Hitting a Wall & Weaving Together What I Know

When I arrived in Scotland, my worst nightmare happened: I didn’t quite enjoy it. I had hit a wall after two months of travelling. Four years of planning and working so hard to regain wellness after a serious concussion to realize my dream of travelling the UK and Ireland and I was borderline miserable. “How is that possible?” you may ask. “Aren’t your days full of frolicking over mountain and moor, sand and sea?” Sure, but full disclosure: long term travel can be rough!

Hitting a Wall

The whole situation felt utterly ridiculous. There I was on Iona, an infamously beautiful place of light and global pilgrimage, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I was exhausted coming down from the high of my adventures and inspiration in Wales and Ireland. I felt homesick, and longed for my own place to wash clothes and cook food. My mobile had no signal, my favourite people were far away, and I was on a remote island off an island off a long train ride through the Highlands. I went through the motions and did what I always do while travelling - I hiked, made friends, saw the sights, engaged in the community. After admitting my plight to a well travelled dear friend, she reassured me these feelings were normal. Such states can be lost amongst the glittery highlight reel of Facebook and Instagram. She suggested going on a retreat to refocus. Still, I felt completely disconnected and an irrational panic simmered.

Finally my last day came on the island. “Maybe once I move on, it’ll feel better,” I told myself. Then my next worse nightmare happened: I hit a wall. Literally. Like my first noggin knock, I hit my head when I was distracted in the ordinary, milling about my B&B. I tried to remain calm and had been coached well on how to care for myself in the immediate days following a head hit. My well meaning B&B host detailed how I’d be airlifted to Glasgow if it was “serious.” Terror gripped me as once again I was forced to lay quiet and still in the dark. What if my severe concussion symptoms all came back? What if I had to wait years to be well again? Or worse - what if I had to give up my dream and head home? Loved ones kept me sane during those first few days, sending prayers and staying with me through teary calls.

Being Here

Fierce resolve set in. Be here. This resonated deep in my bones, despite longing for home and the resurfaced trauma. The next leg of my trip I was to head to Mull to hike Loch Ba, yet again following folklore. It was the landscape of another tale I was keen to see. There was no way I was going home. There was no way another concussion was going to sideline me. I was the perfect patient, and took immaculate care of myself. I went on a couple short walks a day. I managed the journey to Mull. After a week that seemed like an eternity, and while still in questionable health, I hiked headlong into relentless, lashing rain. “I must make it to Loch Ba.” This repeated in my head in rhythm with my steps as I trudged forward, until with surprise and relief, it shifted to “I will make it to Loch Ba.” The rain lifted, and several days later, so did my concussion symptoms.

I carried on the Grand Adventure, grateful to be well and committed to being here. The next part of my trip was to be in a thatched roof sheiling for two months in gorgeous North Uist, which a kindly friend had offered up. The last four years, I had dreamed of living in Uist in a remote and quiet hide away, where I could paint and dream and write - tucked away. The plan made sense - Uist is in the Gàidhealtachd (I’m heavily involved at home with the Gaelic Society of Toronto) and look at this place - it’s magical! Oddly enough, this entrenched dream held no weight against my seemingly irrational new aversion to the existing plans. It simply wouldn’t subside. Something had shifted in me while touring. I felt so vibrant, well and eager, I no longer desired or needed a quiet hide away for months at a time - I was on the move! Absolutely island life is incredible and at some point in the future I’d love to return to the magnificent Outer Hebrides. It’s just something was telling me it wasn’t what I needed in the present moment.

Winging It

I kept delaying my idyllic thatched roof cottage get away. Instead, this meticulous planner went through the blissful growing pains of having to just wing it. I spent unexpected time with friends. I revelled in the music, art and bustle of Glasgow (this country gal - I know!). In gentle Kintyre, I fell in love, captivated in the lands where it feels like you’ve stepped into a tale and a tune. I had incredibly epic hikes through Loch Tay and Glen Lyon, visiting ancient sites, trees, and crannogs.

A familiar feeling still faintly hummed. It had been there since I arrived in Scotland six weeks earlier. For all these great experiences, unexpected, unplanned, enjoyed and doing exactly what I wanted to in the moment - I felt listless, disconnected and homesick. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of myself. I didn’t really know where to go next - metaphorically or practically. Low, and frustrated for being in this state, I finally took up my friend’s suggestion and signed up for a ‘Creative Meditation - Embodiment, Nature and Art’ retreat in Findhorn. Numerous people had randomly mentioned the village - saying it is unique, special. Just as many had spoken of it with raised eyebrows.

Stubbornly, I held on to being here, as the train carried me northwards to the Moray Firth… the lands my ancestors came from.

Keep Going

Despite being mired in sour attitude, I delved into the retreat, participating with my fellow comrades in meditations, art making, and being in nature. Beverley, of Painthorse Holistic Eco Art Therapy, was co-facilitating. I have always made art, and sure it has meaning and is cathartic… but art therapy is an entirely new and different beast all together. Over the week, Beverley brilliantly and gently guided us through activities of creation, release and connection. It held a mirror up to myself, from which I couldn’t look away and was forced to engage. We built and built on our efforts until at the end of the week, we could synthesize our creations into one piece, objects potent with meaning and intention that spoke into our lives. Our last night, a few of us laughed about how there really should have been an intensity disclaimer on the retreat description.

The need to be here fluidly shifted into keep going. Completely intrigued by the power of art therapy I had just engaged in and wanting to learn more, I asked Beverley if she had any time to spare for individual sessions. She suggested a week long one-on-one eco art therapy intensive - I giddily agreed. What followed was yet another gloriously intense week that built on the last. Then another. Then another.

Weaving Together What I Know & Holistic Eco Art Therapy

I’m quite taken with this little coastal village of Findhorn and art therapy. I keep staying and staying and it’s working its magic on me. The sand dunes are thick with fuchsia heather, late nights are lit by a sun reluctant to set, seals come to watch you as you walk, and a noisy gull colony lives amongst the rooftops of the low, old stone houses. I’m in good company…. the area is full of artists, activists, writers and nature lovers. The place is notorious for nurturing people to be their fullest, free self (and I now understand the raised eyebrows). I literally can’t keep up with all the art and writing that wants to come out.

Holistic eco art therapy weaves together much of what I know (or want to learn more about) and do already. Beverley has just brilliantly figured out how to bring it all together: myth, nature connection, mindfulness and creative expression. It combines many of the concepts, principles and methods I learned from my earlier ‘Sisters of the Wells’ creative, myth centred retreat in Wales with Sharon Blackie and the herbal medicine workshops in Ireland with Nikki Darrell at Veriditas Hibernica. There’s just an artsy creation at the end. It's less about making pretty art and more about how engaging with your creations and the process of making them can speak to you. It gives me the tools and framework in a nurturing environment to have more than a Grand Adventure. It’s helping me combine all my interests and explore renewed purpose. ​

Here, I am reconnected, grounded and satiated. Here, though it wasn’t in the shape I originally sought, I found exactly what I was looking for and more. I may just raise some eyebrows in the process too.

Crustacean Queen, made of found items from Findhorn's beaches