I recently wrote about how keeping a journal formed my pathway to writing and how regular journaling helps me in so many ways (you can read that post here). Below are ten health benefits of journaling that I have personally experienced. If it inspires you to pick up a pen, look out for next week’s post ‘10 Ways to Start a Journal‘.Read More
“My brother and sister had a flannel fight. I opened the door and got a wet flannel in my face.” My first attempt to keep a diary began when I was seven. I had a five year Flower Fairy diary. I felt so grown up having a tiny gold key to lock away my secrets. By thirteen, my secret diary included pictures of the pop group Boyzone. I’d also started listing goals, noting achievements and writing about difficult feelings; worrying about school or sadness that a beloved pet had died. I began each year with the intention to write in my diary every day. That rarely happened, but my diaries still give a wonderful snapshot of my childhood.Read More
“How do you make the sky, Mummy?” It was a glimpse into the beautiful world that my four year old Little Niece D lives in. It’s a world full of wonder, with little expectation and plenty of interest. Two year old Little Niece P sings herself to sleep. “Wind the bobbin up. Pull, pull, clap, clap, clap. Hooray!” She’s not being pulled into the past, ruminating about her day, or pushed into the future, worrying about tomorrow. At 8.30 every morning, I hear two young boys whoop with delight as they scoot down the hill to school. Their joy is infectious. It reminds me to start each new day with a smile. Read More
Did you notice what happened when you read that question? Did you find your attention drawn to your body, maybe to find your feet wrapped around a chair leg or tucked underneath you on the sofa? I would guess asking that one simple question made you feel more present.Read More
A seat belt digs into my shoulder. The wheels of my chair are clamped to the ambulance floor. I rub my eyes against the glaring blue light. I yawn. Even the kitties had sleepy faces this morning. My tummy rumbles. My breakfast is in my rucksack, out of reach. We left two hours ago. Where are we? I’m going to be late. I need to get to my appointment. Where have the hospital drivers gone? Are they lost again? I try to peer out of the window. It’s grey. It’s gloomy. We’re in the middle of a housing estate, goodness knows where. And then I see it. TIVENDALE. It’s the block of flats named after my Great-Grandfather, Thomas Tivendale, Mayor of Hornsey 1951-2. I’m home. I’m present. I’m where I’m supposed to be. I’ve uncovered a little gift and I cannot help but smile.Read More