Details of December's retreat!

Hello,

I am - I confess -  a little late with this email. I meant to send it on All Souls’ Day, full of talk about ancestors and the Dark Half of the year. But then I got a booking to appear on breakfast TV in New York, and everything got thrown up in the air. My thoughts were less of the year’s gateways than of packing and flights and control underwear (I would love to say I’m above such thoughts, but you know how it goes). I would have written at the airport, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Faced with the polished demands of television, I find myself at a loss. It is not my natural habitat. All I can do is cling on and try not to embarrass myself.

It’s interesting to pause and think about how often we are taken by events that are entirely beyond our prediction or control. On the day I ended up flying, I was due to go on a short holiday to a lovely little cabin on the south coast. I dropped Bert and H off there instead, returning home alone to pack. The next morning, I woke to discover that Storm Ciaran had struck them overnight. Half a dozen texts from my son saying, ‘Mum, I’m scared.’

It turned out that they’d been buffeted by the storm all night, the gusts of wind making their whole cabin shake. The electricity went on and off, and the dog patrolled and barked at whatever unseen force was assailing her four walls. They hadn’t got to sleep until 3am, and they decided to drive straight back home the next morning. 

When I first got Bert’s messages, I felt absolutely terrible. I should have been sitting up with him during that long, dark night. But then I realised something: he’d managed without me. He’d endured a night of terror and, eventually, had fallen asleep. None of it had been easy, but I felt strangely proud of him. He’d got through it without my help. 

It’s so tempting to keep our children safe from these crossing-points, when they’re invited to step into the next phase. But without them, they can’t grow. The same effect is visited back on us: I grew a little that morning, when I sat in an airport, realising what my son could become if I could bear to step back a little, and let him experience the dark as well as the light.

It has been suggested that my usual list of prompts and suggestions in these emails might be a little overwhelming, so I’m going to stick to one idea this time! Here’s a lovely journalling exercise:

If we imagine the year in a different way, we have just reached a moment of beginning. The light half of the year has ended, and the dark half has just begun. Imagine yourself standing on the threshold between the two. 

And now, the important bit…

You can register now and Crowdcast will send the event to your online calendar.

I hope you’ll forgive me for shifting the date of this a little, but I wanted to land us in December for our retreat. I’m conscious that, for so many of us, it’s a time of great rush and social pressure as we prepare for the holidays. For many of us, it’s also a time of stress as we face spending a lot of time with our extended family; perhaps, too, it’s a time when loss rises up for us, as we realise who will be missing from the parties and feasts. 

So, at the beginning of December, I want to open up a space in which we can pause, catch our breath, and spend some time engaging with winter’s invitation to rest, restore, reflect and reconnect with our bodies.

The retreat is made up of two components:

If you’re unable to attend live, a full recording is available immediately after via the same link above. 

I’m SO looking forward to this, and I hope to see lots of you there! The last one was gorgeous.

See you very soon,

Katherine