5 intentional ways to cultivate yutori in your life

Instead of hurrying home after the school run I had another mission. At the top of my very long to-do list was a pilgrimage to visit the lilacs.

Withdean park houses the second largest collections of lilacs in the world with around 200 different varieties. Next to one of the main roads into Brighton & Hove, I had driven past the lilacs for years, never stopping. The park was largely empty except for dog walkers and me. The hum of the insects mingled with the distant sound of cars on the motorway. Spread in clusters at the edges of the cut grass lawn where lilac bushes. They had large cones of blooming petals in hues of white, violets, blues, magenta’s, pastel pinks, and even palest primrose. The smell was incredible: heady and syrupy sweet. 

The detour took a little over an hour and then I was back home working. Rather than taking anything away from my day I felt like I accomplished more. When I finished work, instead of feeling exhausted I felt replenished. This was one of my first attempts at consciously practicing the Japanese principle of yutori.

Yutori: the art of creating a spacious life

“Yutori (ゆとり) is a Japanese concept that translates to ‘spaciousness,’ ‘leeway,’ or ‘room to breathe’. It’s more than just physical space; it encompasses mental, emotional, and temporal room, encouraging a more balanced and less stressful way of living. Nihongo Master translates yutori as ‘elbowroom; leeway; room; reserve; margin; allowance; latitude; time’”

I am somebody who desperately needs more yutori in my life.

I do want to acknowledge that for some people yutori is easier to achieve than for others. I am aware that I have financial privilege and a relatively flexible schedule. There were times in my life: when I was working three jobs, when I had a newborn and a toddler, when my mother was seriously ill: where yutori would have been almost impossible. If this is the season you are currently in, extend yourself kindness. We do not all have the same 24 hours. Some of us are more able to make time available in our schedule than others.

Yutori: the antidote to toxic productivity

Yutori is a counterpoint to our culture of toxic productivity. This compulsion to be constantly achieving and busy does not stop at work but extends to our leisure time too. This can lead to shame around rest, an inability to switch off and in the end: burnout.

Oliver Burkeman’s amazing book Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals talks about this existential dilemma better than I ever can.

“Productivity is a trap. Becoming more efficient just makes you more rushed, and trying to clear the decks simply makes them fill up again faster. Nobody in the history of humanity has ever achieved “work-life balance,” whatever that might be, and you certainly won’t get there by copying the “six things successful people do before 7:00 a.m.” The day will never arrive when you finally have everything under control—when the flood of emails has been contained; when your to-do lists have stopped getting longer; when you’re meeting all your obligations at work and in your home life; when nobody’s angry with you for missing a deadline or dropping the ball; and when the fully optimized person you’ve become can turn, at long last, to the things life is really supposed to be about. Let’s start by admitting defeat: none of this is ever going to happen. But you know what? That’s excellent news.”
― Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals

All of which was all too familiar to me, somebody who had always valued myself on what I do rather than who I am. I was constantly rushing through life rather than experiencing it. I had become a human doing rather than a human being. And in this process, I had lost sight of what truly mattered. I was getting stuff done but missing the things in life which give it colour and meaning.

Often rushing behaviour is learnt in childhood. In Transactional Analysis, different aspects of our personality are called drivers. Drivers are early personality adaptations that help us get our needs met as children. One of mine is the Hurry up driver. People who have a Hurry up driver are constantly rushing and find it extremely difficult to stop. When we are in our driver, we tell ourselves – ‘I am okay because I am getting lots of things done’. Rushing performs a function, it stops our ability to feel or think clearly. Stuff may get done but often it is rushed and sloppy because we jump from task to task. People with this driver feel tired and unable to relax. 

To counteract this we must recognise that we are not machines built merely to produce, we are animals. And animals need rest, fuel and space in between tasks. Our to do list will always multiply, there will always be more to do than we could ever accomplish. In Oliver Burkeman’s great book Meditations on Mortality, he talks about how obsessive productivity is a way to mitigate our anxiety about death and our finite lives. The answer, isn’t to double down and do more but to accept this. To incorporate more yutori into my daily life, I came up with a plan.

5 ways I intentionally practise yutori

  1. Slow down. Because rushing has become a habitual behaviour, I will often notice I am speeding up when there is no need. I use taking a drink of water as a yutori ritual and a waypoint throughout my day to slow down. Every time I drink water, which I must do 10-15 times a day. I try to pause and feel the texture of the cold glass underneath my fingertips. To sense the taste and temperature of the water as it slips down my throat. By going slowly I am soothing my nervous system telling it: I am safe now. I can take my time. There is no need to rush.
  2. Build a buffer. Because I hated ‘wasting time’ when I had appointments I would often try to arrive exactly on time. But there would be traffic or it would take more time to leave the house than I expected. And I would be late which I found immensely stressful. Now I deliberately build in some cushion time. If I bump into a friend, I have time to chat. If I want to look at something I find interesting, I have time to do so. If the journey takes longer than expected, I have time for that. I want a schedule that has room to breathe.  
  3. Under commit. I have a tendency to over commit and over estimate my capacity. I often try to do too much with the kids because I don’t want them to feel deprived. But it is too much for my nervous system to handle and then I turn into shouty mummy. (And nobody likes shouty mummy.) Even when a day is filled with enjoyable tasks, if they are all crammed together it becomes not enjoyable. So I am getting into the habit of giving myself time to think before making any commitments. I will often sanity check events with my husband as he is more realistic and able to see what is actually achievable. I want to accept that I am human and can only do so much.
  4. Schedule joy. Listen as a Virgo and a perimenopausal woman, I love a to do list. If I don’t write it down, I won’t remember it and it won’t get done. But I began to notice that I was fulfilling my external obligations to others but not my internal obligations to myself. I needed to start scheduling joy. I have started writing down: walks, breath exercises, tiny but enjoyable side quests. Because yes filing my tax return is important. But so is taking my nine year old sea glass hunting. Buying new toilet rolls is just as essential as watching the murmurations of the starlings. I want a life that holds space for both.
  5. Be childlike again. One of my children is sloth-like in his speed and does not like to be rushed. Watching him eat is a geological process. Repeatedly I have to regulate myself and remind myself that although there are times I need to rush him (hai external agony that is the school run). Often I don’t, what does it matter if we take 20 minutes to walk to the shops because he was looking at bugs instead of 5. Instead of fighting to hurry him up, it is often more enjoyable to allow myself to drop to his speed. He is a great reminder that I can afford to take my time. What am I rushing for anyway?

I want to build a spacious life. Where there is time to take the scenic route. To go on enjoyable little side quests. To lie in the grass watching the cloud’s shifting shapes above me. Like Tolkien said, ‘not all who wander are lost.’

Yes, there will be times when I am too busy to spend an hour wandering through the park looking at lilacs. But today, in this moment, I have the time and I will take it. A vase of lilacs sits on my kitchen counter filling the room with their heady fragrance. A visual reminder to gift myself with yutori.

If you are based in Brighton & Hove area and interested in taking your own pilgrimage to visit the lilacs, Withdean Park is located here. The Friends of Withdean Park helpfully have a map of the lilacs and a trail you can do.

Have you heard of yutori before? Is it allowing yourself spaciousness and room to breathe something you would like to try in your own life?

Embracing life’s seasons: a personal mantra

I love a helpful personal mantra. Recently another one occurred to me. This is not the season.

As every gardener knows, for everything there is a season. A season to sew. A season to harvest. And a season to let things be fallow.

Some context, my kids had to move school suddenly without warning. It’s been a huge amount of upheaval. A longer commute, a new environment and a lot of (understandable) big feelings at the change. I am close to my capacity in terms of what I can manage without tipping into overwhelm. For weeks, I have felt as if I am standing on my tiptoes, tilting my head back, the water lapping at my nostrils. I am just about keeping myself and my family afloat.

I went shopping this week. And I was reminded of a new pancake recipe I had wanted to make for my kids breakfast:

‘I really need to make those pancakes.’

And then a wise part of me spoke gently inside my head and said:

‘My love, this is not the season.’ And I felt myself exhale, let my shoulders drop and the relief wash over me.

So much unnecessary suffering would have been avoided in my life if I had just recognised this is not the season.

When you have a newborn, this is not the season to sign up for intense exercise classes. It is the season for rest and gently nurturing yourself.

When you are grieving, this is not the season for meeting new people. It is the season for hibernating and feeling your loss.

When you are in the depths of winter, this is not the season to embark on a new ambitious project. Yes, Julian calendar and new years resolutions I am looking at you! Far easier, to make changes when the days are lighter and warmer in spring.

We all go through thriving times when things are simpler. If life was a video game we would be playing it in easy mode. We have extra energy and motivation to get things done.

 But when we are in survival mode, we need to moderate our expectations of what it is possible to achieve. We need to move goalposts to make life easier for ourselves. As a recovering perfectionist this is so hard for me and so necessary.

I have kept myself in dysregulation in the past by asking too much of myself. I have not adapted my expectations to the context in which I find myself.

The reality is that I am in the verge of overwhelm season in my life. I don’t have a lot of spoons left. Yes, I would love to batch cook some healthy pancakes that I could freeze for my kids breakfasts. They would love that, I would love that. Yet, that would take energy away from doing other things that are important to me. I have limited energy reserves so I need to prioritise accordingly.

My kids get five nutritional meals at school. I have the energy at the moment to batch cook one meal. So I am expending it batch cooking a nutritional meal for me so I don’t survive on what I can forage from the service station. Trying to get myself to meal prep pancakes for their breakfast is like expecting dahlias to bloom in winter. This is not the season.

Part of the mantra that really helps me is the recognition that seasons change. Maybe in another couple of months, things may have shifted. I may have more energy

This is not the season contains an acceptance of where I am. It is a kindness to meet ourselves and others where we are now. Rather than where we desperately want to be. I would love to be in the season where I pre-make healthy nutritional snacks for my kids. 

But that is not the season of life I am in right now and that’s okay.

What season of life are you in? Are you adapting your expectations for yourself accordingly? Let me know in the comments, if this resonates.

Prioritise joy: how to find happiness in the everyday

Sometimes life slaps me in the face with the reminder I need to prioritise joy.

Twice a year, Brighton is blessed with ultra low tides. At the edge of our shingle beach, for a couple of hours, a stretch of sand is revealed like a magic trick.

It’s my favourite time of year when I can walk to the swim buoys. 

I missed the first day of the low tides. There was a bitter wind and I was exhausted from ferrying my kids between school and swimming. There was so much nagging at my attention, it was easy to convince myself not to bother. 

The next morning I crept out of the house, while everyone was sleeping. My only company as I walked to the beach, the full moon drifting down the street after me. 

When I reached the promenade another world opened up: dog walkers, runners, fellow water lovers all crowded onto the newly revealed sand. People were smiling at each other, chatting to strangers in the collective joy at this unusually low tide.

These unusually low tides only last a couple of days. They happen twice a year in the autumn and the spring. This year, the combination of the equinox and the position of the moon has meant these are lowest tides we will see for ten years or more. 

Do I love these low tides because they are so rare? Would I appreciate them less if they were a monthly occurrence? Is that why I feel moved to tears when I realise this will be the last time I walk on this sand (anyone walks on this sand) for eight months?

Within minutes it will be hidden under the surf for another half a year.

For an hour, I am perfectly suspended in this moment. My feet blanching pink in the cold as I splash through the surf.

Treasures I rarely see are revealed. Hermit crabs scuttling along the sand. A starfish in the grooves of the wave-worn sand. An abundance of shells: cowrie, razors, screw, mussels, triton and scallops. And less romantically the rotten carcass of a fish the seagulls are pecking at.

I stole away before breakfast, and when I returned I was filled up by that experience. For four days, I went down with the kids, by myself, with neighbours – and I felt restored.

It is easy to let my life nibble away at me. To fulfil my obligations to others, to let the days pass in a blur. To stop seeking out experiences that pause time, that make me feel alive and fully in this moment. Here and now.

It was a caregiving summer. (It has been a caregiving heavy decade.)

My eldest sister stuck in hospital with a broken hip. My mother fading away in a care home. My youngest child acting up, needing more attention that I can give him. My eldest needing extra support with his additional learning needs. A friend’s child dealing with a serious medical condition. 

And me, not centred in my own life. Existing for what I do for others, a human support system. And not as independent person in my own right.

My nervous system was set like a clock in early childhood. I see danger everywhere, orienting myself to what is terrible in this world. It can stun me into a functional freeze, living my life as if I am in a constant state of emergency. Neglecting the tiny joys that make life worth living.

It takes such an effort for me to turn towards the sun. So I need to prescribe myself the antidote. I need to prioritise joy and schedule it in as if they are vital and essential. Because they are.

Everyday joys

For me, joy is found near the water: swimming, sea-glass hunting, snorkelling. It is writing in my journal, in blogs like these, in poetry hidden away on my harddrive. It’s travelling to places I’ve never been before, seeing new sights and soaking in new sounds. It’s quality time spent with the people I love. It’s living a life which has enough spaciousness to it that I can notice the world around me.

Let me be clear. This is not toxic positivity, gas-lighting myself or false consolation. This is holding awareness of both sides of life, the brutal and beautiful. Because of how my nervous system is finely attenuated to danger, I need to stack the deck with everyday moments of joy, peace and attend to what feels good.

I want to overdose on joy. Make myself replete with wonder. Overwhelm my awe circuits.

Because yes, sometimes this world is shocking, terrible and cruel. But equally it is also surprising, beautiful and full of grace – let me turn myself towards that.

What ways are you prioritising joy amongst the hustle and bustle of life? Share any ideas in the comments below.

The middle

The middle

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Credit: Mark Basarab

I have always loved before and after stories. Cinderella transforming into a princess. The ugly duckling becoming a swan. The hungry caterpillar emerging from it’s chrysalis.

And if asked I will talk to you honestly, happily and at length about my own before and after stories; afterwards. I’ll tell you about how I went from desperately trying to earn my place in the world to believing (most of the time) that I was enough. I will talk to you about what grief taught me about love. I will describe my struggle with infertility and how I lost three stone to access IVF and instead fell pregnant naturally.

The key word in that sentence above is afterwards. People tell me that admire my honesty in writing about the situations I have found hard. My reaction is always mixed: part proud but also part feeling like I have just pulled off a con. It’s takes courage to show somebody your scars, it another thing entirely to show somebody your wounds.

I am very good at talking about difficult experiences afterwards. When time has lent some distance and perspective and things are less raw. But sharing that brutiful (half beautiful/half brutal) bit in the middle of something I am struggling with? Ugh.

When I am in the middle of something hard, I cannot find the words to name what is happening to me.

When I am in the middle of something hard, I feel an expectation that I need to go away in private and figure my shit about before I can be in company again.

When I am in the middle of something hard I feel so bruised and skinless that an inadvertent glance could hurt me.

When I am in the middle of something hard I feel stuck. I cannot go back and unknow what I have learnt. But I have no idea how to move forward.

When I am in the middle of something hard I don’t know the story ends. I don’t know whether I will triumph or fail. I don’t know what the meaning of this experience will be until afterwards.

When I am in the middle of something hard, the last thing I want to do is talk about it.

But that’s what I ask my clients to do every day. There is so much I could say about what is happening within me right now. But I am in the middle – so I don’t. Until now that is.

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I read this quote from Glennon Doyle Melton, one of the writers who inspired me and it floored me. Yes, it is important to share our truth but what about sharing our unknowing. Why don’t we talk about the bits of our life that are still in construction. So inspired I am trying something new today. Even though thinking about hitting publish gives me a knot in my chest and that sinking sensation of being emotional naked.

Here are some things I am in the middle of:

Work

I’ve always been ambitious, it’s one of my defining characteristics. But when people ask me ‘when are you going back to work?’ I want to jam my fingers in my ears and sing loudly until they go away.

I don’t want to work again, ever. Despite the fact I love my job and staying home isn’t an option financially. I am desperately frightened that if I go back to work that ‘Push the river’ side of me, that relentless driving force will take over. And there won’t be any space for me or Nibs or anything other than pushing forward at all costs. Until I have figured out how I can work without letting it take over – I don’t want to go back. I expect my motherhood bubble will pop at some point and I may long for another identity other than mother and to exercise my intellectual muscles. But for the moment…

nope

Self-care

Having and mothering a baby has made me realise how abysmal I am at mothering myself. If I were an actual mother and child I would report me to social services for neglect. I have realised recently where this lack of self-care comes from. But I don’t know how to move forward and it makes me feel sad and stuck. Why can take care of other people, but not myself? I am starting to notice how much this is affecting my relationships with my husband, child, family and friends. And it the affect on them that is motivating me to change, not on me. That fact makes me feel even sadder. I am trying to go back to basics and ask myself daily what I need. But it is so hard and humiliating. Shouldn’t I have learnt how to take care of myself already? Is it too late to learn?

Body

I eat emotionally, always have done, and it’s becoming a problem. I eat as a reward, out of comfort, to console myself or just mindlessly. I worry that Nibs will see me and develop some of my habits. The worst thing about this, is that I successfully lost a lot of weight before getting pregnant through revolutionising my eating habits. When I was pregnant I was really careful about what I ate. But the combination of breastfeeding, tiredness, and boredom have meant I have been eating cake like it’s going out of fashion.

The feeling that keeps on popping up that I should be over this by now? I know how to eat healthily. I have done it before. I have all the tools in my toolbox but still I keep self sabotaging. Sadly I think the issue is I can moderate my approach to food when other people are at stake – but not when it’s just about me. Instead I circle around and around this issue never progressing

Marriage

He Who Shall Not Be Named (HWSNBN) and I have been in better places. Don’t get me wrong, we’re OK but we could be better. Lack of sleep and lack of time, as individuals and as a couple, has taken its toll. I find this immensely frustrating because as a couples therapist I knew that having a baby was one of the biggest stressors on a relationship and I had a chance to memorise the classic fight up close:

Stay at home parent: I love the baby so much but sometimes looking after him alone is so hard. I resent so much that your life continues almost unchanged whereas I am tethered to a tiny human being. You get to leave, to speak to other adults, to pee in private. I am never alone but I am so lonely.

Working parent: But you get to see it all: all the tiny ways he changes every day. I miss it. I miss him and you get to see him all the time and you don’t appreciate it. He’s growing so fast and I am not here. Plus work isn’t the holiday you think it is.

Repeat ad nausem

9 months ago I assured myself we wouldn’t be like that. Cue hollow laughter. We, OK being brutally honest, I have not been kind to HWSNBN recently.

It is so entwined with me not taking care of myself that I know that before I can reconnect with HWSNBN I need some time for me. To figure out who I am as a mother and individual after this immense lifechanging experience. If I am set boundaries and ask for my needs to be met; I will be a better partner to him. I am not in panic mode at the moment partly because I don’t feel like I have the headspace to panic. We are trying different things – some of which seem to be helping. We’ll see.

The future

I am very torn on if/when we should try for another baby. It took years, and years last time. And I am hyper aware I may not have years of trying left. I never want to go through that agonising desperation of trying and failing to conceive again.

But I am not ready. I am not even close to ready for signing on for the intensity of a newborn. Some days I look at Nibs and he’s so wondrous I can’t imagine not trying to give him his sibling. Some days he seems so big to me and miss him being a tiny baby in my arms with an ache in my womb. Then I have a dark day where I feel like the shittest mum alive and think I am never having any more children. 

So, this is where I am at right in the middle with all the mess and none of the glory. Watch this space.

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Don’t push the river

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I’ve always been a determined sort of person. My mum tells the story of how after watching me play as a little girl her best friend turned to her and said ‘Elle pète le feu’, which literally translated means she farts fire. Digestive issues aside, I find it funny and a little sad that even when playing as a child my character was so apparent. I don’t know where my determination comes from. Did I emerge from the womb with a certain tilt to my jaw as if preparing for a blow? Did I get the message from watching my older sister, who is disabled, and conclude based on how hard she works that it is effort that counts?

For the longest time I have been aware of two sides to me: the dreamer vs the determined one or the lazy one vs the slavedriver.

Like everything each part of me has helped and hindered me. Being determined pushed me to study and get the grades I needed to wipe the dust of my small town off my feet. It helped forge a new career path before I was thirty. And when things got tough it helped me continue to write, to work, to exercise and in relationships. But lately I’ve been aware of the darker side.

‘Don’t push the river.’

I couldn’t get the phrase ‘Don’t push the river,’ out of my head. It nagged at me like a loose tooth. Don’t push the river was the opposite principle to how I lived my life, yet why couldn’t I let it go?

Don’t push the river, means that despite our plans many things are outside of our control. If we continually pit ourselves against the uncertain forces of nature we are going to get hurt.

I have made a career out of pushing the river:

I pushed the river when I walked to school, too focused on the fact I was going to be late to notice I had ripped the bottom of my soles off and my shoes were filling with blood. (True, and gross, story).

I pushed the river when I stayed in publishing although every day felt like trudging through treacle.

I pushed the river when I went travelling even though I had just fallen in love.

I pushed the river when after my best friend died during my counselling course and I refused to take a day off or stop until I had got my first.

I pushed the river when I worked 50 hour weeks until even my eyelashes were tired.

I pushed the river when I stayed in a role that bored me for the maternity leave, even when it became clear that the babies weren’t coming. Might never come.

I pushed the river earlier this year when I caught tonsillitis followed by pneumonia… and still went into work.

I pushed the river every time I put my plans ahead of my health and overall wellbeing.

Even reading through this list most of me is horrified but a part of me is impressed. Look at what you could accomplish, if only you put in a bit more effort, it whispers.

For the last couple of months I have been trying to accomplish four things:

-set up my own business

-gain experience and earn money working with the NHS

-lose weight to improve my fertility

– and, yanno live my life.

When I see it written down like that I can appreciate how huge each of those things are. And how impossible they are to accomplish all together. Pursue one, and you sacrifice the other. Go for money and you have no time to take on new clients. Pursue setting up my own business and I won’t have the energy or time to lose weight.

For six months I tried to do it all. It came to a head on a Monday. I had 62 items on my to do list. The first, ring the hospital to chase my referral. Forty two minutes afterwards I collapsed in a sobbing mess after failing to resolve anything or even talk to another human being. (This is not unusual in my dealings with the NHS. In my experience the care we have received has been excellent, but the administration side? OOOFH.)

In that moment I realised I needed to stop pushing the river. There are important things in this world, but there comes a point when everybody needs to cede defeat. And I am more important than the river, my goal.

I decided to quit my day job the next day. It terrifies me the idea of being entirely self employed but I needed to do it for me. (The day after I got an offer for my temporary dream job – the universe delivers).

‘It’s in my nature.’

HWSNBN and I love the fable of the frog and scorpion. When one of us does something particularly special the other will quip. ‘It’s in my nature.’ The story goes:

A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog asks, “How do I know you won’t sting me?” The scorpion says, “Because if I do, I will die too.” The frog is satisfied, and they set out, but in midstream, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog feels the onset of paralysis and starts to sink, knowing they both will drown, but has just enough time to gasp “Why?” Replies the scorpion: “Its my nature…”

I don’t expect an overnight change. I expect I will always be fighting the urge to push the river. I will always struggle to balance the person vs the plan. It’s in my nature. But I don’t want to push the river at my expense, not anymore.