well-being

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.


| Sheree
Vision Board 2025

For the past 5 or 6 years, I’ve created a vision board at the new year for the year ahead. It sets out my intentions and desires and dreams.

Last year, 2024 didn’t have a vision board. I wasn’t feeling the energy to create it. I didn’t have any visions. My head was down as I ploughed through some projects for others.

I missed the focus of creating a vision board as well as having some kind of loose map to move through the year. I was feeling lost last year in so many ways and I didn’t want a repeat this year.

So this is my vision board for 2025 and it lives on the wall at the bottom of my bed. So I get to see it and focus on it every morning and every night.

There’s nothing major on there in terms of big changes and tasks but it does focus on being more present as well as focusing on experiences over material things.

I want to feel all the feels and still be standing afterwards with a smile on my face. There’s a lot of gratitude grounded in this vision board as well as wisdom. As I know what makes me tick and what brings be joy but there has been times in the past when I haven’t been prioritising them.

2025 is all about my needs and wants and desires. And not in a selfish way but in the way of how can I expect other people to treat me well with love and respect if I don’t give myself this.

Or as Maya Angelou said it , much better than me …

So this is the intention for 2025. I’ll be back to explore and share how I am supporting this journey through routines and rituals and attitudes.

Did I share my morning routine with you?

Birthright

| Sheree

Our body-temples are divinely designed to restore themselves, but we must rest in order to do so. For rest is not a reward…it is our birthright. And rest helps us to indulge in soft sacred spaces where we are reminded that we are intrinsically worthy of love, concern, care, and pleasure. – Sensual Faith, Lyvonne Briggs

Present Reflections

| Sheree
Visual journal spread

The weekend passed in a haze of pain. Being in pain is tiring. I’ve been keeping moving, not wanting to sit for too long and stiffen up.

My visual journaling practice has been helping to shift my energy. It’s been spreading positive vibes at a time when I could be feeling less positive. My mobility is compromised and I’m feeling it.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself but I have been annoyed with myself. I’m trying to offer more compassion and understanding towards myself and looking at this time of injury as I chance to reflect and learn.

What would I do differently? What do I need to listen to / heed to more? I was following no one else’s instruction than my own when I said I as going out Saturday. Through sheer pig-headedness I continued on my way, even thought I saw the path was dangerous. I didn’t want to be seen as having difficulty in walking. I didn’t want others to judge me as incapable or old even.

I didn’t want to give up on my plans, on myself, not wanting to be beaten I carried on even when my gut was saying turn around and go back home.

But I got beaten anyway and in a much worse way. I’m learning and listening now because I don’t have a choice.

I’m learning how everything is so precarious and one false move everything can change. I didn’t think I was taking things, my life and body for granted. But maybe I was/ still am.

Things have to change. I’m lucky that I have the time and space to bring about this change. Slowly does it indeed. I’m got nothing to prove to myself or anyone else. And I must remember this. No one is watching me as everyone else is focusing on their own shit.

It’s me who’s putting on the pressure, the expectations, the rules and regulations. It’s me who has to let go and surrender.

She spoke too soon …

| Sheree

My last post was about counting my blessings and having gratitude for the life I get to lead. I’m not saying that wasn’t/ isn’t still true. But maybe I just got ahead of myself.

Saturday saw me striding into town to complete errands over black ice. It was on my return that I hit the deck. Yes slipped on the ice right onto the base of my spine and backside.

I could have cried. The pain. I stayed down a bit to assess the damage. Two men came to my rescue and they were like ice skaters trying to stay up themselves. It was treacherous and really did I need to be out walking?

I walked on home, slowly in pain. Still counting my blessings as it could have been worse. And I’m not just saying that. While out I saw two ambulances coming to the aid of people who had fallen on the ice. Helping people into the back with head injuries. So yes it could have been worse.

Since the fall, yes I’ve been in pain. Heat has been applied and I’m keeping moving, if not but slower.

So here I am giving gratitude again because I can still walk and do things even if just slowly. This fall has made me realise how often I bend throughout my day and how I used to do it mindlessly. Now I’m totally mindful, in my body, tending my body with slow, careful movement which can only make me stronger.

End of week Gratitude

| Sheree
Cullercoats’ Underpass

This week has been a blessing.

This week was back to school week but things could have been worse. A cold weather front has hit the UK. Yes it’s cold up North but it could have been worse. At least we’ve had the light. And it’s remained dry even if each morning the windscreen has been frozen.

I’m grateful because I’ve had the privilege of spending quality time with Miss Ella and supporting her on her journey to her GCSE mock examinations. She’s capable, she just needs to believe in herself more. And that’s where I can come in, for sure.

Cullercoats Bay

I’m grateful because I managed to get into the sea twice this week. And there’s still time for more. The sea produced some big waves which were beautiful and dangerous. There was a lot of jumping waves and giggling like the little girl I didn’t get to be when growing up.

I’m grateful to be able to control where I direct my time and energy. At the moment that is all towards myself, first thing, and then I’m ready for what the rest of the day throws at me.

I’m grateful to nature ( until I find a better way of referring to her/ me/ us) as I take my cues and guidance from her and continue to hibernate and rest and dream. LUSH.