I’m practicing how to show up in spaces, alone and with others, in fullness.
I’ve used wholeness before. Striving to get back to that sense of being whole, as we enter as already into this world. And then for the rest of our lives society and culture pull us away from our wholeness. When we realise, usually when much older and not giving a fuck, we spend our time and energy attempting to get back to that wholeness. This is a practice too, but to be whole sounds final and also out of reach.
Fullness. While fullness seems something that can be embraced now. In the present, moment to moment. Fullness for me gives the middle finger to those who have criticised me by saying I’m too much. Too Black. Too fat. Too loud. Too enthusiastic. Too Alive. Too much.
Fullness is me embracing my too-muchness and giving off that ‘don’t care less’ energy.
This piece originally was published over on Medium with Binderful. I’m drawing this piece into the Living Wild Studios archives. Because I can!
Image credit — Donovan Valdivia
“How difficult is it for one body to feel the injustice wheeled at another? Are the tensions, the recognition, the disappointments, and the failures that exploded in the riots too foreign?”
Claudia Rankin
In August 2014, there’s a summer of “hands up, don’t shoot” protests, in Ferguson, Missouri, in response to the unlawful shooting of Michael Brown Jr.. In November, Darren Wilson, the white Ferguson police officer responsible for Brown’s murder isn’t indicted. In December, filled with rage and helplessness, I organise the first ‘Black Lives Matter’ protest in the North of England; a political poetry reading at our city centre library. Together artists and writers, cram into a hot room on the top floor of a building made of glass, and pour out our rage and pain through our writings. Black people’s words. Our ancestors’ words.
I’m criticised by one Black woman, in particular, because I invite white poets to read. They could only read the words of Black people as this event is centring our lives. Black lives. A white people’s presence is not what this Black woman wants. She wants a safe Black only space. I respect and understand her views. We all want a safe space for Black people. But I feel we can achieve so much more when we work together, Black and white, to solve our society’s problems. I know where she’s coming from though; a place of pain and suffering and hatred. As Black people, for so long, we have endured so much hate and violence from the hands of white people. For far too long, we have been excluded from a share in the economic wealth our ancestors paid for with their lives to create. We’re sick and tired of being excluded from the abundantly spread societal table which our ancestors give the skins off their backs to forge. And this hurts.
In March 2017, there’s a ‘Stand Up to Racism’ demonstration in London, Miss Ella, my seven year old daughter, and I dance behind the sound system truck, towards Trafalgar Square. Crowds behind metal barricades line our route, with the Metropolitan Police shepherding us along. We shout, ‘Refugees are welcome here.’ Miss Ella, dressed as her superhero, Black Widow, looks as if she’s just stepped out of a Black Panther’s meeting. With her long brown hair blowing in the wind and her peachy fist punching the air, she’s learning long before I did how to use her voice to bring about change. She carries her homemade banner stating, ‘Black Lives Matter,’ high with pride and courage. Along the way, a white woman with screwed up face screams at us to shut up and go back home to where we come from. Disallowing our protests, devaluing our presence here.
I recognise where she’s coming from; a place of her ignorance and pain and hatred. As white working class, for so long, she’s been fed the lies that Black people and immigrants come over here and take their homes and jobs. For so long, the poverty they’re experiencing is down to these Black illegal criminal and not a capitalist system rigged in favour of a few priviledged people. We’re just as sick and tired of this too. And we know it hurts.
In May 2020, there’s ‘Black Lives Matter’, protests around the world. In response to the recent killings of George Floyd, Tony McDade, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor, to name just a few, the streets are talking through fire and smoke. Thousands take to the streets, Black and white, to demand justice for all our Black brothers and sisters who have been and continue to be murdered by state sanctioned violence.
I’ve grateful for their voices and bodies. This time, I protest through my words and art. As the Covid-19 pandemic still poses a real threat here in my part of the world. I’m a Black, fat woman carrying yet another target on my back. While protesting, the odds of getting molested and arrested, and not surviving the experience is higher for me than any white person. Just as the odds are greater for me of dying from the Coronavirus than a white person.
Black, Asian, and ethnic minorities in the Western world are dying at a disproportionately higher rate and number than white people during this pandemic. Many explanations for this reality have been voiced with the blame thrown at the feet of Black people. That it is our unhealthy bodies and behaviours which are spreading this disease, conveniently not addressing the inherent racism and systematic inequalities that have operated for over 400 years that has brought about this dis-ease, making our weathered bodies more susceptible to this virus.
‘We rather die on our feet than keep livin’ on our knees,’ taken from the James Brown song, ‘I’m black and I’m proud’, I feel this as we see thousands of Black people (and white people) take to the streets, even though there’s a greater risk to their lives than ever before. But I recognise where’s they’re coming from. We’ve had enough. We’ve endured enough. We’re not prepared to accept Black lives being devalued anymore.
I wake up ( that is if I got any sleep) and give thanks.
Play Love Dimension by Beautiful Chorus a few times
Water out/ water in
Back to bed for Insight Timer medication or course
Read in bed
Make coffee and then journal in bed
Get up.
Strength training with free weights
Move my body – yoga/ walk/run/ swim
Greet the world with a smile.
What led you to this morning routine?*
Well I started on this find tuning of a morning routine at the beginning of January 2025, more or less. I was hibernating and I wanted to start a ritual that would anchor me into my life. Into the present moment at the same time as showing to myself that I am loved. I’ve done everything in my current morning routine at some point or other before but the putting them all together in some kind of coherent order is a first this year.
Did any ancient practices inspire you?
I’m not sure if a particular ancient practice inspired me. But maybe practices from my ancestral ancients might have subconsciously. If I remember living with my mum, back when I was in my 20s, she had a morning routine which I really didn’t notice then but can now. She’d get up early everyday, even though she wasn’t going to work, and go to the bathroom. Then make a cup of tea, open the windows and have a smoke. Maybe read at the same time but she’d claim the sitting room and the quiet. When she’d finish she’d make herself available for others.
For you, what is the importance of following a morning routine?
I hate routines usually. The predictability of them and the monotony gets on my nerves and I have to break out of them. But I think , in the past, this is because the routines and rituals have not been my own but have been imposed on me by external forces. I’ve mentioned when I was teaching before but also when I think of when I was studying creative writing. We were told if we wanted to be successful we should stick to one genre of writing and practice it in this way, using these techniques and following these rules. I found it all so restrictive. But here with this morning routine containing sacred rituals to myself, even if not carved in stone and open to change, I do not fight against the routine because I created. I feel that it is coming from a place of love for myself. This is my way of practicing self-love because I am giving myself the time and space each day so commune with myself and get my shit together ( or not!).
I’ve been up today since about 8am. It’s just after 10am now and I’ve had this track, Love Dimension by Beautiful Chorus on Insight Timer on repeat. It’s only 2 minutes long so I’m not going to work out the math for how many times it’s been on repeat. But let’s just say a lot.
I’ve got it running on and on in the background as I go about my morning routine. I’m feeling the need to have this reminder coming at me on repeat entering my bones, my blood, my heart and soul subliminally.
Oooooooooooooooooooo
Welcome, welcome, to the love dimension. To the love dimension. Ooooooooo
Welcome, welcome, to the love dimension. To the love dimension.
It’s Monday y’all and that can only mean Level 3 Counselling Skills today. Yeah Love Dimension is on repeat. Like a mantra. Like an incantation. Like a protective shield of steel.
Oak Moss Lichen, presence signifies the air quality of a place/ space/ session!
I’ve written before about this fucking counselling skills course I’m completing. So because it follows the school terms time dates, we have just returned on Monday after a week off. And my god was it difficult for me to return. We only have five sessions left and I was thinking of all kind of excuses to get out of these next five weeks, so I can just stay at home on a Monday evening and complete the mountains of task, assignments and reflective journals that need to be completed by the end of March to be in with a chance of passing this shit. So I didn’t want to return but return I did because I don’t want to fail. I’ve already put a lot of time and effort and pain into the course and I want to be able to walk away with my head held high. But it’s making it very difficult to stay the course. It really is as the space is not equipped for diversity, equity and inclusion and this is a fact. First off, a lot of time is taken up the week with the discussion of next steps. And some students are going to carry on with Level 4 and 5 with the current tutor’s private practice. Some are waiting a bit to get the finances together or looking into adult funding loans etc. But most of them are taking the next steps as they are needed to be able to practice counselling skills in society.
Lots of talk about finances, and time and access and how things are unfair and more money should be made available to do the next levels for free etc. One student, all up to date with assignments and very pleased with herself because of this, has her pathway all planned out and took great pleasure in letting everyone else know that she as the perfect student who had the time and space to just read about psychology and just add it into the pot for later etc. I recognised myself in her not so many years ago when I was always working to fulfil the perfect student role and make sure everyone else knew it too. How things have changed.
Me I know I’m not going any further than Level 3 for a number of reasons. The finances is one. This is barrier for anyone wanting to become a counsellor, the different courses and levels to complete and professional fees to be members of in order to practice, is all money money money. While training not only paying for the course, you also have to be under supervision of a therapist yourself, and be part of groups theory sessions, and then also be on placement, which is usually voluntary. The whole system is set up for those who have money already to be able to keep throwing it at the barriers and stipulations that are in place before you even qualified to counsel. So the finances are an issue, as well as not believing in the system I would be funnelling my money into in order to qualify. Not only is the education system steeped in colonialism, patriarchy and white supremacy culture but what kind of stupid duped yes massa oppressed fool would I be to actually pay to be further oppressed and brainwashed. Dead white men is the syllabus for counselling skills so why would I buy into more of that shit?
I just don’t believe in the whole system set up around becoming qualified and how it’s the privileged who continue to be in these caring helping positions when really they haven’t done the work on themselves to check their own unconscious bias, racism etc. So I’m not going any further after Level 3 so the majority of the conversation in class was very off putting and I switched off, thinking what is the point.
Once we got to the skills part, I had hardly got into my usual triad before one ‘friend’ said she didn’t want to work with me. No offence they said but you always make me laugh and I need to get my observation logs complete so I can’t work with you. How am I supposed to respond to this remark? Do what the fuck you want, but in the process make sure you reject me, by refusing to work with me and make it all my fault?
She said I make her laugh too much and she needs to focus. So okay work with the other individual in our triad and I’ll observe you as you practice being the listener and I’ll give you your feedback. And I’ll just add here, she still laughed during the skills practice, being put off by the tutor listening in on the session. I did nothing to make her laugh. So I just want to put it out there that maybe I’m not the problem or issue and that maybe they are. Just putting it out there as I’m not the problem but why not make the only Black woman in the group the problem, as then that’s easier than taking responsibility yourself for your own short comings.
It’s time to switch roles and I create a scenario to tell the other person in the triad so they can fulfil the listening counsellor role. I talk about a real current issue and I’m just being my expressive self etc. Fleshing things out to they can demonstrate all their counselling skills etc. At the end of the exercise, they takes a deep breath and turn to the other person in the triad who didn’t want to work with me and says, you’re right she is difficult to work with. That was hard, she made it hard.
Fuck why not gang up on me and make it all my fault instead of looking at yourself, or checking yourself to find out what might be lacking in your skills set and learning that you would think having a conversation with me about a real issue for me, what hard for you? Why blame the only Black woman in the room once again for your own shortcomings? Again I return to what I’ve said before white privileged people who will be in caring positions of authority who haven’t done the work on themselves, in order to know their own inner workings, before they start working with other peoples’.
But yes it’s my fault.
When it’s my turn to be the listener and practice my counselling skills, well didn’t the person come up with a scenario that was a dead end and she just sat there and didn’t really play ball. They didn’t elaborate, just dropped their problem and expected me to do all the work. I just had to laugh, and just think, but I’m the difficult one I’m the one who doesn’t take it seriously?
I’d just sat there and completed detailed feedback on each of their counselling skills, not making it personal. I didn’t critique them as individuals but in their role as the listener. But it was okay they thought for them to mess with my skills practice and after they had attacked me personally
Where is the fairness in that or the justice? Fuck and I wonder why I continue to put up with this shit week in and week fucking out?
Go back and take care of yourself. Your body needs you, your feelings need you, your perceptions need you. Your suffering needs you to acknowledge it. Go home and be there for all these things.
This was published on Medium back in 2020, and I recently rediscovered it. I’ll be sharing this piece along with some other pieces from that time because they just tickle my fancy.
Longsands, Tynemouth
Learning something new isn’t easy and doesn’t happen overnight either.
There’s no magic cure, no short cuts to learning a new behaviour or new skill. You just have to practice. Show up each and every day. And do your best.
There are certain steps to follow if you want to adopt a new habit or develop a new skill. Being a creative being, I’m open to being inspired by others. The following steps have been adapted from an Instagram post by Lisa Congdon in relation to building a skill, particularly in wanting to become an artist.
I think these steps apply just as much to learning to stay indoors during the Coronavirus lockdown as to developing any new skills and habits. Here I explore how I’ve been learning to stay inside.
Begin — One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The inflow and out flow of the breath. I’ll admit, I’ve been complacent about the Coronavirus. I thought it was far way from home. I felt sorry for the thousands of deaths I was witnessing in China but I felt secure in the U.K. I was ignorant and selfish. And I was wrong. Just as the buds begin to appear on the linden trees along my street, reports start to come in about individuals being infected in England. The virus is spreading. I begin to understand it spreads through person to person contact. Around about 12th March, I make the decision to cancel events which involve people gathering. I’ve been working on a number of projects which offer opportunities to black, Asian and ethnic minorities in my region to develop a relationship with nature. Disappointingly, I put a stop to these activities. I walk into the sea to heal.
Practice — As an individual, I start to self-isolate. I stop unnecessary trips out and keep my distance from friends and family, and people, in general. It’s difficult as it’s like swimming against the tide. No one else seems to be worried about closeness. I do the responsible thing. I look after myself by taking my medicine. I go back into the sea and breathe.
Keep showing up — With my world shrinking, I contact our funders, our partners and our groups in relation to our Black Nature projects and inform them we are canceling and/or postponing events and activities scheduled for Spring and Summer because of the Coronavirus. It kills me to pick apart projects which have been six to seven years in the making but I know it’s the right thing to do to keep everyone safe. I lean into my writing practice using this time at home to follow a strict regime of morning pages, journal prompts, poetry exercises, visual journalling and reading. I’m in control of the situation.
Practice some more– Crowds of daffodils bob along the roadside as I make the twice daily trips to drop off and pick up from school. I‘m worried about our children. Our 9 year old daughter at school. Our 21 year old son away from home teacher training. It doesn’t sit well with me that I‘m self-isolating but sending my babies out into the world daily. I worry they’re at risk. I go food shopping. Shelves begin to empty and I feel people’s panic. This escalates my panic. I stop going into the sea.
Stretching self — Tuesday 17 March, we pick our daughter up from school, and don’t send her back the next day. We feel the U.K. government doesn’t care about us. We feel they’re not doing enough to protect us and stop the spread of the virus. We make our own decision to lockdown as a family. We start out as if it’s a holiday. A chance to rest and relax and catch up on TV shows and films. We have no routine. We listen to the gulls outside our windows squawking their freedom.
Practice — I shop alone for what we need. And yes this includes extra toilet rolls and pasta. I’m privileged enough to be able to buy plenty of whatever we want. People still don’t keep their distance. Their anxiety rubs off on me. I take my annoyance and frustration back into the home. No amount of showering and clothes washing can rid the stench of fear. I meet people who matter to me through a screen. I don’t go into the sea.
Practice – 23rd March the British government puts the whole country on a three week lockdown. The Prime Minister announces the police will now have the power to fine people if they leave their homes for any reason other than the following: shopping for basic necessities, one form of exercise a day, medical need or to provide care for a vulnerable person and traveling to work but only for key workers.
Note your improvements – I haven’t been in the sea for two weeks. I‘m not coping well under quarantine. I‘m not using the time away from the outside world in any productive way. I‘m beating myself up for not doing more. For not finishing the book, for not cleaning the house. For not moving forward but instead treading water. As cherry blossom blooms pink and white and raspberry, are tossed about in the wind, I’m wrapped in grief. Grieving for the life I’d built from rock bottom, in the last 5 years, gone in an instant. I’m grieving for the projects I’d worked hard and persevered with to create with others for others gone in a click of a button. I’m grieving for not being able to go to my favourite coffee shop and order an extra hot, vanilla oat latte and savour the taste while writing my morning pages. And yes I know how thoughtless and trivial that sounds. I‘m missing the sea.
Practice — My days are different now. Time seems to move differently, faster and slower at the same time. Days morph into each other and weekends just don’t feel the same when you find yourself not going out into the world to work during the week, and coming home late craving some downtime. Now every day feels like down time. It’s easy to get lost in the nothingness if I don’t have something to do. My moods are up and down as I try to enforce some structure. And then try to just go with the flow. It’s difficult to keep things together for myself and my family. Especially when I’m denying myself my medicine, the sea. Because of fear. Fear of the patrolling police questioning me. The police not just fining me but imprisoning me. I’m a vulnerable Black body outside when I’m not supposed to be outside. Try to feel my fear. Fear of other people not keeping their distance. Fear of people in general. I can only control my actions and some people are still acting in irresponsible ways through ignorance or entitlement. I tell myself: I’m not the waves of life. I try to drop below the waves and find the calm and peace underneath.
Practice — Stay home. Protect the NHS. Save lives. A constant reminder whenever I go outside. Every Thursday at 8 pm, we go outside and clap to show our appreciation for all the hard work the key workers within the NHS are doing. Are enduring. I go out once a week to do a big shop wearing a face mask and gloves. I hope my eyes tell the story that I’m smiling at the shop workers. I make a point of telling them my appreciation. I wish them safety and wellness. I make sure our daughter gets out once a day for some fresh air otherwise she’d just stay glued to her screens. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The inflow and outflow of the breath.
Repeat — One. Two. Three. Four. Five.The inflow and outflow of the breath. I practice self support. I support myself during these unprecedented times by being kind to myself. I try to have an intention regarding how I start my day. How I want to feel today. Most days, I want to be present. Most days are a present. I hold gratitude for the life I’m living, at the moment. Life is moment to moment. One moment, I’m on my mat feeling the morning chill caress my neck and shoulders. The next movement, I feel my body, it’s heaviness pulled towards the earth. I’m part of Earth. I’m trying to stay more in the now. And not worry about the future or mourn too much about the past. I’m human so it takes practice.
Beginagain— We’re still in lockdown. This isn’t a happy ending. This is me learning new habits, new ways of being. Tapping into moments of joy and peace being inside. And getting back into the sea
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