#timetotalk Out of the BLUE

#timetotalk Out of the BLUE

#timetotalk Out of the BLUE

#TimetoTalk 

I was perusing the #timetotalk hashtag on twitter this morning. Reading about other peoples experiences with depression – and I started to feel slightly better. When you start to understand depression is a chemical imbalance in your brain – and that actually you are indeed human. Personally I feel that helps. That one is not alone despite ones surroundings.

*Looks around – nope am definitely alone right now*. Cue Tiffany ‘I think we’re alone now…’

The problem with feelings in my opinion –  is that I can tell myself how I am going to feel… but that actually never relays up. “I’m going to write this and I’m not going to feel ashamed or embarrassed about it” I whisper to myself.

Half an hour later I’m in a corner in a shame spiral.. (chk out Brene Browns ‘The Power of Vulnerability’)

2018 for me was a pretty crappy year. I was training for a half marathon a few years back. One day – I started limping. And that was that! Wear and tear of the joints took it’s toll and I couldn’t walk properly anymore.

“There’s nothing wrong with you!” my GP initially pushed. “It’s all in your head” another friend urged. Fuck you. My mind silently replied as my body screamed otherwise. Don’t listen to them..keep pushing.. 

And it got worse. And it got worse. And then. Out of the blue. My friend got diagnosed with stage four cancer of the oesophagus. At just 34.

“I kept going to the doctor over and over and they just kept giving me Rennie..” he told me. “I said to the nurse I don’t understand why they didn’t pick it up. She said it’s cos of my age. They don’t expect it at my age”. He passed away Sept 2018. RIP Michael.

And that was all I needed to start to freak out. I made a 20 minute at the doctors. “You can only bring one thing!” the GP always states. But what if they’re all related my mind argued back. So in my next appointment I talked really really fast determined to fit in all my issues and concerns without her cutting me off short.

 

“SoIcan’tWalkandItsReallyHurtingandI’mfatiguedandwhatifit’sCancerMyfriendsDead!Dead!AndNoOnePickeditUpandIcan’tWALKAndAnd..And… and…

No one warns you about life in your thirties. I have friends that love it. But in my opinion it kinda sucks. All your friends start dropping like fly’s – as they become impregnated. Fun friend holidays are cancelled. And in my case every guy you date assumes you want their baby… like seriously get over yourself.

“Hmmm shall we use two condoms just in case?” you smile at each other. “Let’s up it – why not make it three…of the extra strong ones”. Actually forget it might as well just use the vibrator.*Takes out the 10 incher.. *Bend over then.. 

The problem with social media and mental health issues in my opinion is the pressure to make out that life is perfect and that everything is going swimmingly. *Compare and watch your mind go straight to despair.*

For instance one of my best friends of over 20 years. Well in my opinion. Had the perfect life according to his social media posts. No one sees each other as often as one gets older. Life gets in the way as people are mating and procreating. So sometimes one relies on seeing peoples social media posts. 

Ryan: Married check! Lovely huge house in the country – check! Job? Check! Ok he hates his job. From what I can see. But then a lot of people do. Right? 

Then – last summer – one day I received a card in the post from him and his partner. A really nice card urging me to keep being open and to keep talking about life issues. Out of the blue. 

And two days later. He took himself to the summer house in his backyard. Put a towel over his head. And hung himself.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

RIP Ryan.

Ryan and me (before Jimmy Saville was declared a peadophile!)

It was around this time I decided to admit myself to rehab. My walking was getting worse and I was becoming more and more isolated. “Patience!” ordered by the doctor wasn’t working that well for me. I was feeling isolated. Bored. Frustrated.

I wasn’t getting much help from the mental health services (or family for that matter but that’s a given) and felt I needed some support.

Of course I didn’t want to go. A ‘proper’ rehab is hard. Plus you have to share a room. And the fear of who you’re going to be sharing with can be very off putting. Thankfully I was bloody lucky on that front. But many weren’t. Take one of the hardest ex gang members who’s icy cold stare would simply make you sweat as you end up becoming her subservient servant out of fear. And you have her standing over your bed in the middle of the night. You look up.. “Erm so…how many people did you say you stabbed?”. “Stop snoring!” she spits. Showering you in her saliva.

“I will not get close to anyone” I had told myself. From experience it’s not the *best* place to be making reliable healthy friendships.

But of course life has other plans.

And when you’re in a huge house with 20 or so others for two months without a TV/mobile phone/computer and anything that links you to reality. Well. Things don’t always turn out how you plan.

Despite the drama and confrontations I also met some great people. And also fell in love a little bit. With the wrong person.

“Oh look a silver fox has arrived!” my friend and roomie exclaimed one day. I uninterestedly glanced over at the new guy as he walked past. “Hmmm yeah” I replied returning back to my book.

And then I don’t know how it happened. But the days accumulated and we started to get closer. And ended up talking a lot. But he was married. And he also had a history of taking viagra behind his wives back and swiping on tinder. And when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time – as Maya Angelou says..  

Cringing I confided my lustful feelings to my designated male therapist. “You’re using on your feelings!” he exclaimed as I sunk lower into my chair. “It’s just reproduction in it’s rawest form!!!!” he pushed. He was pretty brutal sometimes.“Do we have to talk about this??” I replied wanting to disappear, staring at the clock ticking slowly behind him. It always ticks slow when you want it to move fast.

DEAR FEELINGS: please fuck off. You’re making my life harder right now. This is NOT in the plan..

And then one night as I sat with the silver fox in the now empty living room. We looked at each other. And. And well if I hadn’t have been in a rehab and if he wasn’t married this would have been one of the most romantic experiences. As he moved slowly in. In to me kiss me. My heart missed a beat. And a butterfly fluttered in the pit of my stomach.

And my moral conscience pulled me swiftly back. Forget what you feel – remember what you deserve.. forget what you feel.. remember what you deserve. And I got up and walked away.

And I thanked myself for that when I returned to my home alone. I thanked myself for not being that girl. And in all honesty I could of really done without meeting him. And on his leaving day he approached me and cradled my face in his hands. And looked into my eyes. And smiled. For that would be the last time we would see each other. For the best.

And that’s life. Out of the blue. Life can change just like that. Like a whirlwind. But you must always come back to yourself.

And no job is worth losing your life over. And no person who has hurt you is worth self destructing over. Stick up for your own health. And you’re own heart. No matter how hard life gets.

Because life can change just like that.

And sometimes for the better. Out of the blue.

I am now on crutches but I am trying to remain positive whilst awaiting a hip replacement. Is the end of my troubles in sight??? Keep on keeping on. Cue. EYE OF THE TIGER…

Becki Bx

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TV REVIEW: R Kelly and the rise of the peadophile documentary

TV REVIEW: R Kelly and the rise of the peadophile documentary

“We must unanimously agree that denial of such an insidious and child shattering problem is a monumental societal illness.” https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/the-legacy-distorted-love/201103/child-sexual-abuse-and-narcissism

“It’s hard enough to be ourselves without being used
So yo take it from me
Don’t be a victim of society
You can’t put yourself in a position to be neglected
And disrespected
You have to do what’s not expected
Alright
Or all be in his story
His story over mine
His story will be his story” TLC ‘His Story’
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBdohg10Fvg

Oh the world of Television.. I watched the documentary on R Kelly on the IPlayer the other night. Then.. Stacey Dooley’s documentary on peadophilia and ‘Young Sex for Sale’ in Japan.. came on the TV. I then proceeded to watch the Ted Bundy tapes on Netflix a few days later (it was on the homepage.. what was I to do?)… then as I flicked through on the IPlayer I saw a documentary ‘Peodophile Hunters: The Rise of the Vigilantes…’

Next up I ended up reading about the new Michael Jackson documentary coming out that’s won some awards. I couldn’t sleep and ended up absorbed in reading the many facebook comments in support of MJ. Many of those comments opposed the ‘victims’ that have come out in recent times to talk about the alleged offences.

There ‘appeared’ to be more support for ‘RIP Michael’ than any for the people that feature in the documentary.

Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention the short film about the extremely sad James Bulger murder titled ‘Detainment‘ that has recently been featured in the press. To add to that Thompson and Venables were given new identities in 2001 and released from prison. In 2018 Venables was imprisoned again after pleading guilty for child pornography offences.Tina Malone a star from the TV show ‘Shameless’ has just been called to the High Court for retweeting a pic of Jon Venables – a pretty interesting case. And I feel for Tina.. fame is not her friend right now.. (the pic was retweeted by many other people and I suspect due to her ‘high’ profile she may be being made an example of!?). 

And as I sat perusing the many channels we are ‘blessed’ with – it started to dawn on me – what have I been filling my head with these past few days.. ?

I was questioning.. is this just perverse sensationalism that is on demand in the zeitgeist. And maybe more importantly does this abundance of content that has suddenly appeared on these dark topics change anything? The documentary ‘Peodophile Hunters: The Rise of the Vigilantes’ highlighted the abhorrent fact that there has actually been a ‘700% increase in online abuse’ in recent times. And I ponder.. how much effect the #metoo movement has really had.

I suppose a predator is going to do what a predator is going to do. Because I guess – in their mind their own needs are far more important than anybody else’s.

Perhaps what I found most shocking and ugly was the similarity in each of the documentaries of how many people admittedly looked away whilst these crimes were and are still happening (chk the R Kelly doc for instance). 

R KELLY – BUMP N GRIND

“My mind’s tellin’ me no, but my body, my body’s tellin’ me yes
Baby, I don’t wanna hurt nobody
But there is something that I must confess (to you)I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind (with a little bump and grind)”

As if they are not culpable. And that in my opinion must be one of the most heartbreaking situations to be in. Where people know what is happening to you but look away. With a ‘it’s nothing to do with me’ attitude. I have to wonder. Where the morals and values of people are. Where is the community? And are we a society that sticks together anymore?

“Our society is struggling to protect children, older people and disabled people. This is not just a crisis of care. This is a crisis of of human values”https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/feb/28/not-jailing-paedophiles-protecting-children-crisis-care

Some of the content matter in these documentaries was so dark I’m probably never going to be able to erase it from my mind. And I question is it too much? Or is it simply not enough!?

I got into an interesting conversation about narcissism with a good friend who has also experienced CSA. How it can be very difficult to understand these types of people. And as these documentaries are displaying – hard to catch or spot. And child sex offenders display narcissism in its most destructive form. Are these documentaries simply displaying the need as a society to understand and catch a predator for who or what he is?

We live in a society that seems to appear to despise peadophiles. But on the other hand also victim blames.. and it seems to be apparent that it is a complex topic to cover.

But the topic of shame should be addressed and hopefully the more these issues are talked about the more people – victims/survivors –  may come out to talk about their experiences. (To the right people it seems). The secrets that they are bullied to keep. Not for anyone else but for their own healing. For the shame and guilt that is smothered on to a child whilst they are being abused is the killer of all emotions.

And how do we hand those back to the perpetrator? For the less peadophiles can hide – the better.

But are these documentaries highlighting how as a society we are more interested in the pyschology of the perpetrator than the healing of their victims?

I read a good quote that someone tweeted the other day and it said ‘That’s why it’s called the CRIMINAL justice system.” And I just thought. Oh yeah..

And I leave you with the lyrics of Angel Haze.. which says it all really.

ANGEL HAZE:

When I was ten, shit, I believed I could fly
I would just flap my fucking arms and try to meet with the sky
And in my mind I’d envision that I was speaking with god
And then I’d chop his fucking fist off and beat him with mine
But this is just a fucking portion of the war with my mind
So I’mma take you fuckers back and through the vortex of time
When I was seven envision me at the bottom of stairs
And I solemnly swear that this is the truth, no fallacy here
See I was young, man, I was just a toddler, a kid
And he wasn’t the first to successfully try but he did
He took me to the basement and after the lights had been cut
He whipped it out and sodomized and forced his cock through my gut
See it was weird because I felt like I was losing my mind
And then it happened like it happened millions of times
And I would swear that I would tell but they would think that I was lyin’
And now the power that he held was like a beacon of mine
So now I got used to it, I put up with the shit
And now my hate was so volcanically eruptive and shit
But this is nothing cause I guess he told his friend what he do
And they ate it up, shit I was like a buffet for two
And then it happened in a home where every fucking one knew
And they ain’t do shit but fucking blame it on youth
I’m sorry mom but I really used to blame it on you, but even you, by then wouldn’t know what to do
And now it happened so often that he was getting particular
And I’m more scared every time — my speed and ventricular
One night he came home and I was asleep in my bed
He climbed on top of me and forced himself between my legs
He told me: “Hey –, I see you like them popsicle sticks so put your mouth on my deck and fucking swallow the spit”
And I was confused but I was scared so I did what he said
I had no the effect it would have on my head
My heart was pumping it was thumping with like tons of my fear
Imagine being seven and seeing cum in your underwear
I know it’s nasty but sometimes I’d even bleed from my butt
Disgusting right? Now let that feeling ring through your guts
I thought of offing myself, I thought of killing these niggas
Wanted to take a fucking brick and push they teeth through they liver
Wanted to smash the fucking world and burn its leftover parts
Wanted to rip it out and just fucking step on my heart
Then I grew up and I wasn’t within the reach of these men
But that didn’t keep me out the motherfucking reach of my sin
And psychologically I was just as fucked as they come
I was confused, I had to prove I wasn’t fucked from the jump
I was afraid of myself, I had no love for myself
I tried to kill, I tried to hide, I tried to run from myself
There was a point in my life where I didn’t like who I was
So I’d create the other people I would try to become
Sexuality came into play and with as scared as I was
I was extremely scared of men so I started liking girls
I started starving myself, fucked up my bodily health
I didn’t wanna be attracted to nobody else
I didn’t want the appeal, wanted to stunt my own growth
But there’s a fucking reason behind every scar that I show
I never got to be a kid so that’s as far as I grow
My mental state is out of date, and that’s as far as I know
My biggest problem was fear, and what being fearful could do
It made me run, it made me hide it made me scared of the truth
I’m not deranged anymore, I’m not the same anymore
I mean I’m sane but I’m insane but not the same as before
I had to deal with my shit, I had to look at my truth
To understand that to grow you’ve got to look at your root
I had to cut off the dead, I had to make myself proud
And now I’m just standing living breathing proof look at me now
I made it through everything, I made you look like a clown
I’m fucking great can’t fucking hate you nigga look at me now
Now I’m just saying this to tell you there’s a way from the ground
Just be strong and just move on and just accept what I can
Because it makes your story better when you read at the end
[Outro]
Yeah, there’s a story behind every single scar that I show
I made it out, this a me nobody’s gotten before
I had to open my wounds, I had to bleed til I stopped it
Thanks for joining me here as I cleaned out my closet
I said I opened my wounds, I had to bleed til I stopped it
Thanks for joining me here as I cleaned out my closet

Read more:  Angel Haze – Cleaning Out My Closet Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Becki Bx

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THE CREATIVE BLOCK…

THE CREATIVE BLOCK…

“Ok people. We are going to try something a little DIFFERENT TODAY… WE are going to write an essay.. of no less than a 1000 words describing to me who you think you are.. and when I say essay I mean essay. I do NOT mean a single word repeated a 1000 times… is that clear!? Maybe you’ll learn a little something about yourself…” BREAKFAST CLUB, 1985

Creativity takes Courage’ Henri Matisse

‘Get creative Becki!…” my friend texts. “Just BE creative!”. “Do something creative..”.

You’re a creative person.. go write!’ a friend from a previous writing class slights.

A bit of direction here would be nice. I think. To myself.

I sit down. With my laptop. And stare at the screen in front of me. Amazing.. just amazing what that Steve Jobs achieved.. I let my mind wander.

Whoever said I’m creative. I sigh. So much pressure. I pull up word and type a few words..

The coffee barista is giggling in the distance with her colleague and I feel a stab of envy.

I think of an idea to write about and write a page and a half of drivel. And delete. I look back at the barista. Who is now being chatted up by two builders it seems. I wish it was the bald builders I smile to myself. Funny guys. I look back at the now blank screen before me.

Envy has no place in this passing moment of time. I tell myself.

Pressure. The word pops around my head like the cork of a champagne bottle bouncing around aggressively. Triggered by some outside source, that of which has crept in to my psyche subconsciously.

GOTTA BE MORE GOTTA DO MORE! Dead Poets Society… 

I decide to put Queen’s ‘Pressure’ on my Spotify. It seems fitting for this moment.

Thinking about pressure – *the more I think the less I do* I decide to procrastinate for a little while longer.

So I flick up my facebook page. A few baby pics. I’d hate to upset the parents here but generally baby pics do all look pretty much the same. Sorry… all cute though. A few people shaking their *virtual* fists trying to save the world. Good on you! I whisper silently to the screen.

I *scroll down*.. Some engagement photos. Some wedding photos. Someone’s holiday pics. Fuck.

EVERYONE’s life is so much better than mine!!! The thought dashes in before I can stop it.

They are even in a snazzier coffee shop, that serves unlimited fucking tea. Tsk.

I spend another ten minutes beating myself up whilst perusing others posts. Then decide to search for the realists…. “I’m going bald and I’ve just been dumped!!!” a friend has posted. I giggle to myself sadistically.

Phew. I can always rely on *Dave to keep it real. Who was that guy I dated a few years back… I ponder. I wonder what he’s up to..

I receive a text. ‘How’s ‘being creative’ going?!’ it queries. They are trying to be helpful I remind myself.

‘I’m in the coffee shop now. With my laptop’. I reply.. steering my way around the question. ‘Great!’ they reply. I’m amused by their reply. I pull up my ex.

OMG. He’s married! When did that happen! WTF. He said he wouldn’t touch any of his colleagues..?! *A pilot and she a flight attendant…Well. Good for them. Thank god I don’t have any feelings for him anymore. She could have the decency to be ugly though.

And here it is. The grand late 30’s. Where time has flashed before my eyes faster than well. Pretty bloody fast. Where one takes pelvic floor tightening a bit more seriously. *Just in case*.. because 40 is closer than 30. I wipe a tear away at that reality. 30’s are also the new 20’s I tell myself.

“You know.. Rebecca you could have a baby now you now…”. my mothers words to me last time we spoke. To which I tortly replied ‘Oh REALLY can I!?!?! Thank you for the permission’.

Pressure. Rules.

Teenage years you’re pressurised to NOT get pregnant for fear of bringing shame and sluttiness upon the family. And then the late 30’s the pressure to start popping a few out.

I deactivate social media to save myself from the mind control, time stealing and comparing – and look back at my screen.

“Good artists copy, the geniuses steal” ~ Pablo Picasso (1881-1973).

I slam the laptop shut.

One of the young lads is cleaning cutlery next to me. He has a grumpy scowl. I titter to myself in amusement. *Ive done all the ‘cleaning’ jobs in my youth so I feel I’m allowed some allowance*

‘Wax on. Wax off’. I say to him. He furrows his brow. And I don’t think he understands what I mean. “Wax on wax off?” his colleague smirks…

Wax on. Wax off. And don’t forget to breathe. Very important.

Very fashionable mindfulness is these days. You’ve been doing it all your life and you’ve probably just forgotten it. You don’t need to pay £50. Just wax on. Wax ..off..

I walk home. And pull out some old photos.. That capture some of my younger experiences. That I never thought that would be *so far my best experiences.. I think about the Labyrinth and how she defeats the Goblin King and I reflect on all the layers that film has. I think about all the friends I haven’t seen for a long time. And those that I haven’t told them that I miss them. Or how I feel.

I think about one of my best friends who committed suicide just three months ago. Someone whose life seemed perfect. On facebook anyway. And I think about pressure. And how it doesn’t need to be this way..

And should you need me… I’m always here. And I’m sorry for not saying that I need you too.

Dedicated to Ryan Hall. Rest in peace and get to heaven safely. Still devastated. I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to me. Becki Xx

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REVIEW: “MIDDLE PICCADILLY RETREAT and SHAMANIC HEALING”

Middle Piccadilly

Words and photography by Becki Burrows

“I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975….That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past…looking back now, I release I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years..” Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

It was that time. My stomach lurched. And a feeling of overwhelming sadness and doom came over me as I sat on the bus. I was fine when I left. What was wrong with me. I hadn’t expected to feel this way. I’d expected to be glad to leave. I was surprised that was not the reality. I woefully and yet hopefully, texted a few friends.

“Busy”..

“Sorry busy Becks..”…. “Far too busy..” another responded. I winced. Saturday evening and a twang of loneliness was starting to set in. Oh the love and hate relationship with oneself and the juxtaposition of the either joy or despair of isolation.

“It’s like.. I want to be alone… but… it’s like. In another way. I don’t..”

The bus passes Canterbury.. (the trains being delayed due to a leaf on the track..it’s always the little things!)…

*I could just get off here and stay in a hotel* I ponder to myself. It’s 5pm and I remember that everywhere else in the country shuts shop at 5.30. Not many options of what to do after that. *Nah I think. And I sit back and decide to just head home.

I had been staying at the Middle Piccadilly retreat, Dorset.

retreat

Middle Piccadilly Retreat

And I hadn’t expected to feel this way. In fact I’d presumed the opposite. It was not as if I had been around people the whole time during my stay at Middle Piccadilly..a detox/shamanic healing retreat in Dorset. I had been excited to go. Of course! Yet also perhaps slightly cynical. With a bit of fear. Due to the thought of being on juice for two days without solids. I like to chew. And feel the different textures and taste of food. Don’t we all?

retreat

Vegetarian Falafel, just one of the many dishes on offer at Middle Piccadilly.

I found some yoga retreats to be.. hmm not really about the yoga. Too many young fashionistas obsessed with their weight (and yours!) and trendy ‘overpriced’ yoga outfits rather than the actual practice or history of yoga. I’m not saying I’m not concerned about my weight but when one feels insecure..those places sure can be a rather intimidating environment when someone curls their lip slyly at ones figure. I remember when one of the retreaters – who was slightly plus sized came off the plane and greeted the rest of us. The yoga instructor whispered.. she doesn’t look like a yogi..”… to all the more.. ‘slighter looking ladies’. *F*ck that.

And then there was the bootcamp. I had been on a previous bootcamp – running around for 8 hours a day for 7 days. Admittedly I came out straight out and ate all the crap I had been trying to not consume in the first place. On my second visit to a diferent boot camp.. by day two,  and by push up 571 after a cracker for breakfast. I thought you know what. F*ck this. And made a sharp exit.

Extremism. Black and white. Which is exactly the sort of *thinking*  I am usually trying to escape from. All or nothing. Working out everyday. Or not at all. Working all day and night. Or procrastinating. For me the bootcamp way of doing things doesn’t really work. It’s like. It’s like… self f$cking punishment. Sure parts are fun. And yes I’m not a ‘dog’ and shouldn’t need a ‘reward’ at the end of the day. But all work and all work. Is not that rewarding. (I hate it when instructors use that line “You don’t need a reward you’re not a dog”… yeah yeah.. *rolls eyes*) and when one replies in a facetious manner.. “Well. Actually this guy once said..” doesn’t wash.

Then there was the yoga retreat that was meant to be all veggie health food, no meat or alcohol on site. Well let’s just say that went out of the window when a bottle of Vodka was discovered under the sink by one of the girls.. and well. Doing yoga with a hangover is not FUN.

So how about actually doing well. Nothing. And actually doing ‘nice’ things for oneself. Like having massages. And relaxing. Sitting around at home – can often not feel that relaxing especially when the incessant mind *I should be doing this* or *I  should be doing that* the haunting SHOULD SHOULD SHOULD’S that haunt our daily lives. Generally resulting in extremism or NOTHINGNESS. Well. I speak for myself.

And so I arrived at Middle Piccadilly and Eliana, 87 – who founded the establishment in 1986 with her husband greeted me cheerfully. I was astounded as she told me that she practices yoga everyday for 20 minutes and has done ever since she was 30. *And I never saw her once in Sweaty Betty yoga gear!*

“Try to not do any work while you’re here!” she smiled as she checked me in.

Retreat

Eliana – Middle Piccadilly founder and shaman.

On the first evening I meet a woman who has been there for several days. ‘Its so hard!’ She exclaims. It is a quiet time of year so there are not many people about. She starts talking about food. Fish and chips. And all things nice. I look at my juice. “Lets not talk about food” I urge.

retreat

Lemon and Ginger Juice

DO NOT understand why why why go to a health retreat and then sit around mourning chips, kebabs, burgers and alcohol. It has happened at every retreat I have been to – and quite frankly my advice is – if you shut that one down straight off – your journey will be far easier. For it is simply fellow camaradie in self punishment. And futile in my opinion. Would you really go into a rehab and talk to a heroin addict or alcoholic about drugs or alcohol..

Oh hi- you’re trying to quit booze! Well.. do you miss wine? Beer.. heroin.. what about the fun and parties?! By the way I went to an amazing party at the weekend shame you missed out”.

I retreated to my room that evening…stomach slightly rumbling, armed with a few books ..’Fear’ by Thich Nhat Hahn and ‘The Body Keeps Score’ by Bessel Van Der Kock. The room, clean, comfortable and secure.

On the second day headed to the kitchen where my next juice was awaiting me. The woman I met the previous night is leaving. She is nursing her juice slowly. I take note of that and nurse mine too.

My first treatment is a therapeutic massage. By Claire one of the therapists. She takes me to a relaxation room and asks me about allergies and the scents that I prefer. I lie down. “Do you mind your stomach being massaged?” She asks.

Retreat

Manager Dominic, Claire and the cat.. name unknown..

“Erm. Well. I’ve never had my stomach massaged” I shrug, remembering  the time I went to a massage parlour in Korea and an old lady – wearing literally only her knickers started massaging my boobs after jumping up and down on my back. *Can’t be as weird as that experience* I think to myself.

Lunch and dinner are again juices. Yet, surprisingly I sleep well during the evening.

The next day, however, I awake feeling a bit depressed and lethargic. “Damn. I should of done more with myself yesterday!” I tell myself.

I go for my next juice. I am alone. But have shamanic healing at 10am. *Mmmmm juice*. I think to myself.

I am starting to get hungry now. The hardest part I am told. The first few days.

“With the Shamanic Healing just try and be open minded” Claire the massage therapist had urged me the day before.

I took that on board. On my first day Eliana had asked me about my health and all the generic questions one needs to ask someone. I had been surprised when she guessed my childhood past straight away.

With a caring nature paired with keen perception my instincts trusted her.

So I lay down on the table. And Eliana set her Shamanic tools out. She picked up a feather

“Calling to the winds of the west….!” she started.

Retreat

Eliana, Middle Retreat founder.

A part of me wanted to giggle. But I resist and decide to try and take it seriously. After all. What the hell do I know. I know that technology, materialism and disconnection has taken over the world.. and that most of the population are on anti depressants. Which can’t be normal.

So I feel happy to embrace and get back to a bit of earthy nature and universal connection.

She sits by me and asks me to close my eyes. And starts to talk about my childhood. My mind resists. *Eurgh I really don’t want to talk about that right now* I think. But then whatever helps, I’m keen to try.

“Always be curious….” A group therapist had said to me once ….”Always be curious when you don’t want to talk anymore”.. I remember I had probably rolled my eyes with a ‘oh whatever’ stance to what I considered psychobabble at the time.

But then. She could have been right.

“Ok” I persist. “What is the colour in your chest.. can you see it.” she asks. “Er. Erm Yes.” I reply with my eyes closed. “It’s er black…?”…

She relates this to a serpent from my past and asks me to pull it out and yell. I have my eyes closed and envisage this. I do as she instructs and I try to yell. But again. Feel silly.

“I feel stupid” I say to Eliana. “It’s ok” she urges..” So I yell. Admittedly not that loudly feeling embarrassed. “Louder!” she urges..

Whilst there is no one in the room with me I imagine my three brothers and most of my male friends in my mind guffawing and mocking me.

The “night sea journey” is the journey into the parts of ourselves that are split off, disavowed, unknown, unwanted, cast out, and exiled to the various subterranean worlds of consciousness… the goal of this journey is to reunite us with ourselves. Such a homecoming can be surprisingly painful, even brutal. In order to undertake it, we must first agree to exile nothingStephen Cope

I leave the room relaxed and thoughtful. My mind awake. As I had been asked to go back to my past. Something that has never and never will leave me. Although my desire to let go is strong. I aminterested by the perception in my mind post shamanic healing.

I go for my next juice. Starving and a bit grumpy, I steal an apple.

“I don’t believe in juice diets” I think to myself.. “plus how am I meant to go for a well you know! Need fibre don’t we..”…

Ahhh the beloved mind. Always very good at excuses. It can talk oneself into the silliest of things.

I eat the weetabix and apple.

And cue: guilt…….. “Tsk. You can’t even do two days!” my mind berates.

At dinnertime Dominic the founders son – and the person who now runs Middle Piccadilly is there juicing my next drink. We chat about several things.

“Well it’s not that bad if you do eat an apple or something it’s not like it ruins everything.. or is that much of a big deal” he says.. which seems a healthy way to look at things.

I start to wonder if he had counted the apples in the bowl and knew that I had eaten one that afternoon. I look for the hidden cameras.

“Erm. Yeah..” I shrug. ‘Guess not”.

And the next day! I am introduced to food! A delicious bowl of oats soaked overnight in water – resulting in a milky texture awaits me in the kitchen. I am surprisingly not that hungry but eat it thankfully.

Retreat

Overnight soaked oats

My next appointment is an holistic massage again with Claire and is more about getting in touch with the body. She talks about chakras and sensations within. We discuss disassociation.

Retreat

Raw Nut Burger with Avocado Mousse

For dinner Dominic makes me a cold ‘raw nut burger’  which is served cold with an avocado mousse and an abundance of salad. *Dominic is a genius* I thinkIt is delicious. And probably the best vegan/vegetarian food I have ever tasted..I am in awe of his cooking skills. “Really you made this recipe up? Really.. ” I go on. Irritatingly. The “burger” is followed by a deliciousness gluten free cheesecake made from cacoa beans.

 

Retreat

Cacao Cheesecake

I don’t feel deprived. Not like the punishment of a bootcamp where one works out all day and returns to a dinner of  half a cracker.

Retreat

Claire, Middle Piccadilly Retreat

And before I know it.. time is up. And on the last day I have a mud wrap and a good chat with Claire about life, relationships, being a woman in a mans world etc. I shower and smother myself in organic coconut body lotion. My body feels soft and relaxed.

Retreat

Claire preparing a mud wrap

Whilst I was only at the retreat for four nights and five days… I could easily have stayed longer. Having the freedom in the day to do what one pleases but having the structure of treatments and regular meal times incorporated kept boredom at bay. 

Whilst I don’t want to be a cliche,  I believe that this retreat was the first time I had experienced what the term ‘self love’ really means.

Being kind to the body. Not putting it under gruelling tasks for the sake of society (from over working out – to binge drinking). Taking time to just connect to oneself. Just being. Without ‘trying’ to just be. Nourishing the body and trying to eliminate stress in a healthy way.

And so.. you know how the story ends. On the bus.. feeling sad at having to say goodbye. But. On to the next adventure..

Middle Piccadilly is in a beautiful location in the English countryside, and has a homely community vibe without being overbearing. Eliana, Dominic and Claire are very likeable, friendly individuals. And it is as many reviewers have said online. “A home from home”... well they weren’t lying...

I highly recommend.

Retreat

Beautiful Rural Retreat in the Dorset countryside Telephone 01963 23468 Email relax@middlepiccadilly.com

www.shamanka.com – for the School of Women’s Shamanism

www.middlepiccadilly.com 

Follow Dominic and his tasty recipes at www.instagram.com/the_lifestylechef

A FEW OF THE ABOVE RECIPES CAN BE FOUND HERE

You can follow me at www.instagram.com/becki_burrows

Becki BXx

Words and photography by Becki Burrows

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#metoo ‘Harvey Weinstein’ sexual assault reflection blog

pulp fiction

“Everyone’s got their chains to break
Were you born to resist or be abused? Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?” Foo Fighters

So – I wasn’t going to comment on this campaign but.. I couldn’t help but reflect on the discourse going on before me.  Many strangers and friends have been posting the #metoo hashtag on twitter and Facebook. Male friends stating their shock and support at the amount of people coming forward. And getting ‘likes’ in double numbers.

The  ‘Me too’ hashtag isn’t just about creepy dudes in bathrobes, you know.” (The Independent)

Don’t get me wrong – it’s great that this is coming to the forefront and being discussed. However. I started to reflect a bit deeper on the movement last night. Why is it that men or women posting in support are suddenly being congratulated on supporting the sexual assault campaign? Shouldn’t that support be standard anyway.

The #metoo campaign has evolved after concerns to Harvey Weinstein – a ‘once’ powerful Hollywood producer, who now faces allegations of sexual assault/harrassment. This allegedly also includes two of rape.

Weinstein formed the film production company Miramax with his brother. Think – Pulp FictionClerksGood Will Hunting some of your favourite movies right?

Some of these allegations – made by some of the most powerful female celebrities/icons/models on our screens today lead back to more than two decades ago.

So I came to thinking. Of the Jimmy Saville scandal – and of the widespread public disgust that arose from that.

When asked why nobody did anything, Mr Lemmon said: “I suppose because it was Jimmy.” (Telegraph)

And I ask myself the question – WHAT HAS TAKEN SO LONG????!!!? For the world to listen? If even the most powerful women in our society have fought so long to be heard.. (over two decades) what does this say for the rest of the population who have suffered such trauma (male and female).

The #metoo hashtag was actually created by 44-year-old activist Tarana Burke ten years ago. She founded the campaign as a grass-roots movement to reach sexual assault survivors in underprivileged communities. As a way to connect with #survivors with #survivors. (Ebony Mag)

I look to the Hollywood actors and actresses speaking out and starting a much needed conversation as well as many other celebrities that have made their stories of sexual violence known by using the “me too” hashtag, starting a much needed domino effect. And I commend them. And you!

Because it’s an uncomfortable topic. That is ignored all (most/a lot) of the time.

I recently read the recent post on The Independent  which offers an interesting alternative perspective on the matter talks about “being shunned as a whistleblower”.

It seems very easy to write disgust at assault on Facebook and get a few hundred likes but. What will actually change?

Whilst Facebook is a powerful tool – and writing in solidarity is great and that the ‘me too’ hashtag is a good start, I worry that it could dangerously minimalize the importance of the topic if not careful.

And I mean, by forgetting those that suffer in silence. Those whose first validation of exposure – at rape or sexual assault – who might write a ‘#metoo’ post.. that it might be ignored. Or passed by. And those that are perhaps even too ashamed to write the first letter ‘M’ on their social media site.

“According to a study by the NSPCC on young people (aged between 13–18), a third of girls and 16 percent of boys have experienced sexual violence and that as many as 250,000 teenage girls are suffering from abuse at any one time. 12 percent of boys and 3 percent of girls reported committing sexual violence against their partners.” (Wonderslist)

And those that have had to face their perpertrators in court. That are too afraid to speak out. That don’t get their voices heard due to not being passed through the CPS system. Those shunned. Those so overwhelmed with shame to say anything. Anything at all. Despite knowing verbally that it wasn’t/isn’t their fault. And those – too young to even know the words that fit the description of what is happening to them.

“we love celebrities because they are an integral part of culture. They have made it in the worldview we are so entrenched in. By worshipping them (to an extent), we feel as if we are participating in this hugely important cause/belief system. And that makes us feel all warm and fuzzy, and like our life matters” (Pyschology today)

And I question – as this mirrors the whirlwind of the Jimmy Saville scandal once again –  why has it taken a case like Harvey Weinstein’s to get something like this moving? Does it feel more close to home the further away it is? What about the girl or boy next door. Or indeed in other countries.. where women can be sent to prison for being raped.

“With an estimated of 500,000 rape cases every year, the country has one of the highest rate of Rape Crimes in the world. It is estimated that more than 40% of South African women will be raped in their lifetime.”

And I find myself pondering – perhaps – it is those that are famous and on our TV screens – that can actually really change things. And I accept that, that is the way society is built. And I commend the bravery coming from those places. For whilst, these men and women might be ‘famous’ I’m sure the evidence that appears; of the length of time that even the most powerful amongst us struggle to be heard – well. That is very telling. And aren’t we all simply humans?

And so as someone said to me once “you have shamed shame”. And to you I urge… Keep it up. For the path to victory, is rarely linear, let’s hope the Weinstein case will be a change in history for millions of women and men around the world.

And as a friend posted on Facebook after disclosing ‘not that it will actually change anything’. I feel her anger and I too, can quite often retreat into a state of despair. But like he say’s in #shawshankredemption

“Remember, Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” #ohDearyme

Peace and love.

Becki Bx

I follow other #survivors on Twitter campaigning endlessly for better rights for #survivors – including Ian McFadyen , Sammy Woodhouse , David Lean who tirelessly campaign for the rights of #survivors and I commend their work.

It is not aimed to offend – just a blog about the general confusion that quite often appears in my head. 

 

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