 There’s a quiet kind of strength in the words “fall seven times, stand up eight.” It resonates deeply for me. Not loud. Just steady human resilience. The truth is, falling is part of being alive. We fall in obvious ways: when plans unravel, when relationships shift, when life delivers something we didn’t choose but we also fall in quieter, more private ways. We fall into self-doubt. Into old patterns. Into moments where we forget who we are and what we’re capable of and in those moments, it can feel like we’ve gone backwards. But falling isn’t failure, it’s part of the rhythm. It's something I have had to remind myself of many times.
The Myth of “Getting It Right”: So many people carry the belief that healing, growth or change should be linear but I see it as a spiral. We often believe that once we’ve learned something, we should never struggle with it again but that’s not how we’re wired. Our nervous system, our memories, our lived experiences, they all shape how we respond in the moment and sometimes, despite all the awareness in the world, we still react in ways that surprise us. That’s a fall. Not because you’ve failed but because you’re human. The Courage to Stand Again: Standing up again doesn’t always look dramatic or brave. Sometimes it’s incredibly small. It’s taking a breath instead of spiralling. It’s noticing what’s happening instead of judging it. It’s choosing to begin again, even when part of you feels tired of beginning and it can take everything you've got to stand up again. Standing up might look like:
These moments matter more than we realise. They are the “eighth time" (or eighteenth or eightyth time!!). The Space Between the Fall and the Rise: With mindfulness, we know this space well. That moment after something has happened but before we react to it. That space is powerful. It’s where awareness lives. It’s where choice becomes possible and sometimes, standing up doesn’t mean fixing anything at all. It just means being with what is, without turning away. Taking time to really feel whatever is there. A Different Way of Measuring Strength: What if strength isn’t about never falling? What if it’s about how gently you meet yourself when you do? Resilience doesn’t have to be hard-edged. It can be soft, compassionate and deeply present. Each time you return to yourself, to your breath, your body, your awareness, you are standing again. Not perfectly. Not permanently. But enough. A Gentle Reflection: If you’re noticing a place in your life where you feel like you’ve “fallen,” pause for a moment, take a breath, then ask yourself: What would standing up look like right now, in the smallest, kindest way? Let it be simple. Let it be human. Because you don’t need to get it right. You just need to begin again. And again.
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 I love Spring!
There's something about this time of year that quietly invites change. The earth begins to soften (i.e. dry up from all the mud we had in February!!), the days slowly stretch out and nature reminds us that growth doesn’t happen all at once, it unfolds in its own steady rhythm. On the farm, the signs are everywhere. New life is imminent and with it comes that familiar sense of anticipation, hope and renewal. This year more than usual. Being surrounded by nature each day in the yurt and around the farm, I’m constantly reminded that change is not something to fear. In nature, change simply means progress. The seeds are planted, snowdrops, crocuses and the grass in the fields all push through soil. Animals prepare to welcome new life. The land shifts gently from one season to the next. Nothing stays still, yet everything moves forward exactly as it should. That's something I have learned to trust over the years. It hasn't always been easy to accept change! This feeling of renewal has also been inspiring some changes here at the yurt. Over the coming weeks, I’m introducing new programmes, packages and special offers, all designed to support people in different ways on their wellbeing journeys. Each one has been created with the same intention that guides all the work here, to provide a calm, supportive space where people can slow down, reconnect and begin to move forward in their own way. Whether through 1-2-1 sessions, group gatherings, mindful experiences or training in the yurt, the focus remains the same: creating space for healing, awareness and gentle transformation. Sometimes we think change has to be big or dramatic. But more often, it begins quietly — a new thought, a different perspective, a moment of stillness where something inside shifts. Just like the season turning outside the yurt. With new life arriving on the farm and new offerings growing here too, it feels like a beautiful reminder that every beginning carries the potential for something meaningful to unfold. And sometimes, all we need is the right space to let that happen.  2026 hasn't arrived quietly. It's come wrapped in snow (lots of it!!) making it impossible to get back to 'normal' routines and with a very clear message to slow down!
Right now, so many of us are snowed in. Roads and paths are buried, schools are closed and shop shelves are thinning as supplies struggle to reach us. Plans are cancelled. Routines are disrupted. The usual pace of life has ground to a halt, whether we like it or not. We are forced to pause, quite literally. It feels uncomfortable and challenging. We're so used to pushing forward, powering through, filling every moment with movement and noise. Stillness can feel unsettling when it’s not chosen but the Universe has decided to take charge and resistance is useless. We have to slow down. And something wonderful has happened in the middle of all of it all... As supplies run low, people are stepping up, neighbours are checking in on each other and food is being shared. Messages on Social Media can be read offering help, warmth and reassurance. Farmers have been driving their tractors and clearing roads, not for praise or for profit but because community matters. In the quiet and stillness, we are reminded that we're all interconnected. In the absence of convenience, kindness shows itself everywhere. This enforced pause creates space, space we rarely allow ourselves. Space to notice the hush that snow brings. Space to sit without rushing. Space to rest bodies and minds that have been running on empty for far too long. With fewer distractions, many of us are turning inward, listening to what we actually need. This isn’t laziness. It isn’t wasted time. It's necessary. When we don’t choose rest, the Universe sometimes chooses it for us. It's happened to me before and I now appreciate these times. This snowy beginning to 2026 feels like a collective deep breath, a reminder that life isn’t meant to be lived at full speed all the time. This is a moment for real self-care. The kind that looks like slowing your thoughts, nourishing your body, checking in on your mental health and letting go of the pressure to be endlessly productive. The kind that recognises rest as essential, not something to be earned. There is something symbolic about starting the year like this. A landscape wiped clean. A forced reset. A reminder that we are part of something bigger than our schedules and expectations. Maybe 2026 isn’t asking us to rush into resolutions and goal setting. Maybe it’s asking us to begin gently, to move forward with intention instead of urgency and to remember that we are human beings, not machines. The snow will melt. Roads will reopen. Supplies will return. Life will speed up again. It always does. But right now, in this moment, we are here. Slowed. Grounded. Connected. And perhaps this pause is exactly how 2026 is meant to begin.  One of the things I love most about Reiki is how naturally it has been weaving throughout everything I do for nearly 20 years. Whether I’m holding space for a client in the yurt, guiding a group in Living Mindfully, tapping through emotions with EFT or easing tension with EMMETT or Reiki for an animal, the five Reiki Principles quietly sit at the heart of it all.
They’re simple. Grounding. Human. They invite us to live in a way that feels spacious and honest. And in the stillness of the yurt, surrounded by nature, they become even more alive. Here’s how they gently shape a good life: 1. Just for today, I will not worry: When clients step into the yurt, we always begin with breathwork. This principle mirrors that first grounding breath: a reminder to return to the here and now. Worry dissolves just a little when you’re held in a calm space, feet on the earth, breath deepening. In sessions,whether EFT, Reiki or mindfulness, this is often where the real shift begins. 2. Just for today, I will not anger: Anger isn’t something to push away. In the yurt, we honour it. We tap through it. We listen to what it’s protecting. Through Reiki’s gentle presence and EFT’s emotional release, anger softens into clarity, making space for compassion, for self and others. 3. Just for today, I will give thanks for my many blessings: Gratitude is woven into every session: the warmth of the yurt stove, the rhythm of breath and the trust a client or animal places in the process. Gratitude helps bodies and nervous systems settle, allowing techniques like EMMETT, Reiki or mindfulness to work more deeply and effortlessly. 4. Just for today, I will do my work honestly: Honesty is the foundation of the therapeutic space. In one-to-one sessions, group work or animal healing, I show up authentically, meeting each being exactly where they are. When I blend modalities, it’s never forced. It’s intuitive. Honest. Guided by what the moment calls for, whether that’s touch, energy, tapping or quiet presence. 5. Just for today, I will be kind to every living thing: This is the heartbeat of my practice. Kindness towards clients navigating life’s challenges. Kindness towards animals who may be carrying old stories in their bodies. Kindness towards the self, especially the parts that feel unseen or unheard. From grounding meditations to inner-child connections, kindness is the thread that ties everything together. Why these principles matter in the yurt: The Five Reiki Principles aren’t just intentions, they’re companions. They guide every breathwork opening, every integrated session, every closing meditation. They help create a space of safety, presence and deep listening, whether the one receiving is a person, a dog or a young foal. In the quiet of the yurt, surrounded by nature, these principles become a way of living…and a gentle invitation to lead a life rooted in peace, compassion and mindful connection. My aim in life is to live and work with the 5 Reiki Principles woven through all I do.  There’s a familiar phrase in the world of healing and mindfulness, “peeling back the layers of the onion.”
It’s a simple image but it captures something profound about the human experience. As we begin to explore our inner world, our patterns, our emotions, our stories, we often do so one layer at a time. Each layer we uncover brings understanding, relief and sometimes discomfort too. We might believe we’ve reached the core, only to find another layer waiting underneath. Over time, I’ve come to realise that we never really finish peeling the onion. Personally, I found that realisation challenging but I have come to appreciate the process and embrace the learning. Even in the past few weeks I have peeled another layer but more of that another time, when the time is right Each stage of life, each new experience, each relationship or challenge, invites us to meet ourselves again with fresh eyes and a deeper heart. The work of self-awareness isn’t about arriving at an endpoint where everything feels complete or resolved. It’s about learning to stay curious and compassionate, no matter what layer we find ourselves in. In my own work, in 1-2-1 and Living Mindfully sessions, I see again and again that healing isn’t linear. Sometimes an old wound reappears, not because we’ve gone backwards, but because we’re ready to meet it from a wiser, softer place. The very fact that it’s surfaced again means something within us is ready for deeper understanding. Rather than striving to “get to the end,” we can learn to honour the process, to meet each layer with gentleness and patience. Even the tears that come along the way are part of the softening, part of the letting go. A Gentle Reflection: You might like to pause for a few quiet moments and explore this simple reflection:
Each breath, each act of awareness, is another step toward wholeness, not because you’ve peeled away every layer, but because you’ve learned to hold each one with love.  Out in the fields, there’s a quiet, repetitive job that farmers and agricultural workers have done for generations, it’s called roguing. Specifically in barley fields, roguing means walking through rows of young plants and carefully removing any rogue plants that don’t belong. On our farm, it's wild oats. It’s slow work. It demands attention, patience and a certain commitment to care. I love an analogy and it came to me, as I walked slowly up and down the fields roguing barley, that it's a lot like tending to our mental health. Yes, it takes place outside, surrounded by nature and involves exercise but it's there a lot more to it than that.
What is roguing really? Roguing is a form of mindful farming. The rogue plants aren’t always easy to spot. Some look almost identical to the healthy crop (we have 'real' oats on the farm too). It takes a trained eye to notice what doesn’t belong, the subtle differences in shape, height or colour and because these rogues can affect the whole crop, removing them is essential for a healthy, pure harvest. The wild oats will multiply tenfold by next harvest if they aren't removed. Now think about your mind. Your thoughts, emotions, habits. They’re like the crop. Some serve you, some don’t and some quietly grow unnoticed, blending in until they start to crowd out the good. Just like rogue barley, unhelpful thoughts and patterns can take root in our minds without us even realising. They can look like:
At first glance, they may seem harmless, even helpful. But left unchecked, they affect the whole field of our wellbeing. The Practice of Noticing: Roguing barley isn’t rushed. It’s done slowly, carefully and with attention to detail. Mental health care asks for the same. When we pause, through breathwork, mindfulness, journaling, therapy or talking with someone we trust, we start to notice what’s growing within us. We begin to spot the rogue thoughts: “I’m not good enough.” “I should be doing more.” “I always mess things up.” When we notice, we have a choice. We don’t have to believe every thought we think. We can gently acknowledge it, question it and sometimes, like the farmer in the field, remove it or at least loosen its roots. Protecting the Crop: In roguing, the aim is to protect the integrity of the barley crop. In tending to our mental health, we’re protecting our inner landscape, not to make it perfect but to keep it resilient, balanced and able to grow well. There’s also something beautiful in the fact that roguing is done by hand. One plant at a time. It reminds us that caring for ourselves isn’t about quick fixes. It’s slow, intentional and deeply human. The Season for Tending: Roguing doesn’t happen all year round. There’s a season for it, when the barley is still young and it’s easier to make changes before the crop is set. In life, there are also natural seasons when things rise to the surface and we feel more able to tend to our inner world. Maybe it’s after a time of stress or during a retreat or even prompted by a conversation. Whenever that season comes, it’s okay to begin gently, with curiosity rather than judgment. In the Field of the Mind: So next time you see a barley field or pass by rows of green stretching across the land, take a moment to think of the hands moving gently through it, choosing what stays and what goes. That same care, that same mindful presence, is available to us every day, as we walk through the fields of our own minds. After all, mental health isn’t about having a perfect crop, it’s about tending with love.  I’ve made the decision to take a step back from Social Media for a while, to pause, to breathe and to reconnect in a deeper way with myself, my work, and the world around me.
As someone who holds space for others in their healing and wellbeing journeys, I often speak about the importance of listening to our inner rhythms, noticing when we’re feeling overwhelmed, distracted or disconnected. Over the past few weeks, I’ve felt a gentle nudge (and then a much stronger one!) reminding me that I too need time to rest and realign. Social media is a wonderful tool. It’s helped me connect with so many of you, share glimpses of the work I do in the yurt and celebrate the magic of mindful living. However, it can also be noisy, fast-paced and subtly draining. Right now, I’m craving slowness. I’m craving presence. I’m craving more time in the stillness of nature, in quiet reflection and in the gentle energy of one-to-one genuine connection. This doesn’t mean I’m disappearing. I’ll still be here, offering sessions, running my Living Mindfully groups (we're not meeting in July but back to regular sessions starting 7th August) and holding space for all the wonderful humans and animals I work with. I’ll simply be sharing less online for a little while. If you need to reach out, book a session or stay connected, please do! It’s always a joy to hear from you. When the time feels right, I may return to social media with fresh eyes and a replenished spirit. Until then, I’ll be walking barefoot in the grass, sitting with the trees and breathing deeply beneath the canvas of my yurt. Thank you for your understanding, and for walking this mindful path alongside me. With my very best wishes, Gillian x  In the quiet, nurturing space of my yurt, surrounded by nature and stillness, I often witness something profound: the gentle unfolding of someone reconnecting with their Inner Child. It’s a sacred part of my work, offering space for healing both the big, life altering traumas (Trauma with a capital T) and the more subtle, cumulative wounds (trauma with a small t) that can quietly shape our beliefs, behaviours and sense of safety in the world.
When we speak of Trauma with a capital T, we’re referring to experiences that overwhelm our system’s capacity to cope. These might include events like abuse, accidents, sudden loss or medical emergencies. These moments often register in our body and nervous system with a strong imprint, sometimes long after the event itself has passed. But not all trauma is loud. Trauma with a small t refers to the more everyday, chronic or less overt experiences that can still be deeply impactful. These might include emotional neglect, feeling persistently unseen or unheard, being shamed as a child or growing up in an environment that was unpredictable or emotionally unsafe. Over time, these “smaller” experiences can compound and shape how we see ourselves and relate to others. They may whisper instead of scream but they still leave a mark. Within all of us lives our Inner Child, a part that remembers what it was like to feel wonder, playfulness, and joy but also fear, loneliness and confusion. In trauma healing, especially the kind I support, this Inner Child becomes an essential guide. Sometimes the adult self is ready to talk, to process and to heal but a younger part may still be frozen in fear, still believing it is not safe or not enough. By mindfully and compassionately reconnecting with the Inner Child, we create a bridge between past and present. We invite that part of us to feel seen, heard and safe, often for the first time. How I Work With Trauma and the Inner Child: Every session begins with mindfulness and breathwork to help clients arrive, not just in the physical space but in their body, in the moment. This gentle landing creates the safety needed to explore tender areas. From there, I draw upon a variety of techniques, depending on the person’s needs in that moment:
Whether your trauma is big or small, sharp or quiet, you are not broken. Your response was your body and mind doing their best to protect you. And now, healing is possible, not through force but through kindness, patience and presence. Working with trauma and the Inner Child is not about “fixing” something wrong; it’s about returning to yourself. And in that returning, remembering that you are worthy of love, safety, and joy.  I am at peace with my past and am now enjoying getting used to not living on high alert all the time. It warms my heart as I write this. I didn't realise just how living on high alert has affected my everyday life over so many years. In fact, it still doesn't feel completely 'normal' to not have that 'on edge' feeling but I'm getting there!
I began this blog nearly two months ago and the last blog to be published was written at the end of October 2024. A lot has been going on and the past few months have taken time to process. My mother passed away in December, not long after her 89th birthday and while I was visiting my eldest daughter and her family in the USA. That brought up a turmoil of emotions, some very unexpected. There was delight at spending time with my American grandkids but then the contrast of mum taking ill in the last week of my time over there. She passed away as I landed in Amsterdam. The festive season became a roller coaster of emotions, ending mid-January with a celebration of mum's life. All my kids came home for that which meant a lot. Before I knew it, I was then immediately in the middle of final preparations for our wedding which was a few weeks ago. See photo above! It's been a bit of a whirlwind! An unexpected thing happened in the weeks following mum's passing. Instead of the type of grief that we would expect, I initially relived all sorts of trauma that I had experienced growing up. I didn't have a straightforward upbringing and it felt like I was right back there, like it was yesterday, instead of 50 years ago. It was a strange feeling going through it as myself, but also as someone who now supports clients who have also come through different kinds of trauma and grief. It highlighted how we can never ever anticipate how someone is going to react or respond during these times. Very few people know me well enough to know what happened, so even members of my own family didn't understand, even misinterpreting my outward response to the situation as meaning I wasn't experiencing 'grief' at all. Something that will possibly resonate with some of you. I don't usually get too personal but I want to share this in case it helps someone else. I quickly decided to not have any wellbeing clients in January and was very grateful to be in the position that I could do that. I knew that I had to work on me before I could support others again. In that time, I had quiet time in the yurt, tried to keep the diary as clear as possible, listened to music, Tapped quite a lot and generally focused on selfcare. Since then, I have slowly come back to having clients and in the last couple of weeks feel like I'm ready to get back into a more regular routine again, so here I am writing this blog! I had a couple of significant EFT sessions with colleagues that helped during this time, which is why I could begin this blog with 'I am at peace with my past...'. I feel good. I feel ready to embrace this new chapter of my life and am grateful for all the love and support I have around me. Feeling good means that I am also more able to support others. It's so important look after ourselves. No one can pour from an empty cup. So, today, do something just for you. Something that will make you feel good. It doesn't have to be anything dramatic, a wee walk, a bubble bath, a cup of hot chocolate, whatever you know will lift your spirits. As you do that, notice how it makes you feel and remember that feeling.  “All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.” – Walt Disney
For nearly 20 years I have dreamed of having a yurt, so that I could provide a space for people to come together. A few months ago, on impulse, I decided that it would happen. I had no idea at that point how I COULD make it happen but I decided to have the courage to pursue the dream. And the rest is history, as they say! This blog is going to be short and sweet. I am asking you to think of a dream you have had for a long time. What one small step could you take today towards that dream becoming a reality? Please share your dream and what you are going to do about it! |