I used to have a particular image of motherhood in mind. This image was perpetuated by movies, commercials, pop culture, my own upbringing, and has recently been updated by social media. It was things like family cuddles in bed on weekend mornings, happily baking cookies together, or simply watching my kids play peacefully together. But now, reality has taken its place. Being woken up at 4:00am for the day is more akin to torture. Baking cookies together means an extra mess and another tantrum to manage. Moments of my daughters playing peacefully together quickly turn into arguments when I have to step in as a referee. I feel myself constantly trying to force my current version of reality to fit the one I had in mind.

I walked into my second pregnancy blissfully unaware and unequipped for life with two under two. Not that anyone could have prepare me for it anyway. During the newborn stage, I told myself that once my youngest turns one, everything will get easier. I thought of this as a sort of milestone and used every ounce of my energy to get this goalpost. That first year was chaos. Somehow, we even managed to move country amidst it all. But my baby recently reached her milestone first birthday, and things are still largely the same. Metaphorically it’s like I signed up for a 100-meter sprint but just when I am about to reach the finish line, they tell me that it is in fact a triathlon and I have no other choice but to continue. I knew raising two young kids would be hard, but I didn’t know it would be this hard.

For one, it was how much of my own time I realised I needed to function at a basic level. I’ve always enjoyed time alone to reflect and process. Before kids I used to spend hours on weekends writing. I’ve always been creative and used my time alone to gather my thoughts. It’s in my creativity that I feel free and connected to myself in a healthy and sustainable way. I didn’t realise how much time alone I needed until it was slowly stripped away from me. Even basic things like seeing a doctor or going to the dentist needs to be prioritised and evaluated. I have to ask myself if it is really that necessary to take this time for myself. Our life is busier than ever now. I know this is a normal part of adulthood for many of us. You get more and more responsibilities the older you get. But at least with a regular job, no matter how busy it is, you can at least take the day off if you are ill. You can also skip out for an hour to get a cavity filled. As a parent, you are expected to still be everything no matter how sick and awful you feel. You end up feeling guilty for not doing anything the way you imagined you would. You vent to your friends, and they tell you that it’s ok, you are doing your best. My therapist used to tell me it’s the repair that matters most, not the rupture. As much as I want to accept this, I know that I have a childhood in the palm of my hands. These days right now will shape who my daughters will become. I know I can’t be perfect, but damn, it might kill me because I can’t help but try.

The thing that no one tells you is your journey of motherhood is as unique as you are as a person. Everyone experiences it so differently. We each have different levels of support available. Some have a large support network while others don’t. Some have helpful parents, others don’t. Some can afford a nanny or a weekly babysitter, others can’t. Some have helpful partners, others don’t. Some of us require a lot of time alone, others need a little bit. Some are good with 5 hours of sleep, others aren’t. Some thrive as a stay-at-home parent while others wilt. My husband and I make a good team as we navigate this intense journey as parents. But I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t shaken us and our sturdy foundation. We must communicate and work together like our lives depend on it. It feels like we are sailors living on a tiny boat in an incredible tough ocean, crashing through the currents and navigating the stormy oceans while also needing a toilet break from time to time. There is rarely any time to watch the beauty that surrounds us, it’s just constant go-go-go. There are occasional moments when I see the beauty. I can pause for a moment knowing we got through a tough patch and our boat won’t capsize immediately. I can zoom out of my life and all of its details and know that one day the oceans will be less stormy. One day our current problems will be replaced with new and different ones. I remind myself not to get caught up in ‘destination addiction.’

The whole motherhood gig has humbled and crumbled me. It’s punctured a hole and slowly deflated the romantic balloon that was motherhood. It’s reminded me that I’m not as special or interesting as I once thought and that I simultaneously mean the world to these tiny little people. It builds me up and smashes me down. Sometimes multiple times a day. It’s forced me to reevaluate who I am, and who I want to be in the world now. It forces me to identify and connect with my own intuition, which is hard to hear in a sea of so many other voices and opinions. It’s forcing me to change and evolve. It’s like watching the person I was light up in flames and the person I’m becoming is still being built. Every day I have to learn to let go of perfection and do my best with the limited resources I have available.

Today as my husband and I were running around trying to get everyone and everything ready to get out the door, I could hear the kids laughing uncontrollably. I peeked in the room and saw them laying on the floor in the bedroom. My eldest was flinging the spring door stopper and my baby was throwing her head back in a fit of laughter. I stopped and thought to myself this might be a memory that will stay with them forever. A little moment that they will laugh about as adults. It just about brought tears my eyes. This is their childhood; it’s all happening right now. I just want it to be the best. I want every day to be special. Despite my own stress leaving the house to do something exciting I realised that maybe the biggest enemy here is myself. All the pressure I put on myself to be and do it all. To wonder if I’m doing a good job, to wonder if they are getting everything they need and more. But maybe all they need is just me to sit down with them and laugh about the door stopper.

I think all of us must come to terms with our own unique parenting journey and learn to let go of what we thought it’d be. For some this might be easier while others may continue to cling to an ideal. I’ve personally had to grieve many aspects of what I thought my own journey of motherhood would be so I could accept what it is. This has been strangely liberating because there is no ideal to live up to anymore, it’s being created as we speak. One thing I know for sure is that perfection does not exist. Not even for the perfectly curated Instagram moms and mega successful boss babe LinkedIn moms. I wish we had more authenticity in social media, but the platforms aren’t really designed for that. It’s great to see other people’s wins and happy moments, I just wonder how much the constant highlight real creates a false image of reality. I wonder how scrolling unconsciously creates an urge to ‘keep up with Joneses’. I hope for more honest conversations around motherhood, the kind I have with friends, the kind of conversations that never make it to social media.

My journey through motherhood is unique, with its own unique setbacks and privileges. While I may draw inspiration from others, what matters most is that I do my job in keeping my kids safe and loved. These every day moments create a whole rainbow of memories for my children. I hope they learn that their mother always tried her best. Sometimes she got mad, sometimes she got it wrong, and sometimes she needed time alone to do other things that made her, her. Sometimes she nailed it, too. While this is my children’s life, it’s also mine. It’s that whole “put your oxygen mask on first” metaphor, which is a lot easier said than done.

Here’s to figuring it one day at a time. Here’s to spending probably the rest of my life trying to figure out how to balance it all.

“For a long time, it had seemed to me that life was about to begin — real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, or a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last, it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.”
- Alfred D. Souza.

In my father’s study I found an old photo-album from my twenties (remember photo-albums?). All these snippets of my life back then. Going out clubbing, those harsh Canadian winters, walking in the back field with my dog, hanging out at my uni campus, watching live music at my favourite outdoor festival. I remember it all so well. It felt like that time of my life would never end. It just went on forever. I remember how I often felt trapped by my life, craving something bigger and better than little old Ottawa. Wasn’t life meant to more cool and exciting? Everyone told me my twenties would be the best years of my life. I felt so much pressure to live up to these expectations.

And now, here I am, staring at these photos with years of perspective. I’ve lived in two different countries since then, travelled to countless more, married, and had two kids. Now it’s all just a memory, contained neatly inside a heavy photo-album. It reminds me of this quote above and how in those days I was always waiting for something. That one thing to make life exciting. But that was it, life was happening, even in the dull moments. Even in the waiting. Life was that range of emotions and varying experiences that I had, both wonderful and horrible.

It reminds me of where I am now. Deep in the trenches of motherhood. So incredibly sleep deprived. I feel waves of guilt that I’m not enjoying every minute of it. Everyone tells me I must, it ends all too soon. Social media blares: Enjoy every minute! You only have X more summers left before your kids move out! I can already see myself many years from now looking at photos from this moment. These days right now that pass like thick mud. Where my baby sits down in the living room on a foam mat strengthening the muscles required to sit without me having to worry she’ll fall backwards. The days where my toddler is showing me more and more of who she is. Running, dancing, laughing, singing. Every day something new. Piecing together the words to express how she feels more and more. The days when I “wake up” feeling jet-lagged, like I’m on a perpetual flight, without ever arriving anywhere. The days when I’ve gone beyond my limit again. And again. These days when I find myself falling into this trap, of wishing things were a bit easier, and then I could really enjoy myself.

Then I remember this is normal. It’s normal to yearn for things to be different when they feel hard. It’s normal to compare. It’s normal to feel so much in this highly saturated digital and addictive world. Not every day is amazing. Not for any human. Despite what social media shows us. Perhaps instead of being told we need to enjoy every minute of motherhood or our youth or whatever it is — maybe we should instead tell each other to be present as much as we can. To be a full participant in our life. Whether it’s good or bad, or annoying or underwhelming, or not quite reaching our expectations in some way. Perhaps it’s better to make it a practice to show up and be fully engrossed in that moment. To practice accepting that this is your life, right now. Even if just for a moment. I say practice because I don’t think it’s possible to be completely present all the time. Naturally there will be times we search for our phones in need of mindless distraction. Naturally, on tough days, we will long for weekends, or vacations. In these moments it’s just as important to practice forgiveness for not always enjoying everything. For being human.

It’s important to remind ourselves from time to time of the blatant obviousness that there is no destination. That when we do “arrive” we will be old, at the end of our life, and reminiscing on what happened. For most of us, life is a series of ordinary moments strung together. The more we spend chasing the extraordinary we miss what’s in front of us. So, here’s your reminder to step back into your life. The one you have, with the same problems, with the same weary face you’ve seen in the mirror since the day you were born. It’s your life. Now go live it.

Before my second daughter was born it was easier to identity as a person outside of being a mother. I could be me, in almost equal parts as I was “mum”. But now, with two young children, there is rarely any room for me. I’m often overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood. It feels like it swallows me whole. The fact that I’ve created two small human beings still astounds me. There are moments when both my children look at me with their big beautiful blue eyes and the realisation hits me like an avalanche. Woah. I’m their mother. It’s like realising you’re the sun to planet earth. I’m the one responsible for their health, emotional wellbeing, survival. Everything. How can I not let this role entirely consume me?

It’s not the million diaper changes and nightly wake-ups that I find the hardest (though that is still very, very hard). It’s the relentless, ‘day in and day out’ of it. It feels like a vortex that pulls you in and demands everything you’ve got. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes I forget this. I wake up with a random spike of energy after my coffee and tackle the morning as a 100 meter sprint only to realise all my energy is burnt out and it’s only 9:17am. There are days, and many moments, I just want a break. A sick day. An entire day to sit in front of the tv and be a passive recipient to something. Or a day for output, creativity, going on a long walk, indulging in my own inner world, remembering I still have one. Then I have these random magical moments, like right now, when both kids are napping at the same time and I suddenly have that break I’ve been craving. The freedom is dizzying. Where do I start? What do I do? How can I stuff in something relaxing, creative, and educational while also doing exercise and having my lunch during this ‘break’?

It’s understandable how mothers become so engulfed by being a caregiver that they cannot see themselves beyond that anymore. Being ‘mum’ is their identity and they wear it proudly. Or maybe they are just too tired to fight against that vortex and maintain their identity outside of it that they allow themselves to be swallowed by it. It’s a tricky thing being a mum in today’s age. There are expectations that we can do it all and be it all. And if we can do it all and be it all, then why aren’t we? I know the dangers of being 100% mother (or being 100% of any role, really). One day our kids will grow up and have their own lives. It’s important to hold onto something for ourselves. But sometimes I find resisting the vortex of motherhood is harder than just allowing myself to surrender to it. There are times when it’s ok to allow myself to be pulled in, to be 100% mum, and there are other times when it’s important for me to emerge. I haven’t worked out the right balance yet, but I’m figuring it out as I go. At the end of the day I have two young children and the demands of caring for them is naturally high. But as I’ve seen with my eldest daughter, these demands will ease and lessen with each passing month, sometimes even in a matter of days. It all ebbs and flows until one day they are old enough to get out of the house without having to pack a massive diaper bag and then turn around and head back for their nap.

I know that this time right now is with my babies is precious. It’s a time I can already imagine looking back at photos and feeling my eyes water at their unbearable cuteness. The chubby cheeks and gummy smiles. The way my toddler mispronounces words and sings her little songs. Watching their relationship grow, day by day. If only there was a way to freeze time, to put everything on pause while I went off and did all the other things that fill my cup. But yet, that’s not how life works. I’ll have that time one day. I’ll fully rejoin the outside world when my kids are a bit older and don’t rely on me so much. I’ll be that older woman at the grocery store smiling kindly at the young mum with her little children, remembering those days.

For now I’ll settle for these little breaks throughout the day that bring me back to myself. These little moments help me take a new perspective, find balance, and allow me to go back into being a mum with a battery half full. Life is short, but it is also long. There is time.

I’m filled with that feeling you get when a profound chapter of your life is coming to a close. It’s a mix of sadness, excitement, anticipation, and nostalgia. I remember the person I was before coming here, and how life in this beautiful country changed me forever.

Prior to Australia I was living an exciting but superficial life in Beijing. I was at one of the lowest points in my life. My sister had just died, and I was forced to think about my own mortality. Not in a depressing way, but more in a ‘I want to experience life to its fullest before it’s too late’ sort of way. I knew it was time to leave China, but I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Moving back to Canada seemed like the most sensible option, but it was also a boring option. Moving to Australia sounded like an adventure.

I thought well, if death is inevitable, why not give this a shot? I decided to apply for the working holiday visa. A few days later it was accepted. I thought of Australia as my chance to start over. To reset my life and start anew. From the moment I made up my mind everything about it felt right. It was like the path was unfolding before me. I was terrified though. I didn’t know anyone in Australia. I remember when I landed in Sydney I walked through the airport towards customs and there was a large advertisement that read: WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME. Talk about foreshadowing.

From the moment I arrived everything demanded that I pay attention. There was no sleeping through life anymore. This was waking up, being alert. I was on my own and determined to create a life for myself. I remember living in a hostel and walking over bags of goon and passed out partygoers as I made my way to job interviews. I wasn’t interested in partying; I’d done enough of that in Beijing. I wanted to find a job quickly, move out of the hostel, and rent an apartment. I was also stunned by the natural beauty of Sydney. After living in Beijing for two and half years, my eyes only saw shades of grey and brown. My world there was colourless, both literally and metaphorically. Sydney was the opposite. It’s a colourful, tropical paradise; a breathing piece of art for nature and beach lovers. I remember walking down the street and staring at trees with fluorescent green leaves and blinking twice like a cartoon character. How could this be real? I remember walking home from my very first job here, looking up at this breathtaking purple sunset and suddenly these amazing bats filled up the sky. It was like I was in a movie. I remember how it felt knowing that Bondi Beach was walking distance from my first apartment. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that I had a visa to stay here. This wasn’t just a two-week holiday then back to regular life; this was my life. I lived close enough to be able to visit Bondi on any random day of the week if I so wanted. And that first year, I didn’t take that luxury for granted.

The first year of my working holiday went by fast, as all things good do. I saw so much of Sydney and finally found my own little routine. I had a good job, lots of friends, and lived by one of the most famous beaches in the world. Life was good. I didn’t want to change anything. However, in order to get my second year visa I had to leave and find regional work. I spoke to people who had to live in far north Queensland doing back-breaking work on a fruit farm. Some of them had great experiences, and unfortunately, many others were taken advantage of. I remember crying about it not realising that my life was about to get a whole lot better. It was the craziest and best learning experience of my life. There I was stressing my head off about how and where I would get my regional work hours for my second-year visa so I could come back to Bondi and my life just about to get upgraded. A friend of mine mentioned that she heard of someone getting her visa signed off as a volunteer at the Byron Bay yoga centre. I figured it was too good to be true, but I’d give it a shot and see. Somehow, I got it. I ended up living in a caravan, working as a housekeeper and a gardener in Byron Bay. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I learned how to do yoga and meditate. I shared nutritious vegetarian meals every night with other people who became like family to me. I watched people come from their busy lives, stressed out and anxious, leaving their retreat calm and relaxed. I watched shy students become confident yoga teachers. I started to heal from my sister’s death, rather than push the pain away. I was part of a community and felt a sense of profound belonging. Being in Byron, meeting those people, it all changed the course of my life.

Once I completed all my hours and they signed off my regional work, I went on an Eat, Pray, Love journey throughout Indonesia and India. I returned to Australia energised and excited to find a job that would sponsor me so I could stay. I dreamed of one day becoming a citizen. While I was hopeful to return to Byron, the options for sponsorship were significantly less than in Sydney. So I stayed in Sydney and ended up finding a job that did sponsor me. It was a challenging and demanding job that pushed me to my limits. But I stuck it out to get that sponsorship. I used to speak negatively of that job, but when I reflect, I’m grateful. I struggled and battled severe anxiety almost daily. But ultimately, I navigated out of it. I learned a lot about myself and I got sponsored. Around that time, I met a man who later became my husband. Finally, after years of searching for someone to share my life with, I found the person for me. This relationship was unlike any other I’ve had. The moment I met him it felt like I’d known him forever. I always thought of love as a racing heart, passion, and adrenaline. I didn’t know that love could also be a feeling of coming home. He respected me and was attentive from the very start. There was no ‘waiting 3 days before texting’ scripted dating rules. We just were who we were. I don’t believe it was meant to be, but I do I believe it was a very lucky coincidence that we met. He could have easily met someone else, I’m glad that our paths crossed. I needed someone stable, kind, and gentle in my life at that point (I still do). We now have two daughters together. It makes me happy that our children are born here, the city where it all began.

Australia helped me grow into an adult. I learned how to be fully responsible for myself, and now for two young children. I got to experiment and try new things without the weight of who I was or who I knew guiding me where to go. I got out of my comfort zone and made myself vulnerable to life. I met so many interesting and inspiring people that allowed me to see how life can be lived in so many different ways. A new chapter is just around the corner in a whole new country and I’m sure this one to come will be beautiful in its own way. But I still grieve the end of this one. How amazing and wonderful this chapter has been. I don’t want it to end, but it feels like this time of my life has outgrown itself. Change is painful. It’s a type of grief that no one really talks about, but we all go through. The end of a year and start of a new. The end of a job or a relationship. Changing seasons, ageing bodies. Moving home, city, or country. Death of a loved one. The birth of a child. We are continuously pushed out of one chapter and forced into another. Sometimes the changes of our lives are so insidious that one day you wake up and realise that everything is different. Other times the changes are evident, cold and ruthless, severing you from your old life. Life forces us to change whether we want to or not. We either instigate it, or life does it for us. But there is no such thing as stagnancy. While I feel like I know how life would pan out here in Australia, and staying here is a much (much) easier option, I don’t know. No one does. To move allows me to finally get rid of this constant and relentless thought of: I wonder if I should go back to Canada and be closer to my family…

I was born in Vancouver, but I never lived there. I don’t have friends in Vancouver, but I do have family. So, while I’m not starting from ground zero, it still feels scary moving somewhere without a job when you have a family to feed. The uncertainty of what jobs we will find and where and how our lives will all pan out feels overwhelming. We are starting over again. But if I can take anything from what I’ve learnt from my time in Australia it’s that while it’s easy to ruminate over the worst that can happen, life can sometimes present with the best that can happen. Or as Nelson Mandela said, “I never lose. I either win, or I learn.” It’s also deeply meaningful to me to return to the place I was born. To give the life to my girls that I would have had if my dad didn’t become a diplomat. In a way, it’s like watching a sliding doors moment of a person I could have been living the life I could have had. Sydney is not going anywhere. This amazing city with all its natural beauty will continue to be this way. But what won’t always be is our family. We have a chance now, this small window of time, while our children are still young, to try something new. Perhaps it’s the time to give my kids the chance to know their grandparents and cousins, aunts and uncles. To be able to attend any family gatherings, no matter how small. To embrace, or at least tolerate the cold. Maybe now is the time when I think less about me and all that I want and focus more on what’s best as a family.

I will miss this city so much with its sparkling beaches and lively harbours. The squawking cockatoos and laughing kookaburras. The cloudless sunny days and bluest skies, even and especially in winter. The squiggly gum trees and the smell of jasmine. The purple roads in the spring from jacaranda trees in blossom. The ease of life, the friendly people. The experience of being an expat. The chance to start over. This country will forever mean so much to me. It took me by the hand and showed me how incredible life could be.

Now on to the next chapter. Canada, here we come.

The End of an Era: Goodbye Australia was originally published in Engage on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Art is a powerful therapeutic tool. Human beings have been creating art since the beginning of time.

Society does not tend to value the arts as much as technology or finance, but could you imagine what the world would be without it?

Art is a tool for communication, self-expression, and healing and has been for thousands of years. Art contributes to social cohesion and overall wellbeing, it is the invisible glue that holds a society together.

Art therapy was formally recognised as its own distinctive form of therapy in the 1940s. During that time, doctors were noticing how people with mental illness often expressed themselves in drawings and other artworks, which led many to explore the use of art as a component of the overall healing strategy.

Any art therapist knows how incredibly comforting and soothing art-making is. However, many people are unfamiliar with what art therapy is and how it can help them. Here are some ways art therapy is beneficial, and might even be something for you to explore.

1. Lowers stress.

While everyone knows meditation is good for you, art-making mimics the experience of meditation by gently guiding you into the present moment. Several studies show that engaging in any sort of visual expression results in the reward pathway in the brain being activated which raises serotonin levels. This isn’t only limited to making art, it can also occur by experiencing art.

Creating art — music, poetry, writing, dance, painting, clay — can also help you achieve a “flow” state. That feeling of losing yourself when you’re so in the moment and fully present that you forget all sense of time and space. Achieving more flow states is associated with increased happiness, higher intrinsic motivation, greater creativity, and better emotional regulation.

2. Boosts critical thinking.

Human beings have been creating art since the beginning of time. Caves were painted to reflect our lives and communicate messages to other tribes and groups. Current research also reveals that creating art may have served an evolutionary purpose by helping us navigate problems that might arise in the future. The brain is constantly problem-solving and making predictions about what we need to do next. It’s always looking at what to do in order to survive and thrive. When you make art, you’re making a series of decision. What kind of drawing utensil should I use? What color should I choose? How can I convey this message? What is the most important thing I want to get across? This process of gentle analysis helps boost our ability to think, reigniting these pathways in our brain to problem solve and finding new ways to do things.

3. Increases self-esteem.

Producing and creating anything gives us a sense of accomplishment. This can be very valuable to improving your self-esteem and confidence. According to a study by Wan Mak and Fancourt from University College London, creating art validates the uniqueness of an individual, which gives rise to a sense of accomplishment and to feelings of self-worth. Also, the arts have been shown to support a sense of social identity, encourage goal-directed behaviour, and enhance social resilience.

4. Increases self-awareness.

Creating art allows you to recognise feelings that are hiding in your subconscious. You might even feel surprised by what comes up. For example, you might think you’re angry over one issue but once you sit with it and process it with an art therapist, you might find it’s not even that issue at all but something else entirely different. Increasing self-awareness and clarity over our feelings has many benefits. Research suggests that when we see ourselves clearly, we are more confident and more creative. This leads to sounder decisions, stronger relationships, and more effective communication. The more you know yourself the better you are at getting what you really want in life. You are also more able to see life as it is rather than through our own clouded subjective perceptions of the world.

5. An outlet for self-expression.

This is the most obvious benefit of art therapy. We all know art is the best outlet for our emotions.

We all need an outlet for our emotions. It’s important to find a way to allow our emotions to be released without having them build up in our minds and bodies. Having a creative outlet helps you deal with anxiety and stress, gives you a sense of purpose, and helps make space to overcome obstacles.

Art is a sensory bodily experience that allows us to unleash and process whatever we might be feeling. This can be done independently but it can be beneficial to see an art therapist who can guide you to safely explore what might be difficult and find new ways to get that emotion out of you and on to paper. From here, it creates distance, it provides a new perspective on an old wound. It is the start of healing.

Want to learn more?

My name is Kimberly Hetherington and I’m passionate about helping you find healing, connection, and joy in art. Contact me to learn more about individualised art therapy sessions or join a group workshop!

Like most kids, I used to love myths and legends. My imagination was my favorite place to be.

My parents used to read my sister and I bedtime stories and they both had their own unique way of telling stories. My mum used it as a time for calming us down from the day. She would choose short stories with familiar characters and spoke gently allowing us to drift off into a nightmare-free sleep. My dad would often choose exciting heroic journey’s. He sometimes got us to reenact the stories in a theatrical performance. We would be over the top dramatic as we imagined the characters to life. I would go to sleep with my mind spinning with ideas and inspiration.

As I grew older, myths and legends didn’t really serve a purpose in my life. It wasn’t until I went to University and took a few credits in Philosophy that I remembered my love for story. To my surprise, philosophers would often use story to help get the message across. I absolutely loved it because it helped cement the idea so much better than using complicated language and theories.

Lately I’ve come back around to story. My course to becoming a transpersonal art therapist was largely influenced by the work of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell. I realise now that stories are not just for children. They can be powerful in helping us overcome the inevitable trials and tribulations of life. They can also help us find and make meaning in our lives. Carl Jung believed that myths were expressions of the collective unconscious. There are repeated patterns of archetypes from thousands of years of human culture that all follow similar themes. Myths express wisdom that all human beings can relate to. They speak directly to our heart and soul, we can understand them without having to intellectualise them.

“The connection between psychology, mythology, and literature is just as important as the connection between psychology and biology and the hard sciences.”
– Jordan Peterson

The Creative Descent of Inanna

The most recent myth that captivated me dates back well into the Neolithic age. It’s over 4,000 years old! As you can imagine, it’s taken many different shapes and forms over the years, but the underlying theme remains the same. It describes the story of Queen Inanna, a Mesopotamian goddess of Heaven and Earth who is summoned on a transformative journey to the Ancient Mesopotamian Underworld. The reason for her descent is slightly different depending on which version you read. The one I will tell you is the version that resonated the most with me because it’s essentially a heroine’s take on the hero’s journey. Who doesn’t love a good hero’s journey?

A Call to the Underworld

Queen Inanna was a strong, successful and powerful woman who has well respected and admired in her community. One day she hears a whisper calling her to the Underworld. She is a bit mystified about this as it seems to come out of the blue. Despite trying to ignore it, the whisper continues.

The Underworld is ruled by her sister, Ereshkigal. Unlike Innana, Ereshkigal is the Queen of Darkness. She rules the dead and all that lies in the shadows. She is passionately in love and married to Nergal, the god of war, plague, and pestilence.

As the days pass, Inanna continues to hear this call to the Underworld. It’s asking her to see what she has not yet seen, to experience what she has not yet experienced and to learn what she does not yet know. The whisper grows louder and louder until she can no longer deny it.

“Inaaaannnaa!” the voice beckons.

Inanna decides to go. She has been living in comfort and predictability for too long, perhaps it’s time to see what she has not yet seen, to experience what she has not yet experienced and to learn what she does not yet know. With the help of her servant Ninshubur, she gets ready for her journey to the Underworld. She adorns herself in her royal crown of influence, necklace, bracelets, golden rings, a breastplate for armour and a thick, royal cloak.

Ninshubur is very concerned and tries to talk her out of it. No one goes to Underworld and returns unchanged. Those who have attempted it rarely come out alive. Inanna is determined to go either way. She looks to Nishubur:

“Ninshubur, my faithful friend, I must do this. I know it will not be easy, but I must go. Will you wait for my return and if after 3 days I have not returned, bang the drums, gather my community and tell them what was happened to me? Then go to the elders and ask them to bring me back. Will you do this for me?”

“Yes, my Queen.” Ninshubur replies with a bow.

With that Inanna sets foot on her journey to the Underworld.

The Seven Bolted Gates

As Innana begins her journey she encounters her first obstacle. In Ereshkigal’s Underworld, there are seven gates which lead to her palace. When Ereshkigal learns of Inanna’s arrival at the first of the seven gates, she orders them to be sealed and bolted. For Inanna to reach her, Ereshkigal demands that her sister Inanna unlock the gates through a series of sacrifices so that she enters humbled.

At the first gate, Inanna knocks gently. A gatekeeper asks, “who are you and why have you come?”

“My name is Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth. Please let me in. I have come to see what I have not yet seen, to experience what I’ve not yet experienced, and to learn what do not yet know.”

The gatekeeper asks her to relinquish her royal crown and only then he will open the gate. Giving up her royal crown feels like giving away a bit of her power. Her crown is a symbol of her hard earned royalty, power and influence. But here in the Underworld, she holds no royalty, power or influence. She gives it up reluctantly and proceeds to the next gate.

At the second gate Inanna stands tall and knocks. “Hello. My name is Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth. I have come to see what I have not yet seen, to experience what I’ve not yet experienced, and to learn what do not yet know.” At this gate she is asked to give up her bracelet. Again, Inanna agrees.

At the third gate Inanna knocks again hesitantly wondering what she will be asked to give up this time. “My name is Innana, I have come to see what I have not yet seen, to experience what I’ve not yet experienced and to learn what do not yet know.”

She is asked to give up her necklace and again, hands it over. As she continues through the gates, it becomes clear that she is being asked to strip herself of all the adornments she came with. Little by little, this is making her weaker and weaker.

She approaches the sixth gate feeling increasingly vulnerable. She knocks hesitantly. “My name is Inanna. And… I hardly remember what I came here for…” Without being asked, she is robbed of her breastplate. She screams out. Now her heart is exposed, and she is vulnerable without it. She spends a moment wondering if she should continue. As she looks back from where she came it becomes clear that the path is gone. She has no choice but to continue.

As she descends further, the walls of the labyrinth are closing in and her cloak is dragging and catching on the uneven, sludgy ground. She begins to walk on hands and knees, cutting up her legs and the palms of her hands. The journey is hard, harder than expected. She begins to wonder why she did this, what is the point of all this suffering?

Eventually, Inanna reaches the last and final gate. She taps on the door gently. “Hello? I am here… and… that is all.” At this gate she is asked to hand in her last and final piece of clothing, her royal cloak. She is now completely naked and vulnerable with nothing to defend herself.

Meeting Ereshkigal

Inanna enters the final gate naked, humble and defeated. She enters the throne of her sister Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld. Ereshkigal sits regally on her throne and looks down at Innana with the Eye of Death. In that moment Inanna dies. She then leaves her sister’s corpse on a hook for three days.

Meanwhile, Ninshubur is waiting eagerly for Inanna’s’ arrival. By the 3rd day, Ninshubur does as he was told. He bangs the drums and informs the community that their Queen has descended into the Underworld. The elderly rush to the Underworld to rescue Inanna. They make it through each gate easily and find her hanging on a hook, her corpse rotting. They gasp in terror and pull her off, attempting to bring her back to life using powerful stones, crystals and gems from the Upperworld. But nothing seems to work here. Eventually Ereshkigal who was sitting in the darkness watching, decides to step in. She approaches her sister and gives her the water of life, a magical substance which can resurrect the dead.

Everyone stands back waiting. Inanna slowly comes back to life as Ereshkigal retreats into the darkness. Just as Inanna’s turns to leave, the guards of the Underworld stop her. She may leave, but only under one condition: she must leave someone or something of value behind. But what? She wonders if she remains in the Underworld forever. The elderly tell her the community need her, she must return. She takes a long time to figure out what to leave and, in the end, decides to sacrifice her husband.

As Inanna begins the quest back to the Upperworld she stops at each gate to take inventory of what she was forced to give up. She must ask herself if the value that each item holds to her now. Does it fit her new vision of the world? Does the cloak hold any real power? The crown?

She decides to leave everything and return to the Upperworld as a humbled woman. She is forever changed. The person she was when she entered the Underworld died, but a new woman was born in the process. She feels stronger than she has ever felt for she accomplished what she set out to accomplish. She saw what she has never seen, experienced what she has never experienced, and learned what she did not know.

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What are your thoughts on this myth? What does it bring up for you?

Perhaps we can all relate to this myth in some way or another. Answering a call for an adventure that brought us to our knees. A journey that stripped us bare of all that we thought we were, all that we thought we needed and led to the death of our former selves. Instead of returning from the journey bitter and petty, we transform. We bow to the forces greater than ourselves.

If you liked this story, you will like my book, ‘The Enchanted Collection’ now available on Amazon.

If you don’t want to die, then why do you want to live?

I’m on the bus home and it feels like my eyes have been washed anew. The normal distractions and worries that consumed me have been lifted. For the first time since I can remember I have not immediately put my earphones in, quick to block out the outside world. Instead, I want to hear the pulse of the city. I want to look in the faces of the people I share this life with, even if it’s for a brief bus ride. I have newfound compassion for every person I come across as they go about their day. It’s just another Friday to them, but not for me.

I’m on way back from spending 5 days living at Quest for Life supporting people living with life threatening illnesses. It’s not often you get opportunity to be in the company of people navigating a chronic illness or an end-of-life prognosis. Or at least knowingly.

The first day of the program, a group of about 20 or so people tell their story. Together we sit in a circle on large comfy sofas and one by one, each person tells the group their story. As more and more people share, the energy of the room shifts. The doors of inner worlds are left wide open. It feels raw and wild to witness such honesty. Coming to terms with our own mortality, managing chronic pain, coping with grief and trauma is never easy. These topics are often swept under the rug or held firmly behind closed doors because it’s almost taboo to talk about them. By the time everyone has spoken we sit together in silence. The room buzzing with strength, grit and hope.

In normal day to day life, we might only see a fraction of that kind of honesty. In between the empty ‘how are you’s’ and rushing from here to there, there’s very few moments of real, genuine interaction. In that room there were no masks. There was no rushing. There was no fixing. There was one in the room saying “oh no, I can’t go there. Can we talk about something else?” There was no one forcing anyone to ‘look on the bright side.’ There was no advice-giving. Instead, we offered each other something very few people ever do: we just listened.

As the days went on, it became clear that in so many situations there was a link between past experiences of trauma and/or abuse that created a perfect breeding ground for cancer and disease. The program discussed latest research on the neuroscience and healing that focus on helping people feel empowered. We understood how you talk to yourself matters, but also the way you speak. The words you use. Instead of “I should,” it could be “I could.” Or instead of “I can’t,” say “I won’t.” Much of our language implies we are helpless. The program is teaching you that you aren’t and if you have the motivation to keep up with it, your life can change.

We also learned about the power of meditation. The importance of relaxation. That every time you get stressed, panicked and overwhelmed, you are fuelling your body with inflammatory chemicals that feed illness and disease. On the flip side, every time you meditate, relax, laugh, you are helping your body heal. Our body is an incredible machine and capable of healing the most extraordinary illnesses, as well as creating the most hostile environment for disease.

This leads to the next point which is the role of epigenetics. Initially scientists believed that if you had a gene for cancer, you would develop that cancer. Simply a case of bad luck. But nowadays research has shown that behaviours and environment can cause changes that affect the way your genes work. In others words, they play a role in whether a certain gene expresses or suppresses. Two people can have the breast cancer gene whereas only one might develop breast cancer. Why? Well, it turns out the environment you are in, the food you eat, the thoughts you think, the amount of sleep you have all contribute to whether that gene gets the green light to express or not. Therefore, in the past we were helpless victims to unfortunate genes, but nowadays we are co-creators of health.

The program’s foundation can be broken down by of the 4 C’s: control, commitment, challenge, and connection. The first one, control, is about taking back a sense of control of our life. As noted above, we are co-creators of our health which means we must take action if we want to heal. We do this by becoming active participants in our life by choosing our response, and thus rewiring our brain, to life’s stressful situations instead of reacting. It’s a daily practice which leads well into the the second one, a commitment to living. This involves reorganising our priorities towards a life that nurtures our mind, body and spirit. Changing our habitual patterning is no easy feat and requires commitment, every single day. The third is challenge. What is it that sparks you and gets your blood pumping? What makes you feel alive? We need challenges in our life in order to grow; without challenge we stagnate. The final one is connection to others and ourselves. We are social animals who were more likely to survive when we were in small groups. Feeling a sense of belonging and connection to others is essential for our survival. As is finding a connection to something bigger than ourselves. Whether that’s through religion, spirituality, nature, surfing. Whatever helps you put life into perspective and bursts the bubble of egoic thinking.

This brings me back to the question that was asked on the first day: If you don’t want to die, then why do you want to live?

You don’t need to have been given a terminal diagnosis to get the impact of it. We all die at some point. Some of us are given advance notice, others aren’t. Life is not about avoiding death. I don’t believe it is, anyway. As the saying goes, it’s not about the length of life, it’s about the depth. It’s about plunging deep, not sliding across its surface. Life is a gift and yet isn’t it strange how easy it is to forget?

If you really commit to trying, you can find a life worth living. You can find a find a life you are proud to life, one that feels right on every single level to you. Once you’ve found it, you don’t need to avoid death to realise that what you found can never be taken away.

Over the past few years, I’ve grown to become a spiritual person. For most of my life I was a proud atheist. I perceived people who were religious as uneducated and unimaginative.

The first time I ever went to church was with my grandmother. I was bored as hell as I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair, wondering when the man at the front would ever stop talking. Then suddenly everyone rose from their seats. We were asked to eat a piece of stale bread and sip wine. I was shocked by this request and did not want to participate. But when everyone went one by one, I realised I had no choice. I left the church feeling somber and scared, it lacked any ounce of warmth or humour. I never wanted to go back and luckily for me, my parents wouldn’t make me. My parents aren’t religious and had no intention of forcing us to go to church. There was never any mention of religion or spirituality in our home. Both my parents had been forced to go to church when they were kids and made an agreement that they would not do that to us. They left the door of religion and spirituality so wide open that my sister and I didn’t even notice there was a door. The only time I got curious about life after death was when I saw the movie ‘All Dogs Go To Heaven.’ I remember asking my father what happens when we die and he simply said, “When we die, it’s over. Game over. Power off.”

By the time I was a teenager, I had no reference point. I was ignorant about the world’s religions and wasn’t interested in learning more. The only conclusion that made sense to me was that you are born randomly, forced to go about this obstacle course called life, and then at the end you die. No heaven, no reincarnation. As my father said, it’s game over. I understood that I was an atheist and it felt cool to be part of the ‘non-believer’ group. I was the girl who wasn’t affected by anything; the cool unemotional one who will point to science and facts to tear down any sparks of hope in an afterlife. I liked being part of that club. It was also pretty easy to be because at that point in my life nothing particularly tragic happened to force me to think deeper.

But then one day, it did. And once your world comes crashing in on you, religion or spirituality are like a life raft in the middle of a stormy, unforgiving ocean. My introduction to life beyond the confines of atheism was born the moment my sister died on October 13, 2013. The pain of her loss forced me to question what it means to live, and what it means to die. It broke open my yearning for understanding life beyond the physical because my mind simply could not make sense of her loss. I could not accept the meaninglessness of life. How could my sister, my sister, disappear like that? Where is she? It just did not make sense. How do you go from being ‘here’ to being ‘gone’? Where did she go?

This constant questioning forced me down new paths, ones I’d never been down before. Organised religion never appealed to me, but spirituality did.

“Spirituality is the belief that there is something greater than oneself, something more to being human than this sensory experience, and that the greater whole of which we are part is cosmic or divine in nature. Spirituality involves exploring certain universal themes — love, compassion, altruism, life after death, wisdom and truth, with the knowledge that some people such as saints or enlightened individuals have achieved and manifested higher levels of development than the ordinary persons.”

In other words, I now believe there is more to this life than just waking up, going to work and returning home to watch Netflix. There is more to this cycle of life: birth, life, death. It’s all on a continuum. So, as part of my quest to understand life beyond what is deemed ‘normal’ I have turned to some books that have played a huge role on my road to spirituality.

Other notable figures who’s talks I listen to regularly and deeply admire are Russel Brand, Dr Shefali Tsbary, Gabor Mate, Oprah, Deepak Chopra, and of course, Tara Brach.

This list will only continue to grow as I learn more. But these have been the most influential so far.

1. A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose ~ Eckhart Tolle

I can’t speak more highly of this book. It sounds dramatic to say but it literally changed my life. I remember reading it while I was working in a job I hated and felt as though my soul was burning out. On my lunch break, I would find a quiet corner in a foodcourt and read a sentence that would lift my spirits for weeks, if not months. It reduced my suffering exponentially. I’m so grateful to Eckhart for bringing these ideas (that aren’t necessarily new) and making them accessible and super easy to understand. I will bring this book with me wherever I go. It’s like my bible!

“Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the moment.”
―Eckhart Tolle

2. The Road Less Traveled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth ~ M. Scott Peck

I was first introduced to this book when I met my partner, who is now my husband. I could feel myself falling in love for the first time in a long time and wanted to tame myself. I’d been in love before and my heart was battered by it. I was trying to be cautious and not fall for the same traps I did before. This book helped me realise that feeling of falling of love is not love. It’s something anyone can do. It’s as easy and effortless as falling. Those initial feelings of being in love offer a glimpse of life when we were newborns. When we were so connected to our mother that we lived in our own blissful little world together. ‘Falling in love’ is actually a regression to our most childlike sense of self. When the feeling of falling in love fades, which it always does, we come to understand that we are two different people with different needs. It’s like we hit the bottom of a well and suddenly wake up. But it’s at this point when real love begins. When we realise we are two different beings and we can see love as playing a part in the betterment of another. We can see love as a form of evolution. This book really helped me to become more mature in relationships, even if it’s a work in progress!

“Love is the will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth… Love is as love does. Love is an act of will — namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.”
―M. Scott Peck

3. The Untethered Soul: The Journey Beyond Yourself ~ Michael Alan Singer

This book was on my ‘to-read’ list for a long time. For some reason I never really felt compelled to read it. To be honest I think it was because of the horse running free on the cover seemed too cliché for me. Yep, classic judging a book by its cover! Eventually though, I caved and got an audio version of the book. While Singer’s ideas are not new, they are good reminders. Essentially, what the book is saying is that you are not the voice of your mind — you are the one who hears it. The reason we suffer or are unhappy is because the outside world is not conforming to how we think it should be. The more time we observe our mind and its tendency towards judging, critiquing, complaining, the more we can let go and be free to enjoy life exactly as it is. This is a Buddhist concept and I remember learning about this when I was in my early 20’s. It profoundly changed my life. For the first time in my life I paid attention to my thoughts. I noticed there was one particular stressful thought kept circulating in my mind. It suddenly became clear that these thoughts were affecting my mood. This book basically takes this concept and puts it on loud speakers. He goes through, chapter by chapter, how we can easily destroy ourselves if we listen to every thought we have and react to it.

“You’re floating in empty space in a universe that goes on forever. If you have to be here, at least be happy and enjoy the experience. You’re going to die anyway. Things are going to happen anyway. Why shouldn’t you be happy? You gain nothing by being bothered by life’s events. It doesn’t change the world; you just suffer. There’s always going to be something that can bother you, if you let it.”
―Michael A. Singer

4. The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom ~ Miguel Ruiz

This was a super short, simple and easy read. I didn’t think something so short could be so impactful. If you are new to the self-help genre or turned off by too much spirituality jargon, this is the best book to read. It’s so simple, effective and true. The rules are simple:

• Be impeccable with your word. Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.
• Don’t take anything personally. Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.
• Don’t make assumptions. Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness, and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.
• Always do your best. Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.

While they are all so simple, they are difficult to implement every day. It’s interesting how often I find myself breaking an agreement. It’s just old belief patterns rising to the surface.

5. A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles” ~ Marianne Williamson

I got this book through an exchange with a friend from work. I wasn’t actively searching for it but I’m glad it came into my life. This is the only spiritual book I’ve ever read that is somewhat religious too but I powered through anyway. She reminds me a bit of Louise Hay but I resonated more with her writing and message. I did not know anything about the Course in Miracles, and you don’t really need to. The message of the book is simple: choose love. Don’t get caught up in judgements and criticism, after-all this is just fear in disguise. Let people be as they are, forgive them. It’s definitely easier in theory than in practice. After this book I ask myself: am I acting out of love or fear? Because there really is nothing else. Love and fear are the root of every emotion we have. If I’m anxious I’m fearful. If I’m excited, I’m in a state of love. Her writing helps you step outside of your ego and shine your light, there is simply no reason not to. I found it a really soft and gentle read.

“Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learn. The spiritual journey is the unlearning of fear and prejudices and the acceptance of love back in our hearts. Love is the essential reality and our purpose on earth. To be consciously aware of it, to experience love in ourselves and others, is the meaning of life. Meaning does not lie in things. Meaning lies in us.”
―Marianne Williamson

6. Heal Your Life ~ Louise Hay

I wondered if I should keep this on my list because there are some things that I genuinely don’t agree with. However, I decided to leave it because I think it’s worth a read. Mostly because it’s been a bestseller for years and it’s good to read the books that have shaped generations. The key premise of the book is that the mind and body are connected and that all illnesses of the body have their root causes in emotional and spiritual issues. I definitely agree with her in that our health can be affected by our mental states. Years of unexpressed anger or guilt or sadness will find physical ways to manifest. I’m strong advocate for talk therapy for exactly this reason. I also recognise the importance of body based therapies like dancing, making art, yoga to help with this release. I also believe that some illnesses are entirely connected to our minds and emotions. But the book goes too far when it says that the people who got cancer didn’t love themselves enough. I find it the most cruelest thing to blame the person who got sick, especially with cancer. I don’t believe that every illness can be cured by positive thinking and self-love. Sometimes bad things happen and no amount of self-love can fix this. Overall the book has some interesting concepts that I found unique. For example there was a part that discussed financial prosperity and the ways in which we unconscious limit ourselves to financial wealth. It certainly gave me lots of food for thought, but there was a bad taste in my mouth when it came to judgement and blame towards cancer patients.

“The thoughts we choose to think are the tools we use to paint the canvas of our lives.”
―Louise Hay

7. Waking Up ~ Sam Harris

Sam Harris was my atheist icon as a teenager. I admired how rational, intelligent and unemotional he was (just the kind of person I wanted to be!) But over the years I lost interest in him because I found atheists in general to be depressing, hostile people. I was no longer interested in those who wanted to tear down religion and poke fun at spirituality in the name of being right. Instead, I wanted to hear from the people who were more focused on joy and love and had enthusiasm for life. However, this book stood out because I want to understand spirituality without all the fluff. There are some books that are so heavily drenched in new age spirituality that it makes my eyes roll. But Harris tackles spirituality like the rational neuroscientist that he is. It’s an important book to read if you are in the space of healing and wellness because a lot of people think that meditation is associated with religion. This book helps clearly peel the two apart. He focuses on the danger of an untrained mind, or as he says “your mind is the basis of everything you experience and of every contribution you make to the lives of others. Given this fact, it makes sense to train it.” Meditation is simply a tool used to train the mind to be in the present moment and essentially stop ourselves from needless suffering. He also speaks of the nature of consciousness and that the “I” that we believe ourselves to be does not exist. Our sense of ‘I’, the person in our head is simply a product of thought which comes and goes. He then goes on to discuss the importance of being weary of so called “gurus” and the profound impact that psychedelic drugs has had on him. I’ve never felt more inclined to try LSD in my life.

“That which is aware of sadness is not sad. That which is aware of fear is not fearful.”
―Sam Harris

Have you ever felt like a stranger in your own life? Watching other people like you were separated by some invisible wall?

Most of us understand all too well how detrimental loneliness can be if it doesn’t go away. In fact, research has shown that loneliness is worse than smoking or obesity to a person’s health.

Yet we live in a world that is more connected than it has ever been. How is it that so many of us feel lonely?

I’ve recently discovered the work of Gabor Maté, whose teachings on addiction and connection has inspired me deeply. He discusses the mind-body connection (particularly the deadliness of suppressing emotions) and how social connections can accelerate healing. When he speaks it makes so much sense it’s hard to believe this is not mainstream knowledge. How are we still treating the mind separate from the body? When someone develops cardiovascular disease, why are we not asking questions beyond their diet? Why are these people not supported holistically?

It makes complete sense to me that someone who develops a chronic illness or disease and is socially isolated will not be able to heal as quickly as someone who feels connected to his or her community. What’s frightening is that our society is almost built on this artificial sense of connection that only creates feelings of alienation.

Alienation is a term originally coined by Karl Marx. His theory of alienation describes the “social alienation of people from aspects of their human nature as a consequence of living in a society of stratified social classes.” It occurs when a person withdraws or becomes isolated from their environment or from other people. People who show symptoms of alienation will often reject loved ones, society, and even aspects of themselves. It’s a very disorienting sense of exclusion and separation. It’s also lethal for human animals who thrive and prosper when they are connected and feel like they belong.

Below are four types of alienation that pertain to our modern lives and how to combat each of them.

Alienation from nature

It’s no surprise that the alienation from nature contributes to our loneliness. We kill a part of ourselves when we destroy rainforests and dispose large amounts of waste in our oceans. The movement to protect our earth is one that requires compassion and empathy for life beyond ourselves. It’s also a recognition that we are all connected. I don’t mean this in a ‘kumbaya’ sense, I mean it literally. The oil and coal we burn will become the air we breathe, just as the tiny microbes of plastic will become infested in the fish we eat. How people can deny this is infuriating. If we destroy our planet, we destroy ourselves. The planet is a large organism that has gone through many dramatic makeovers across its lifespan of 4.5 billion years. It does need us, we need it.

I feel the best way to gain respect for our earth (if you don’t already) is to spend more time in the great outdoors. To leave the city and man-made buildings behind and spend time in nature. How can you not fall in love with our planet when you listen to rush of a waterfall? Or feel the aliveness and buzzing of a forest? We are nature, after all. We came from it and we will return to it. Connection to the earth is, in a sense, connecting to our truest sense of self.

Alienation from People

Many of us are no longer connected to others in a meaningful way. Social media has largely replaced social interaction and created an artificial sense of connection. We are wired to connect to others face to face, eye to eye, not through our phones. Social media is not only about connecting with others, it’s also an opportunity for companies to sell their products. There is an incentive for these platforms to keep you on longer and longer, stealing your precious attention. There is a reason why you open your phone and suddenly get pulled into a vortex of bright red notifications and an endless newsfeed. There are top psychologists and behavioural scientists working to keep you on your phone longer. I recommend watching ‘The Great Hack’ or ‘The Social Dilemma’ for more on this topic.

Ultimately, this loss of attention causes us to become less present in the moment and more concentrated on what’s next, contributing to anxiety and depression. The effects of phone usage on our mental health is still being uncovered as are the laws around it. We are living in blurred lines, not quite sure how this will pan out. It’s like the era that our parents had with smoking before they finally connected the dots and accepted that it caused cancer.

Alienation from Work

When we do work that is just a means to an end and fulfils no purpose in our soul, it will slowly kill us. It reminds me of the quote, “The cost of not following your heart is spending the rest of your life wishing you had.” Doing some dead end job because we are afraid to follow our dreams is painful. We all have gifts inside of ourselves and the task is finding out how we can make a living out of it. Of course this comes with a level of pragmatism, we simply can’t quit our reasonably well paid office job and decide to become a puppeteer. There are intelligent and careful ways of getting where we want to go if we have the determination. Every day is an opportunity to take another steps in the right direction. Go wherever you feel most alive and invigorated. If you don’t believe me, then look up “things people regret most on their deathbed.”

Alienation from Self

Last but not least, the disconnection from ourselves. Our true selves. The person we were when we first entered this world. Wild and free, happy to be. Then we got our light dimmed by our parents, society, and culture to fit into norms and conform to what everyone else does. It’s not surprising that so many of us forget our inner child. But it’s still there. It’s just hidden under those layers of who we needed to be.

I know I have disconnected from myself at times in my life. It hurts to go against my authentic self just to be liked or accepted. It’s like looking at my inner child and saying in her face, “You aren’t good enough. Change.” It breaks my heart. The saddest thing is those who have completely lost touch with their youngest self. They remind me of Robin William’s character in ‘Hook’ before he realises he was Peter Pan. He grew up only to an overweight, miserable lawyer who was obsessed with work. He was completely disconnected from his true self.

If only we all had little Julia Roberts fairy yank us out of our boring adult selves and remind us of our inner Peter Pan! Imagine the zest for life we’d all have if we had to go undergo train to reconnect with our true self? Healing and transformation begins by developing a deep relationship to ourselves. How? Through meditation, journaling, therapy, being in nature, connecting deeply with others. It will also require vulnerability, patience, courage and the willingness to change.

We don’t need to keep our loneliness to ourselves. Ironically, it’s something all of us have experienced and can relate to. If we can find ways to reconnect with nature, connect meaningfully to our friends and community, find fulling work that is aligned with our values, and connect to ourselves — the walls of loneliness will have no choice but to simply crumble away.

Note: Some identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals and places.

“As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.” ―Carl Jung

I arrived at the hospital just before 6:00am and walked into the cafeteria looking for my mentor. After wandering around, I noticed a woman sitting alone beside a trolley of art supplies. She had short jaw length hair, black rimmed glasses, and a collared work shirt. I took a seat at her table. She was checked her wristwatch and informed me that we had exactly 12 minutes before we needed to head upstairs for the staff meeting.

She looked at me and spoke decisively, “For the next two or three days you’re going to be my shadow. You need to understand that you’re not here to fix, save or solve anyone. Your job is to help facilitate a small section of their therapeutic care program. Once you leave the doors of this hospital, these patients are no longer in your care. Got it?”

Her approach was not exactly what I expected. This was a lot different from the warm, compassionate teachers I’d become so fond of in the classroom. I followed her as she used her keys to unlock a maze of hospital doors. Each room had two steel doors that had to be locked behind us before the others would open so I literally was stuck to her side. We entered in a boardroom with the psychologists, social workers, dieticians, and counsellors. The head of the department sat at one end of the table holding a sheet of paper with a list of patients and their conditions. She read them out and then proceeded to give out orders to each person like it was an army drill. One by one, everyone rushed out the door.

That day did not go according to plan, not for anyone in that entire hospital. Of all worst-case scenarios I could’ve imagined this was so much worse — and that says a lot. We had just finished lunch and we’re on our way to the public ward. My mentor asked me to wait outside with the trolley while she went to the bathroom. The middle of the hospital is a large empty space like an atrium. No matter which floor you’re on, you can look down into this huge empty space. The first thought that strangely entered my mind was how easy it could be to jump off. I then noticed a bunch of people in the floor below me gathered around near the ledge. This was the maternity ward and I figured there was a complex pregnancy, maybe the nurses wanted to debrief outside the room to protect the mother. I walked closer to the ledge, peeked my head down and saw a white cloth with police circling the area. They were looking up at me with walkie-talkies in their hand. Hm, that’s odd, I thought. Just then my mentor stepped out of the bathroom and we started walking to the public ward. As we were about to open the door a receptionist came running toward us looking panicked,”did you guys hear?! Some guy jumped from oncology!”

What I’d seen moments earlier was in fact a man’s deceased body being covered by police. I cringed, how could this be? Before we entered into the public ward my mentor turned and looked at me. “Look, we need to let that go now. I know it’s terrible but we need to be of service to the people we are seeing so try to release that out of your mind.”

I was in a state of shock but wanted to prove to her that I was capable. My mind kept spinning with thoughts, ‘is he actually dead?’ Did I just see a dead body? Is this actually happening?’ We entered the ward and I helped set up the space with essential oil, music and art supplies around the table. I opened the door and a woman with missing teeth and dishevelled hair came in. She knew my mentor as she’d been through the ward a few times before. They spoke briefly, asking how things were since they last saw each other. We encouraged her to do some art so she picked up a pastel and spent a few minutes wildly scribbling on a piece of paper. When she was done, she held it up like a little kid with a big toothless smile. My mentor asked what it was about, and she explained that it was Adam and Eve, they had reincarnated on planet earth. She continued talking about how and why this was true as my mind broke off from the moment and began obsessively thinking about this man who had jumped. I was no longer in the room with them, my body was there but my mind was gone.

What surprised me most about this event was that I somehow survived the terror of it. It felt like some sort of conspiracy against me, like the universe was saying, ‘you think you can handle working in a mental ward? Here, take that!’ Every detail about that man’s death stuck to my mind for about a month. It was all I could think about. But through more therapy and self-care, I did eventually recover. As much as I’d like to say this was the worst experience and it was smooth-sailing from then on out, there were several more than shook me to my core. Nothing was as dramatic and shocking as my first day, thankfully. But it was painful to experience these triggers that have laid dormant for many years. It forced me to uncover deeper areas of my mind and heart that still need healing.

The patients I saw ranged in ages from 13 to 80 years old. The most common mental health conditions were borderline personality disorder, major depression, bipolar disorder and a range of anxiety disorders. Most of the people I met appeared completely healthy and well-functioning that I sometimes forgot we were in a mental ward. I’d often have to look for their wristbands to see if they were a patient and not a visitor. It surprised me how insidious a mental illness really is, it can fool everyone around them into believing they are completely fine.

During my first week of shadowing we visited the private ward. This ward usually holds people for a longer period of time and has more strict requirements of patients. For example, in order to leave for a smoke break they must take part in one or two group therapy exercises per day (mindfulness training, DBT, creative therapies, etc). Essentially, it’s the only group in the ward where we can do a full three-hour art therapy program that dives deeper than colouring and drawing together.

One day while setting up I noticed an older man in his late 60’s who was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. It was unbelievable to see how physical this mental illness had become. The depression wore him like a heavy cloak, his whole body visibly sunk under the weight it. With a group of about 10 other patients, my mentor and I did an art exercise around a boat at sea. We led them through a visualisation meditation and then asked them to draw what came up. One by one everyone shared an image that was as different and unique as they all were. This man had drawn a realistic fishing boat sinking in a stormy ocean underneath a black stormy sky. When it was his turn to speak, he shrugged and said he didn’t have much to say about it. He didn’t need to, so much was already said.

I spent a few shifts at the start of my placement working in the elderly ward. During this time, I met a woman who was notorious for her detailed monologues. As soon as we opened the door, she’d plonk herself down and go straight into a story about her life as if she was presenting to an audience. It would start off innocuous and then quickly delve into the details of a traumatic experience. In group work, I learned, it’s important to harness people in so they don’t describe horrific memories that vicariously traumatise others in the group. It’s difficult to balance creating a space for non-judgement, openness and refuge, but to also gently divert when thing go too far. The first time it happened I noticed the rest of the group members cast their eyes down and others left the room. Despite what felt like complete chaos, I noticed another older woman in the room sitting alone completely unfazed by everything going on. My heart felt tender as I watched her arthritis-ridden fingers try to clasp the paintbrush and move it across the paper. As my mentor tended to the other woman, I walked over and sat beside her. Her picture was a beautiful abstract painting with bright, happy colours. I genuinely loved what she did, it surprised me how good it was. I wondered if I should say anything but was afraid to say to the wrong thing. We sat silently until eventually I spoke, “I love the colours you’ve chosen; it makes me feel happy looking at it.”

She looked up at me and smiled, “I always seem to paint joyful, bright things,” her smile fading, “I don’t know why, really.” She told me she used to be an artist, but ever since her husband died, she stopped painting. I’d learned in her case notes that her husband died suddenly in a car crash and her only son was a drug addict. She was alone at home for a few weeks, overcome with grief, and admitted herself into the hospital. She had long silver hair, which was partly tied up in a bun, the rest cascaded down her bony shoulders. She was soft-spoken and had these beautiful big brown eyes that held depth and warmth. On one of our last times together she revealed to me that she used to be a mental health nurse. I wondered how that must be, to be on the other side. She smiled and said, “I remember being there for all these people, and now here I am, just another crazy patient in a mental ward.”

The crisis unit is reserved for younger patients who have harmed themselves or are at immediate risk. It’s served as a type of holding tank until a decision is made on their case to go to another ward, a specialist hospital, or get released. This was the ward I was most fearful of, especially since I’d heard of patients lunging for the art supplies to self-harm. Before visiting any ward it’s good to have a read the case notes just to get an idea of the scene you’re entering into. But for the crisis unit each patient’s notes needed to be thoroughly read. Depending on who was there, we’d only bring in a few pieces of paper and a handful of pastels. The crisis unit usually holds about 5 to 6 people at a time but on this occasion, there was only one person, a 13 year old girl. I felt tense reading her case notes before seeing her. She was not as high-risk, so we decided to bring our whole art trolley. My mentor and I arrived and set the scene as usual; putting out a tablecloth, plugging lemon myrtle essential oil, and playing relaxing music. The girl peeked out from her room, looked down at the art and smiled at us shyly. She had long black hair and a friendly face. Her tiny waist was accentuated by a tight plastic brace for scoliosis. She was really just a kid, it broke my heart to see her here.

“Come join us!” My mentor welcomed, pointing towards the table. We all sat together and started doing some watercolour of clouds at sunset. Patients are often quizzed relentlessly about what they did, how and when, that the simple act of silently painting together can be an incredible relief for them. Art Therapy is truly a refuge, and in a hospital environment, a bit of music and art makes all the difference. The girl told us how she loved doing art and wondered out loud about why she doesn’t do it anymore. Her whole energy changed as she painted, it was like she opened up and bloomed before us. She started talking more and more about random things in her life and even making jokes. My mentor mentioned that she used to do Calligraphy and the young girl perked up,

“Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to know how to do calligraphy! Could you show me?” With a fresh piece of paper, my mentor showed the girl how to write her name, letter by letter. I sat back and watched the two them. It was so peaceful that for moment I forgot that we were in a mental ward. It felt like we were lifted away from all that, it was just us and art. I wondered if it was like that for this girl too. When our time was over the girl got up to leave, thanking us profusely. In one of her art pieces she had written a poem in Calligraphy, so we asked if she wanted to stick it to the wall. “Okay…” she said as she taped it. “This will be a nice thing to read for the other people who come through here!” She pronounced. Indeed, it was, long after she left I’d find patients looking up at her art stuck to the wall.

In the public ward I met two people who later ended up doing a longer stay in private together. These two had a great dynamic, it made me want to write a tv series about the realistic life inside a mental ward. Except instead of being sombre it would be cynical, intelligent and funny. They both had a wicked sense of humour and I couldn’t help but enjoy being around them. She was a short haired well-read feminist and he was a blonde-haired well travelled surfer dude. They were both in their early twenties and the only thing they really had in common was the fact that they were both in a mental ward together. I enjoyed seeing them because they were open to new ideas and genuinely wanted to get better. On the first day I met them, we did an art session around which animal they identify with and why. The girl chose a crayfish, of all things, because she thought they were cute and used to have one as a pet. The guy chose an elephant for intelligence, strength and for the loyalty he wished he had, but didn’t. I’d read in his notes that he was schizophrenic and believed his mum was a secret spy out to kill him. I had to re-read the name and case notes to make sure it was the same guy; it was like he was a totally different person in front of me.

The experience of working in a mental ward caused me look at people in a different light. Being in that hospital was like getting a glimpse of the underbelly of human existence, the part that society hides away in fear. Yet being with people at their lowest allowed me to see them beyond all the masks and superficialness of life. They showed up in blinding vulnerability, and I couldn’t help but love them for it. Their rawness and authenticity was just so beautiful. It felt like they revealed their soul to me and it was like watching diamonds glimmering in the sun. It’s so rare, but so wonderful to see.

The most important thing I learned was that things don’t necessarily need to be grand and extravagant in order to make an impact. Often it’s the littlest things that make a difference. I now see the value of one small moment. One pause of silence, one paint stroke across a blank page. It’s the little moments, after all, that add up to one life. It’s those little moments that count.