, as previously mentioned, people are often skilled (whether consciously or subconsciously) at picking up incongruence or mismatched words, actions and signs of emotional states. So if body language, words and the slightly harder-to-pin-down ‘feeling in the room’ seem to be at odds, we might experience a general sense that something isn’t quite right. As such, I’m advocating for an approach based on authentic, honest communication. But we can nevertheless use our bodies to help us change our psychological and physical state, and to convey the message we want to get across without being inauthentic. Sort of a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ approach, but I don’t consider it to be ‘faking’, so much as embodying the state we’re aiming for, and noticing any shifts that happen in our emotions and communication as a result. For example, coming into a conversation that we feel nervous about having, perhaps with an uneven power dynamic or with a person who we think might not take us seriously. It might help to engage supportive muscles in our lower body and to feel a sense of having a solid base, as well as considering how we take up space in the room. I’m not suggesting the full ‘power stance’ option favoured by key players at the Tory conference a few years ago (I still remember the memes that circulated off the back of a slew of pictures of MPs in identical power poses). But sending subtle signals to ourselves through our physical state and how we position ourselves can help to shift our emotional state and the relationship dynamics in the room. This isn’t about getting ‘one up’ on another person or playing games, but it can be a useful experiment to consider how we are reinforcing or undermining what we want to communicate through what we’re doing with our bodies. With all that said, it feels important to offer nuance – this isn’t about being constantly aware and ‘in control’ of what we’re doing, or about shaming different ways of being in a body and taking up space. Before I understood my neurodivergent identity, I remember being hugely shamed at a leadership programme by a fellow participant who told me that she couldn’t take me seriously as a leader because I ‘moved around too much’ and ‘talked with [my] hands excessively’. For a while, I considered how I might be able to shift my way of being in order to convey a bit more gravitas. And there are some situations, like giving a formal presentation, where I might be more conscious of slowing down and stepping into my power in a more physical way. But otherwise, I came to realise that I don’t need to change who I am and how I move in order to be ‘taken seriously’ – that was the other person’s issue, not mine.

Decompressing after difficult conversations

Finally, let’s explore what happens after a difficult interaction. How might we decompress and let go after a situation that’s caused us stress and filled us with adrenaline? Maybe you already have a practice around this, whether it’s talking to a trusted contact to process what happened, going for a walk, or making a cup of tea. If there are residual feelings of tension, it’s worth considering how you might let them go, and whether there are physical ways of doing this. A good start might be to notice what your breath is doing, and whether you’re holding it. Breathing exercises can offer a mini reset, a bit like switching yourself off and back on again. You might feel like you need to move your body, in order to let go of the tension and ‘shake off’ anything you’re left with that you don’t want to carry through your day. Or you might feel spaced out and disconnected, and need something that offers a sense of grounding and containment, like using your arms to ‘give yourself a hug’ (or getting one from someone else, if you enjoy that). You might have words or sounds that need to be released in some way, whether through talking, journalling, singing, or screaming into a pillow. Decompression looks different for each person, but it can be a good way of drawing a line under an interaction, and releasing anything you don’t need before moving on to the next task or interaction. I’d suggest taking a few minutes to note down what you find helpful after a stressful situation, so that you have a list to refer to when you’re feeling too stressed to recall what you need in the moment.

If you’d like more information and support with embodied communication, please feel free to contact me.

The Therapeutic Power of Singing

Lately, I’ve been reconnecting with the many reasons that singing is one of the most powerful resources in my toolkit. I’d like to share these reasons with you, in the hope of inspiring motivation, or at least curiosity about the power of song and voice.

I’m one of those stereotypical multi-hyphenates – an ‘elder millenial’ with a list of freelance job titles. As I’ve developed my business, I’ve sometimes found myself sidelining the voice related aspects of my work in favour of what seem like the more ‘serious’ things that I offer (consultancy and facilitation, executive coaching). It seems that there’s been a stubborn kernel of unconscious bias hanging around in my psyche. Perhaps at some point, I’ve swallowed a bit of someone else’s belief that singing is a nice, but frivolous thing to do. “It’s all very well holding hands and singing Kum Ba Yah, but now let’s get on with the real work…”

But I know that this view is completely at odds with my experience. I’ve been singing since I was a small child – many years of choirs, vocal coaching, competitions, recitals, song circles, pub gigs, festival gigs, protest blocs, tours, voice retreats, vocal rehab and the rest. Most of these experiences have helped me to express and process emotion, connect with myself and others and get calm and grounded. And knowing that these positive impacts are available to just about anyone motivates me to share them.

There’s something fundamentally human about singing. I’m not aware of any cultures in the world that don’t have music/singing (regimes that forbid music as a form of religious or political control notwithstanding). The variations in pitch and different voice qualities involved in singing tend to offer an opportunity to feel and express emotion more acutely than we might when we speak. The long, controlled exhale we tend to use when singing helps to re-regulate and soothe an over- or under-stimulated Autonomic Nervous System. And something in the predictability of melody helps to convey a message to our pattern-seeking brains in a way that’s especially memorable. The beauty of all of this is that it can work whether or not the singer is trained, can stay on pitch or feels confident in their abilities. In fact, a psychologically safe enough environment and an embodied approach to singing can support someone who is experiencing a ‘freeze’ response or veering wildly off pitch to make progress with these issues.

If that’s not enough to convince you to seek out your nearest community choir (or attend one of my workshops), here’s a breakdown of some of the specific ways that singing can be transformative.

1.     Singing to express, process or shift emotions:

One of my supervisors wrote a PhD thesis on singers’ psychology, having noticed that her voice students would often sing what they couldn’t find a way to say. Many vocal coaches keep a box of tissues in their teaching room, ready to dry tears. In vulnerable, emotionally connected performances, we ideally want the singer to have shed any tears in advance and retained enough emotion on-stage to help the audience to connect to their own feelings. But of course, that’s not to say that singing is always heavy or painful. We might sing to express joy, love, anger, power or just about any other emotion imaginable. And we might use music to shift our mood or lift the energy in a space. Singing is a physical activity that requires muscular support, full diaphragmatic breathing and the release of unnecessary tension. This, combined with our connection to lyrics and certain voice qualities (such as the ‘sob’ sound) can help us to ‘shake loose’ emotions that might feel stuck or overwhelming.

2.     Singing as a grounding or meditative practice:

Singing is a form of bodywork in itself. There are so many physical processes at play when we sing, and noticing what we’re feeling in our bodies can offer a sense of grounding in the here and now, as well as helping to train the voice. Noticing where we can feel the sound vibrating in the body can feel particularly soothing for many people – I like to imagine that it’s similar to cats purring to heal themselves (though I don’t intend for this to be read as scientific fact!) Something that does have a basis in scientific research, however, is the established impact of chanting as part of meditation practice. Using repetitive, sung words/phrases or humming as part of meditation has been shown to reduce stress, anxiety and hypertension. I am a big fan of using humming as a vocal warmup and grounding exercise ahead of potentially challenging meetings and presentations.

3.     Singing as protest/political voice:

Like many others, I’ve often felt overwhelmed and powerless in the face of world events (most recently, the horrific situation in Gaza). But I’ve found it cathartic and powerful getting together with others at protests, rallies and private gatherings to sing songs that remind us of our common humanity and call for peace. I’m certain that, for as long as we’ve had language, people have sung songs to tell the stories of those who have been silenced, to express collective traumas and to call others to action. At a recent gathering, a contemplative song sung by a small group in a large crowd drew in a lot of attention and helped people to express their feelings. Meanwhile, world famous artists can use their platform to raise awareness and solidarity for the causes that matter to them.

4.     Singing to connect with others:

When we sing, we’re potentially making ourselves vulnerable – it’s exposing. This is a large factor in many people’s horror at the idea of anyone hearing them sing. But it’s also part of the reason that it’s such a powerful way to connect with people and build community. When we sing together, we can share an experience of collectively creating a sound, potentially synchronising our breathing and tuning into each other. It’s a real bonding experience, and  -as with the concept of singing as protest above – it can remind us of our collective power. I’ve often run ‘singing for wellbeing’ programmes for people who have found themselves in the most challenging situations (homelessness, seeking asylum, serious illness). And much of the feedback from participants has focused on the importance of the collective experience of singing – being witnessed as they took up space, made noise and expressed emotion. A 2013 study showed that choir members’ heartbeats could synchronise with each other as they sang (with more structured music showing more significant evidence of synchronisation). The feeling of being part of a huge wall of sound while singing in a large choir, and the feeling of instinctively harmonising in a small group are some of my favourite experiences – I can’t quite find a way to describe or compare them to anything else.

So, with all that in mind, I’m ready to throw out the last vestiges of discounting the importance of singing. And if you’re ready to find out more, drop me a message or check out my next embodied voice and breath workshop here.

Embodied, Courageous Communication

In explaining what I mean by ‘embodied, courageous communication’, I want to do my best to avoid throwing a load of jargon around. So, let me instead start by telling you a little about the experiences that have led me to be so passionate about supporting others (and, of course, myself) to express and communicate with courage and authenticity and to connect with the wisdom of our bodies.

As a person with ADHD, I’ve tended towards an abundance of energy – or rather, in the past, I was full of energy right up to the point where I’d burn out. I was aware of needing to move my body a lot, but not tuned into what else it may have been trying to tell me. That’s largely what led to me running myself into the ground at times when I was younger. My experience of communication was a little complicated too – I always had quick thoughts with many tangents, a tendency to use more words than I needed to and a love of performing. Some difficult circumstances in my early life meant that I struggled to communicate my emotions directly. But I found solace, emotional expression and a way of calming and connecting with my super energetic body through singing. In many ways, it was my biggest resource and most effective form of communication before I even realised it. Alongside a more general burnout, not knowing when to stop also led to an injury to my voice that took a long time to heal. That was the catalyst for a huge journey of learning how to understand myself, express myself authentically, listen to and care for my body, and connect more meaningfully with others. This ongoing process is what I mean by ‘embodied, courageous communication’.

I wasn’t really aware of all the defences I’d built up against anything that felt unsafe or vaguely threatening until I hit crisis point and had to address them head on. Learning about concepts like ‘body armour’ (holding tension in the body as a form of protection, often long after the threat has passed) and slowly trying out ways to regulate my nervous system while I built up a relationship of trust with a practitioner was mind blowing. By developing awareness of the physical sensations I experienced when I felt uncomfortably vulnerable, I could begin to join the dots between sensation, emotion and action, then make a decision about whether to do something to shift my state of being in the moment. For example, I learned that when I feel vulnerable, exposed or in danger of conflict, the muscles at the base of my skull tend to shudder or vibrate. Unlike some physical sensations or body signals, this one doesn’t feel particularly subtle. It’s showed up during difficult conversations and job interviews. It seemed to me to be my body’s way of offering up the ‘freeze’ option from a menu of ‘fight, flight, freeze, flop or fawn’. Essentially saying ‘we’re exposed, let’s retreat and hide!’ – a bit like when a toddler hides their face and believes that, because they can’t see you, you can’t see them either. But it’s rare that this is a helpful strategy in the context of a difficult conversation with a colleague or loved one, or during a job interview or big presentation. So the vibrating sensation is something of a warning that lets me know it’s time to take action that will re-regulate my autonomic nervous system – to do something that will bring a more calm, rational, present version of me back into the driving seat. This might involve pausing to take a couple of diaphragmatic breaths, grounding my feet and consciously releasing the tension from my neck.

This is, I hope, a useful example of something that offers a clear link between body sensations and communication. Of course, all of our communication involves our body in one way or another. But in the context of a presentation or a difficult conversation, it feels especially important to stay in contact with the parts of ourselves that can reason, connect with others and help us get our points across clearly. When the brain responds to a perceived threat and floods the body with the hormones and neurotransmitters that could save an endangered life, we tend to lose touch with our most sophisticated cognitive and social functions. The extent of these reactions varies hugely according to previous experiences of trauma, shame, the messages we received as we grew up, our neurotype, personality or other variables, such as whether we’ve had enough sleep and food or are going through a stressful time. Regardless, getting the best from our communication and performance involves a degree of courage, willingness to genuinely connect with others and ability to regulate our autonomic nervous system and emotions. That’s not to say that we should aspire to be in a state of permanent, zen-like calm, or to downplay our emotions and responses in a mandatory display of stoicism – quite the opposite! Suppressing and repressing our feelings will usually only take us so far before they catch up with us and either find an alternative route out into the world or stay buried and do damage to our health. But slowing down enough to really tune into how we’re feeling (something that didn’t come naturally to me and requires a lot of practice) equips us with choices about how we might be able to regulate and respond. Sometimes, we may be overwhelmed in spite of our best efforts and need time out to soothe our mind and body back into a state of calm. Developing awareness lets us know when that’s necessary and potentially helps us to prevent unnecessary conflict.

All of this offers up the possibility of facing into sensitive and difficult conversations. Though part of me would quite like to float through the world, avoiding conflict and anything that may bring with it the possibility of rejection, I’m a firm believer in the need to develop spaces and skills that support the sort of conversations that spark social change and deeper connections. I often work in the realm of Big Topics and discussions that risk exposing fears, complex power dynamics and boundaries, biases and potential for loss of relationship. I find that it’s common for people to fall into understandable patterns of avoiding the conversation if they can, becoming defensive or feeling shame. And I’ve also found that paying close attention to the creation of a reflective, embodied, compassionate space with encouragement to listen openly and challenge appropriately can really help to shift these responses. It’s not easy to do and it requires some effort from all involved in a group setting, a coaching relationship or any other type of relationship. In fact, it can be a far cry from the ‘holding hands and singing Kumbaya’ image that may be associated with words like compassion and safe space! But I know from both personal and professional experience that connecting with our bodies, minds, emotions and each other – in other words, embodied, courageous communication – can be truly transformative.

A bit about what I offer:

 I offer a range of coaching and consultancy services, delivered online and in person. I am a qualified coach and Performance Psychology practitioner, and use a Whole Person, embodied, relational approach in all of my work.

I have a particular focus on coaching work with those experiencing performance anxiety or having difficult experiences of being seen and heard. Examples of who I support include:

*Professionals who are finding it difficult to speak up at work

*People experiencing performance anxiety around presentations, performances or auditions

*Performers who are struggling to find their authentic sound

*People with minoritised identities who want to develop confidence in showing up authentically at work and in life.

In consultancy and facilitation work, I apply principles of psychological safety, embodiment and powerful questions in order to facilitate potentially difficult conversations and change processes that often focus on ‘big’ themes, such as belonging, identity, wellbeing and responses to organisational change.

My new embodiment teacher - Covid-19

After eighteen months of following guidelines and agonising over what was safe, within my ethical framework and worth/not worth risking, I finally enjoyed playing my first post-lockdown gig at a festival recently. And unfortunately, in spite of various risk reducing measures, I tested positive for Covid-19 soon after. It’s not been much fun, but could have been far worse – no doubt, thanks to two rounds of vaccination. The thing that was most discombobulating was the loss of my sense of smell or ‘anosmia’. This has really got me thinking about the embodied approach I now instinctively bring to my work, my emotional wellbeing and life in general.

If you’ve read my posts online, attended workshops or heard me talk about my work, you’ll no doubt have heard or seen me mention grounding techniques and ways to connect with our bodies as a means to de-stress, feel more present and fend off things like panic attacks and responses to trauma such as dissociation (feeling detached from our bodies and disconnected from ‘here and now’ reality). I, and others working in this field, often encourage connecting with our environments and connecting with our own bodies as ways of getting grounded and present. This tends to rely on using our ‘five senses’ – sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste. Talking about our five senses seems to imply that we all possess a full complement of fully or partially functional sensory input and processing mechanisms – something which clearly is not the case for everyone. Although it hasn’t had an especially disabling impact on my life to be temporarily disconnected from one of my senses, it has reminded me that using sensory stimulation for grounding isn’t a ‘one size fits all’. Firstly, because not everyone has the same sensory capacity, and secondly, because we all connect with and feel soothed by our senses differently. Being neurodivergent, I have a lot of lived experience of sensory overstimulation, and sometimes what I need is less input, not more. But, like most people, I’m more tuned into some of my senses than others – these are the ones that can either serve as a fast-track to feeling calm and a quick way of connecting me with emotions and memories, or can cause overwhelm if the input is too much or particularly unpleasant. For me, these are hearing and smell – both of these are very important to me and very sensitive. This is why it was so bizarre spending two weeks sniffing at things that normally help to wake me up, relax me or make me feel excited about the food I’m about to eat, and getting nothing. I embarked on what seemed to be a pretty successful regime of smell training in an attempt to stimulate whatever olfactory nerves or mechanisms had fallen into an infection-related snooze. If nothing else, it was a helpful reminder after an oddly disembodied era of Zoom calls and remote connections, that I live in, and experience life through a body. And that bodies can be fragile, sensitive, wise, resilient and the recipients of so much mistreatment, whether intentional or otherwise.

I recently came across an article that vociferously argued against the traditional Cartesian theory of mind-body dualism and suggested we abolish the concept of ‘mind’ as separate from body altogether. It’s – ironically – a bit of a mind bender, but the more embodied work I do, the less I tend to think in terms of a separation between the mental and physical when I consider my own or others’ inner worlds. I look out for how thoughts, ideas and interactions and their resulting emotional responses are experienced in the body, and how physical experiences in turn might be shaping our psychology. There are specific physical signs that I’m pretty tuned into these days, and that serve to give me information perhaps even before my conscious mind has caught up. The one I tend to offer as an example most often is a vibrating or trembling at the back of my neck that kicks in when I feel vulnerable, exposed or threatened. Often, the threat is pretty benign – perhaps I’ve offered a gentle challenge to a client or received one from someone supporting me, and a small part of me is anxious about potential conflict. But sometimes, it’s an early alert that something isn’t right, and when I feel it, I know I need to respond. Alternatively, I can use an awareness of my physical responses to keep an eye on my list of resources that support my wellbeing, adding or deleting things according to how well they’re working for me… I’ll realise that certain practices, songs, smells, places, pictures or objects need to go on the list if interacting with them produces an instant release of shoulder tension, softening of the diaphragm, excited skin tingling or general feeling of ‘expansiveness’.

I’m excited to see the rise and rise of therapy, coaching, writing, retreats and training programmes using embodied or somatic approaches. It feels incredibly timely, and as if it might herald a much-needed sea change away from compartmentalising and intellectualising and towards a whole-person view of how we move through the world and interact with each other. In an age of rapidly developing technology, with seemingly endless opportunities to connect and express ourselves from ‘behind a screen’, it can be easy to forget that we are more than just our brains. Perhaps eighteen months of stark reminders that we are physical beings might offer an opportunity to bring about some balance in this area – here’s to more permission to rest when we need to, to tuning into what our body sensations might be trying to tell us, to remembering that we have the potential to be both vulnerable and resilient, and to offering our bodies some compassion. It might sound like a weird concept, but why not take some time to consider what your body wants to tell you, and what you might need to say to it? My message to mine right now is “thanks for keeping me alive through all of this, and for being strong enough to fight off a dangerous virus. I’ve been reminded of how grateful I am for the senses that I’m able to use to interact with the world and alter my state of mind. The simple joy of smelling the first coffee of the day, the garden after rain or a fragrant bath is one of those amazing “little” things that I’ll try not to take for granted any more”.