self-love

Starting to Run Again

| Sheree

Nearly 15 years ago, I put on my trainers and went on my first run. I started the Couch to 5K podcast the January after the birth of Miss Ella. I needed to lose the pregnancy weight as well as claim some time for myself, to decompress and forget the commitments and chores. I completed the 9 week training course and went on to complete 5k, 10k, half marathon and then a number of marathons. My last marathon was 2022 at Loch Ness. And last year, I attempted an Ultramarathon along the Pembrokeshire Coast but I didn’t complete it. I ran out of time.

I didn’t really train for the ultramarathon because my running practice was a bit hit and miss in 2024. I wasn’t feeling it. Wasn’t enjoying it. I wasn’t taking my medicine.

After the school run this morning, I felt the urge to get my trainers on and run. Knowing it’s been months since I have run, as well as considering my recent fall on black ice right onto the base of my spine and mostly my right buttock, I didn’t go running out the door at break neck speed. In fact, I’ve never ran at break neck speed. SLOW is my practice in running also.

I re-started the Couch to 5K podcast again. Week 1 involves a 5 minute warm up, and then alternating between 60 seconds of running and 90 seconds of walking, eight times and then a 5 minute cool down. So around the park I walked, ran, walked. My back was sore, I won’t lie. And maybe I shouldn’t be running after my fall. But this is me knowing my body, caring for my body, healing my body, my way. Back was sore when I ran, so this forced me to engage my core. To shorten my stride, to land my softer, even slow down. Yes it still hit but nothing major. But changing my running style also impacted my walking, as it meant I was engaging my core more while walking too. It meant I’m supporting my back more, all the time, not just when running.

The run went well. I wasn’t really out of breath. It was an easy start to the journey ahead. But I didn’t stop there. This fall has been a blessing, this is how I’m looking at it. As it’s making me more aware of my body and what I can do to keep my body healthy, moving and feeling loved. So I came home, completed a short set of strength training and then finished everything off with some yoga focusing on supporting my back.

In the past, I wouldn’t have bothered to actively support my recovery after a run. But this fall is forcing me to take better care of my body as it’s the only one I have and I want to keep her for a fair few more years to come. The fall made me face how fragile my body can be. How things can shift and change in an instant. I’ve been reluctant to walk out on ice and frost since. I’ve been hesitate but I also don’t want to be holding myself back or moving in fear. I’ve being fearful but I’m learning to breath through the fear and pain. I’d rather have the pain because I’m doing something to strength and support my back, my body rather than the pain through doing nothing.

Anyway, here ends my gratitude for today. I’m grateful to my body for all that she allows me to be/ do x

Creating Sanctuary

| Sheree





*not so mush a trigger warning but saying it anyways!


I am worthy of consent.
I am safe.
I can heal from sexual trauma. –  Lyvonne Briggs

I’m writing. Or is it rambling? I’m not sure. It’s just that I’m reading at the moment. I’m in my cave (bed) hibernating and I’m reading so many different books. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry and there’s a cross over with what’s happening within my life with my reading ( Does that happen to you?). There’s an echo or a reinforcement for the things that are causing me grief at the moment, worrying the wound as I read and rest. 

So writing things out, going long is a way of making sense of it all in the moment. It’s a way of gaining some kind of clarity for now. Not thinking of the future but thinking of gathering the threads at this moment to made make a something out of this mess of yarns.

My mum died when I was 27 years old. I’d just become a mother the year before. I’ve been hearing about the ‘mother wound’ lately. I’m not sure if I understand it completely. But when I hear it, I don’t jump into definitions and theories. For me it’s simply means when my mum died and left me to cope alone. Selfish I know. But I feel as is she left a gaping, bleeding wound that festers and hurts when I worry it. When I press on it, inspect it with my touch.

This morning, following my morning routine, in bed reading (with coffee skipped ahead this morning) I’m reading Sensual Faith: The Art of Coming Home to Your Body by Lyvonne Briggs. I’m reading a section called ‘Surthrivors’ a term Briggs created to try and capture how she was feeling, living after male sexual violence. She felt ‘survivor’ was too flat to describe/ define her experience when she was living/doing what she loved studying theology and religion, in community with loving people and was an acclaimed spoken word and slam poet. “I wasn’t just surviving, I was thriving!” Briggs wrote, hence pointing the more accurate term, ‘Surthrivor’. 
I love it when we Black women bend and twist language, divest from the standard to better express/ more fully express our feelings and experiences. That’s creative fugitivity for you (thank you Dal).

Briggs goes on to talk about how she got into the ministry so she could change how the church handles sexual abuse, not very well,  as there is a silence around it. Or they blame demons instead of the actually men. I’m not here to talk about male sexual abuse. I’m not her to talk about the church. I’m not a religious person. I was brought up saying my prayers. I remember a black bible, creased leather, brought from Trinidad and Tobago with my dad when he stowed away to England. This black bible sat toad-like in the teak sideboard of my childhood living room. West Indian style living room, I may add. 
I gave up believing in a ‘God’ when my daddy died when I was 9 years old. I’ve now come around to the idea that we are Gods/ Goddesses ourselves, inside us. I’m spiritual rather than religious. So I’m not sure why I’m reading this book. 

I lie. Yes I do know why I’m reading Sensual Faith. I followed a trail to this book left by Christina Cleveland and God is a Blackwoman. But also because of the subheading of Sacred Faith: The Art of Coming Home to Your Body, is a journey I always seem to be on. 

Anyway. Back to the reading this morning which went on to discuss the worship centre in a church is called the ‘sanctuary’. When you the word ‘sanctuary’, does anyone else think of Quasimodo? ‘Sanctuary, sanctuary!’

A ‘sanctuary’ is a safe or holy place. I wrote a poem titled ‘sanctuary’ and it was about my mum. My mum’s home, body, arms. When she was alive, it was her I went to for safe harbour.  I didn’t realise until she was gone. It has come a way for me to practice mothering my own children, through sanctuary for them. Once my mum died, I lost who and where I could return to for safety. I lost my home, my sanctuary when she died and I suppose I’ve been searching for sanctuary ever since, looking outside myself, looking for it in others ( husband for one!)

I don’t how long I’ve been in battle with my being, with my body, chastising her for not being enough. But also for being too much. Too fat. Too broad, too Black. But over the last few years, eyes open, something has been changing or shifting within me and how I view, treat and talk to my body.
.
Maybe that’s where my mum did me a disservice and where I’m making amends with my kids. I’m not sure she taught me how to find sanctuary within myself, within my own body.

Monday nights I dread. 
Not always. Just the last few months as I complete my level 3 diploma in counselling skills. I’m not jesting that I hate turning up for this course. And I never use ‘hate’ as a word usually, always thinking it’s too strong a word for a feeling. Too final without any redeeming features. But this is where we’ve got to with this course. 

And it wasn’t always the case. I could blame the dark, cold nights I have to turn up for 3 hours of lecturing and talking in an empty, sterile office block. I could blame the electric fluorescent lighting that flickers and buzzes and can give me a bad head. But I would be lying. I’m here to be wide open and honest. So here goes!

This course is taking away pieces of my soul, week after week. And I’m not ashamed to say that I have contemplated dropping out week after week, researching for alternatives. I  even enrolled on a supplementary course, decolonising counselling, that would tend to all the damage this course is doing, but I had to withdraw from that due to costs and timings. 

If you’ve ever studied counselling and therapy, you’ll know that everything; theories and tools and practices are all taken from dead white guys. Dead white guys acting like Gods (and I don’t mean the internal Gods I’m just mentioned). White male, usually heterosexual and middle class theorists who pontificate that they know everything about what’s happening in everybody’s mental health. They have the solutions to make us feel/ do /be better. As it’s always the individual’s fault and can be traced back to their childhood, their mother? Bullshit!

It hurts to be fed this shite every Monday. In the beginning I pushed back and attempted to decolonise the teaching, the theory, the responses. Bringing in other theorists and arguments. Being the only Black face in the class, girl has to represent. 

Until we got to week 9, we were exploring different types of power within the counsellor and client relationship. Power roles within the counselling arena. After a discussion, we were being presented with a list of ‘Further key aspects of power or perceived power’. And yes the list was not an exhaustive list and things could be added, the tutor said. This list did not include ‘race’, ‘ethnicity’, ‘culture’, and I voiced it as such. My comment was laughed at and dismissed as, ‘there’s always one’. 

Always one who has to comment on what’s missing from the list? Or always one who has to bring up race? Who knows! I just know how this comment made me feel.  Know your audience I say or was I being put into my place? This response indicated to me that this input, which a fundamentally the way white supremacy culture wields power through the hierarchy of the races. It’s the sea that we’re swimming in and to not mention is the usual state of affairs.  This interaction indicated to me that this was never going to be on this course’s agenda. Me continuing to challenge the whitewashing of counselling and therapy, me constantly remarking on the culture that we’re operating in wasn’t enlightening my fellow students or suggesting that they become more aware of their ( and my own) unconscious biases.  I realised I was just creating issues where they never saw issues. Problems where there are no problems.  As race and racism is only a problem when there’s a Black person in the room. It’s Black people who have an issue with race as whiteness isn’t a race, right? Whiteness is a given. 

After week 9, and tonight was week 15, I’ve silenced myself. I’ve disengaged from the course, no longer contributing. I turn up and get my attendance and keep my thoughts and comments and feelings to myself. I’m not giving anything of myself anymore to the group, to the course within the face to face sessions as I’ve received the message it’s not welcome, it’s not of value, it’s not relevant. I do not intend to waste my energy and heart and soul on this experience. 

This hurts me.
I’m making sanctuary for myself. I’m making this experience safe for myself. I’m keeping myself safe within myself, within my body as being in that classroom is no longer safe for me. And to explain that to them, I wouldn’t bother, as they wouldn’t get it. The can’t get it and it would also involve them listening to me, and me being heard, which ain’t happening.

I’m creating sanctuary for myself, within my body and its a practice. I’m using a self-soothing approach, self-talking, loving compassionate approach when I experience something that is harming, hurting, traumatic. I’m letting myself know, like that little girl inside me who needed to be loved and kept safe, I’m stroking my own chest over my heart and saying to her, saying to myself, ‘ You are love, Sheree. I’ve got you I understand why you are feeling unsafe. But I’ve got you. You’re dafe now.”
I’m mothering myself. I’m making myself safe. I’m making myself sanctuary.


LUSH Life

| Sheree

Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?

As I’ve recently shared my word of the year is LUSH. I love this word. It reminds me of my childhood when everything was LUSH; a way of expressing my enthusiasm and my curiosity. When it wasn’t shunned to be in your feelings. When it was natural to full of awe and wonder.

I’m evoking LUSH this year to get back to that state. To foster these feelings more in my every day. I want to feel the LUSHness of life.

And yes I have been in my feelings this week, even if those feelings have been of pain and annoyance and regret towards my recent accident. But you have to experience all the feels in order to appreciate the joy and pleasure.

As a way of anchoring myself into this LUSH life. In order to have a reminder of where I am, what feelings I really want to wallow in, within joy and pleasure and self-love, I have this green ring I wear on my left hand. It’s a commitment from myself to myself. It’s a reminder of the love I am fostering and leaning into towards myself.

The ring has weight to it. The ring is beautiful. When I wear it I’m feeling it’s there on my ring finger and it’s reminding me I am loved and cared for. I am enough as I am, no conditions. This green ring, significant LUSH, is unconditional love for myself.

Life Writing

| Sheree

During my time of hibernation, (have I mentioned that here?) I’m resting of course but I’m also writing and dreaming and catching up on the things I want to do with my time and energy.

Another one of my abstracts was accepted for a special publication by Demeter Press around mothering and life writing. I completed an essay in 2023, around my Black Matrilineage and last year I complete an essay around Black Mothering and Creativity. This is probably going to have to be redrafted this year, but in all honesty I was just happy to submit something, as I had a major block around this essay. I think it was because I allowed my creativity and energy to be sucked into other people’s creative dreams and lost sight of my own last year. So when it came to writing the essay my well was dry.

Anyway, I’ve started the reading and writing around my third essay now which is all about Black mothering and fugitivity. I love fugitivity and it is one of the supporting words for 2025. As I mentioned before, I’ve been exploring fugitivity for the last few years and what this means as a practice. So I’m mighty pleased in having the time and space to explore it further and deeper through writing this essay.

While going over my abstract again and riffing off from it, I remember my creative non-fiction novella I created called rubedo. I think this came out in July 2016, after the 2015 shit hit the fan episode in my life. rubedo was my exploration of this time in my life and how I got through it. It was through finding myself after years of repression and not listening to my inner wisdom that I came to be who I am today.

Anyway, I revisited rubedo with this chapter/ essay in mind, realising that 2025 is 10 years since this episode in my life. It sometimes feels as if it was just yesterday. I know I felt it keenly last year when Darkling came out. Darkling is my first poetry collection since Laventille (2015) and the shitstorm episode. And to tell the truth, I’m waiting for the the shit to hit the fan again, as I’m sure there are people picking their way through Darkling as I type to try and find evidence of plagiarism again. As they say once a plagiarist always a plagiarist! It’s not a term or label I identified with then or do now. As that’s not me, that’s not who I am but that didn’t stop people then or now from looking for the evidence to prove/support it.

But I’m not here to talk about that. What struck me about rubedo is the raw honesty of it all. And how writing, writing it all out literally saved my life. I’m so grateful that Ian brae enough to pick up my pen and writing through the shit to now.

Here is what I wrote about my capacity to love no matter what:

“But something does inside die this day. And the days that follow. Something
inside of me, the capacity to have patience and make allowances for other
people’s bullshit was destroyed during this lynching. No doubt, using the term
‘lynching’ will invite criticism. I know when Andy Croft my publisher used the
term to condemn what was happening to me on social media he received a
fair amount of criticism. But I do not use this word lightly.


Ironically, in the months leading up to my death by social media, I was
researching and writing poems about lynchings in America. I was referring to
the postcard images that were collected as souvenirs by the spectators of
lynchings at the time. There were those people who got their hands dirty
during a lynching, who actually tied the knot of the noose, beat the victim,
mutilated the bodies. And there were those who came along to watch the
spectacle. Viewing the death of another human being as just another social
event, a festival, something to be enjoyed. Both killers and spectators relish
the sport.

This in my opinion is what happened to me. A public lynching and
souvenirs where taken. One person on Facebook, joined in the thread of
conversation with a comment as a means of marking it. This person was
rubbing their hands with relish, saying that they didn’t want to miss a thing as
this spectacle was just too good to let pass by.


When I died this cruel death something inside broke. I’ve recently come to
realise that is was my heart that broke that night. I’ve been visualising my
heart with a rose in the centre. This rose is closed. This I read as a symbol of

me shutting down, dying inside, shutting off the natural flow of love from my
heart for my family, friends, for the world around me. My heart was broken, so
I have been denying myself and others love. I’ve been living in fear, fear of it
being hurt again, fear of my heart being broken again, fear to love.
In a way, this had to happen to me. For one, I’ve always disliked that capacity
in me to keep forgiving others, letting them back into my life when they’d let
me down and not lived up to my expectations. I’ve taken on board the
responsibilities of others, thinking I’ve had too high standards and I’d been
unfair. That capacity has been obliterated. I can’t take anybody’s bull shit
anymore. But at the same time, this capacity to forgive is part of my large
capacity to love. And if this is who I’m really are , then I shouldn’t fight it any
longer but accept it.


My true self is my capacity to love, to love fiercely and powerfully. I accept
that now and I’m no longer blocking up my love. I can’t live in constant fear of
being hurt, of getting my heart broke again because then I would not be living
true to my capacity, true to me. I would just not be living at all.“

I’m so pleased that since then I have found others, such as bell hooks and Joy James, who write about revolutionary/ radical love and validate my ways of loving, which at times hurts me but also brings me a while heap of joy also. You can’t love without the expectation or knowledge of getting hurt.

Water – RIver Etive

| Sheree

The River Etive, a river running through Glencoe, Scotland which I had the pleasure of getting into on New Year’s Day. This was my first wild swim of the year, of course, but it was also my first wild swim since November, 2024.

At the end of November, I got two new tattoos. I’ll share them at some point here ( a clue you’ve already seen them somewhere on this site already!). So with tattoos, I’m not supposed to get into the sea for three weeks afterwards. Three weeks came and went, and I still hadn’t gotten in. I could make the excuses of time and other commitments, but really there was fear and again me not taking my medicine.

Anyway, I’ve made a commitment to myself and 2025, to make sure I prioritise myself, putting my needs and wants first. Leaning into the joy and making sure I feel LUSH, more times than not.
I got into the River Etive, as I shared here. Now I’m back home, I’m making the effort to get into the sea. It’s on my doorstep.I have no excuses, and yet, I know 2024, saw me less than ever getting into the sea. I lost my rhythm, my mojo of getting in. I forgot how much I gain from walking into the sea, all year around. I’m not planning on doing the same thing this year. This year, I’m making water, inside and outside my body, a priority, as the rewards are multiple and multiply as the day/ days go by. Whatever it takes, I’m getting in. Watch me!

Supporting Words of the Year

| Sheree

My word of the year is LUSH. And I’ve shared about my reasoning around choosing LUSH, here. On a basic level, I just love saying the word. By the end of the year, I know those around me are going to be sick of hearing the word, LUSH. But I know I’m not going to stop saying/ using/ projecting LUSH.

LUSH needs support moving forward. LUSH needs to spread throughout my life and practice. LUSH is my mantra and I want to direct this energy into bringing about change in my life. Going with the flow at the same time as maybe directing the flow. For me it is all about energy, and for the last couple of years, my energy has been warped, abused, stagnant and awry. So 2025 is me taking it back.

LUSH is a start. And to support this feeling, I have three other words that are coming into the mix, which are coming to my aid and will be used as my guiding forces, this year and beyond, along with LUSH.

So what are these words I hear you ask?

DREAM
CONJURE
FUGITIVITY

For me these supporting words feed into LUSH as well as each other. They all I feel have a sense of magic and possibility about them.

TO DREAM. I think I do this daily through my visual journaling practice. Everything that comes to fruition in my life, things that I make happen for me and others, starts on the page, starts within my visual journalling. This year, I’m adding some more energy, potent energy into those pages as I intend to dream big, dream bold, dream beautiful.

TO CONJURE. This is where the magic lies. I love the word conjure. It has come to take on more meaning over the last couple of years as I’ve explored it in relation to Black Feminism, Black women and another way of knowing. Another way of being in this world which draws upon our ancestors, Mother Nature and our innate wisdom. I want to conjure with intention this year and be open to what appears, what happens. I want to step into my power as a CONJUR WOMAN ( See Romare Bearden) and appreciate all the layers.

FUGITIVITY. I have Dal Kular to thank for bringing this word into my life as well as supporting and inspiring me in the use of it too. Fugitivity is state of being and movement. It’s a way of moving through this world where you are your own authority and guide. You refuse that which has been refused. It’s a divestment from white supremacy culture, the structures and systems which state that I will never be good enough, white enough, human enough. Another life, another way of being is possible. And I’m exploring the possibilities.

I’m mighty happy with the supporting words this year I have with LUSH, because already sharing them here and thinking/ feeling on them, in the process they are already bringing about change, SLOWNESS as well as JOY.

Have you decide on your word of the year yet? Are you going to support that word with some other words? Let me know in the comments, I’m interested.

Morning Routine 2025

| Sheree

For the past few years, I’ve been trying to protect my mornings. I’ve tried to not schedule morning meetings so I could give myself the time and space to ease into my day. I’ve found that when I give myself this time and space in the morning to be/do what makes me feel more like myself, then the rest of the day runs better. It’s about prioritising my needs and wants before I face the world and give myself to it and other people.

So the past few days have seen me try to embed much more ritual and intention into the start of my day. I would do certain things that I know were good for me but some days I would forget and rush off into the day and then realise later on what I had forgotten to do. A simple act of getting water into my system first thing could be overlooked if I wasn’t being mindful in my mornings.

So on reflection, I realised that I was still protecting my mornings, but I wasn’t being/doing the things that I needed and wanted to do with consistency. And there’s the rub. Consistency. Consistency over complexity. Keeping things simple and doing things over and over again has the potential to bring about change, clarity and joy. Consistency doesn’t have to be monotonous and regimental as I feel I’ve been looking at it over the years. Consistency can be cozy, and constructive and pleasurable, for sure. Well this is what I’m thinking now as I try to become more consistent with my morning routines and rituals. And of course it’s a practice, like everything is. And some mornings I might fail at the practice but really it’s not a fail even if I forget something from the routine. What the point is, is the mindful intention of practicing a morning routine and remembering why I am doing it. To prioritise myself.

So what does my morning routine look like? And sharing it here is just another way for me to remember it, remind myself, to embed it. To make it became second nature with time.

  1. On waking, give thanks for waking.
  2. Water out/ water in
  3. Back to bed to mediate
  4. Read in bed
  5. Move body
  6. Coffee and journal
  7. Get ready
  8. Start day outside – walk
  9. Come back to gratitude at the end of the day and share 3 things I’m grateful for
  10. Repeat

What do I have to do to make this happen? To make this a habit? Do it and keep doing it. It isn’t a chore or anything difficult. It’s giving me a chance to make sure my mornings are SLOW. There’s room for self-reflection, self conversation, self-love. Do it and keep doing it. And if I miss a step, go back and do it when I remember. As soon as I remember. And not to beat myself up about missing a step but offer myself some compassion and grace. I’m not trying to be perfect or a morning goddess. But I am trying to be me, more me. More whole me.

My word of 2025

| Sheree

Last year’s word of the year got lost in the mix. It was ‘self-authority’. Not sovereignty as that has colonial connotations for me.

I might not have been intently focused on the word – ‘self-authority’- throughout 2024. But I feel as if by the year’s end I have come to some new understanding of this way of being. I have a new kind of clarity around my own power and grace and being for sure.

As always I will continue to carry my word of the year along with me for the rest of my life and practice. My words of each year do become part of my arsenal, part of my way of moving through this world for ever more.

So what is my word for 2025.

LUSH.

Lush is my word for 2025. I’ve always loved the word ‘lush’ since I was a child. Especially after I moved up to the North -East of England when I was 10. Lush was the in word and it was used to describe anything that we thought was good, and inspiring and exciting. It was our go to word to describe anything that was positive and good. Lush has stayed with me, even though it might have fallen out of fashion over the years with others.

What do I mean now though when I use the word ‘lush’? First of all I just love the song of the word as it sizzles off my tongue. LUSH. LUSH. LUSH. So even the word itself is lush to me. But why do I mean when I use it in my life?

Lush usually refers to nature. To the lavishness of the vegetation. Green is the colour that comes to mind for lush. There’s a sense of abundance to it. Lush can also refer to the loveliness of a a person, their vitality as well as their sensuality and sexuality. Back in the 18th century say, lush also referred to a person who was in the habit of getting drunk. Maybe this gives the impression of lushness being to the excess. Like too much, too green, too beautiful.

For me, I’m picking up lushness for its sense of vitality and abundance. It’s innocence and child-like wonder and pleasure it brings me when I say the word as well as use it to refer to something as being ‘lush’. It could be a lush vista while I’m out with nature. It could be a lush colour. It could be a lush feeling. And this is where I’m starting with lush within my feelings.

This year, with carrying lush with me, I want to feel the thrills and pleasures of lushness. I want to feel the joy and exuberance of lushness. I want to feel the sparkle and abundance in everything and everyone I come into contact with.

This image is lush. Lush because of the way the water reflects the blue of the sky. Lush because of the dusting of snow on the mountain peaks. Lush because it is a moment of stillness and beauty and I’m part of it. Lush because I am present in the moment. Lush because I’ve grateful to be there. Lush because it’s the start of a new day. So much lushness to draw upon within each moment, each snapshot of my life and this is what I want to be tapping into more times than not. Lush is my anchor, my reminder, my mantra.

LUSH. LUSH. LUSH.

Do you have a word for the year? Please share in the comments if you do, I’d love to hear about it.