My day of non-doing

Over a year ago, a friend of a friend recommended a book to me. It's a large book, which I have been dipping in and out of for the past 9 months, called Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zin. In it, the idea of non-doing, which is found in more than one eastern culture, is promoted as a healthy way to prevent stress build up and help us manage the 'full catastrophe' of modern life.

image: http://myunblock.com/

We live extremely busy lives. Everything has to be instant, our brains are always switched on. We're checking emails, waiting for that text from so-and-so to confirm plans for the weekend, wondering what to have for dinner, watching TV, solving problems...It's no wonder more and more of us are finding it hard to switch off.

Depression makes this worse. I spent most of August 2014 trying to work myself into oblivion, because work was the one thing that stopped me thinking. Thinking was destroying me. Every time I had chance to relax, my brain would start telling me, within minutes, that I'm worthless, that no-one liked me and how could they, when I was such a terrible person? I didn't try hard enough, I wasn't kind enough, what's wrong with me? So I worked, and worked to distract myself. And you can guess how healthy that was.

Non-doing

So, finding myself unexpectedly with nothing to do yesterday, I decided to follow some of Prof. Kabat-Zin's advice and consciously do nothing. I don't mean by this that I sat on the sofa watching TV and eating ice cream, nor do I mean I looked at a wall for 6 hours. Rather, I took the time to really pay attention to my body, my thoughts, my actions.

image: http://www.totallypresent.com/

I had a cup of green tea and took the time to taste every mouthful, feel the warmth of the liquid and the tannins, smell the lemon. I paid attention to the feel of the carpet on my feet as I walked about. I meditated, spending time noticing the areas of tension in my muscles and allowing myself to relax. I did a spot of yoga, again focusing on how each stretch and twist felt. And I slept when my brain told me it needed sleep.

What was the point of all this? It slowed my mind down. I am, by nature, an over-thinker with a very active brain. Gently guiding my thoughts into the present moment and curbing the impulse to distract myself was hugely liberating. I did very little all day, and had a really, really, good day. I felt nurtured, restored. I realised how important it is to make that time to switch off from screens and demands and impulses, and just be.

The next challenge is remembering how good it is, and making time for it more often...

Don't look at me

Today is a 'don't look at me' day. I don't, thankfully, have these too often anymore, but today I am avoiding the gaze of the world as far as possible.

Not so long ago every day was a 'don't look at me' day. It's not uncommon in people with depression. Some have a more extreme version - body dysmorphia - that skews their whole perception of how they look and is an incredibly painful, difficult thing to deal with both for the sufferer and those who love them. Me, I just didn't like what was there.

Not liking yourself or the way you look is tough. Most people experience it to a greater or lesser degree, and I'm not above saying that I think the media and society are accountable at least in part for that. We are told every day, explicitly or implicitly, how we would look, or be, if we were 'real' women or 'real' men. One of my biggest issues with not liking how I looked, however, came from my peers. Because 5'10", size 8 blondes have absolutely no business feeling crappy about themselves, right? Other girls would kill for my physique, my hair, my height. I was even told that by a GP once.

So this is how it would go. I would get up in the morning and try not to look in the bathroom mirror as I undressed to have a shower. I would look at my skinny figure and feel disgusted, because my ribs show when I stretch and there are visible blue veins on the backs of my knees. I'd cry, feeling like a malnourished child. To this day I want to slap anyone who claims that 'real' women have curves.

In order to apply make up, one has to look at one's face. This too I hated, because I have a skin condition called rosacea, which makes my skin dry and red, and has left little scars across my cheeks. (You wouldn't believe how much I've spent on trying to mitigate that). So, diligently covering it all up, I'd repeat 'I hate my face, I hate my face' and wish that just once I could see something other than the cluster of imperfections that looked back at me from the mirror.

And then I'd go to work and pretend that my insecurity about my size, my shape, my face wasn't eating me up. Because I wasn't worthy of that insecurity. How dare I, when other people would kill for this?

My point is, dealing with the issue in the first place is hard enough, but dealing with other people's opinions or judgement around that issue makes it ten times worse. We are not meant to look any other way than we are. Therapy and medication (and a few dates) helped me to finally feel comfortable with the way I look. But attitudes still need to change.

Today is a 'don't look at me' day because I'm tired, and I forgot to take my meds, and I haven't had a haircut for three months, or a colour for six months.

I am not ugly because I have rosacea.

'Real' women do not have curves.

Real women have short hair, or long hair, or something in between. Real women are curvy, or slim, or not quite either, and have big boobs or small ones. Real women have muscles. Oh, a six pack isn't feminine? Tell that to Jess Ennis-Hill.

All women are real women, and we are entitled to our insecurities just as we are entitled to look however we choose to. The same goes for men. Dressing well and not liking football does not make a man any less masculine.

It's time we nurtured a culture of acceptance rather than one of judgement. It may just make us all a little happier.


Drawing: 'Don't Look at Me' by Opfinger on DeviantArt.

The city and the rainbow

It begins with pancakes and honey. Well, it does for Amanda and me. For Dave it's more the other way round - a lot of honey with a side of pancakes. We are all feeling more rested and chatter over breakfast about how most of Dave's photos so far have been selfies and flowers. Make of that what you will.

We pack up and walk to the station to catch the train to the start of the final day's trek. Waiting for the 7.30 train with us are a few kids in blue uniforms heading to school. Education is really valued in Peru - the schools are easy to spot because they're brightly coloured and clearly cost a lot more to build than the houses. We board the train and gaze out of the window at the Urubamba as we follow it towards Machu Picchu. Thanks to a dodgy table I end up with orange juice in my lap not 15 minutes into the journey, and spend the rest of it mopping up and feeling wet and slightly irritated.

We hop off seemingly in the middle of nowhere and begin to climb again, heading up to join the Inca Trail. We are much lower here, and it's lush with rainforest. We take our minds off our aching limbs by pointing out wild orchids and beautiful butterflies. In Peru, the name for orchids is Winaywayna and means 'forever young'.

We pause at an Inca settlement, an outpost where traders would stop to eat and sleep between Machu Picchu and Cusco. Elkin explains the features of the ruins: where people slept and where the food was stored; what the little niches in the walls were for; how to identify the original stonework from that which has been reconstructed. From there we continue our ascent, which is easier thanks to the past few days' practise and the lower altitude, but still hard going as there are a lot of steps.

We are heading to the second of three Inca farming and storage bases, also named Winaywayna. Each is positioned at a different altitude, enabling the people to cultivate different crops. We cross a bridge where a waterfall tumbles over the rocks and flows out through the forest. Dave and I take the opportunity to dip our fingers into the cold, clear water and snap some photos. It's here that my SD card runs out, and Dave is kind enough to lend me one of his for the rest of the journey.

We arrive at Winaywayna, which to my utter delight has wild llamas pottering about on the stepped terraces. I am so excited that Amanda declares, "Charli's having a llamagasm". I am not ashamed, they're fabulous creatures with their slightly haughty look. I wander onto a terrace to see if one of them is friendly, and Amanda manages, somehow to achieve this photographic gold:

Llama antics over, we head on towards Machu Picchu. The steps are rough on Amanda, whose thighs are still giving her grief, and it's with some sheepishness that I admit we were overtaken by a pack of sprightly American tourists in their seventies as we struggled with the steps. To add insult to injury, we realise too late that we should've been more liberal with the insect repellent - we are covered in black fly bites which itch like crazy. I've also come out in a rotten cold and am blowing my nose every 10 minutes.

We break for something to eat by some more ruins, where there's a long drop into the valley. Dave jokes about me not throwing myself over, to which I respond jovially, "Just cos I'm depressed, doesn't mean I'm suicidal!" It's a light-hearted comment, but a pertinent one. Many people seem to think there's no scale of depression, that having the illness automatically makes you a suicide risk, and it simply isn't true. Even on the worst days I never wanted to kill myself and I am far, far too chicken to try.

Further on, we come to a place where we can see Machu Picchu. As we take our first proper look at the city, a rainbow appears, arcing over the valley to our right. It's a magical moment, standing on a rocky ledge with the end of our journey in sight and a rainbow promising hope. There's an American girl travelling solo who shares it with us and it dawns on me that soon we will be looking at Machu Picchu up close.

The rain has stopped by the time we arrive. We pass the Sungate, but don't stay long as it's thick with tourists and doesn't compare to the one we encountered earlier in the trip. Instead we continue on, descending towards the city.

And then there it is, this magnificent, abandoned realm, nestling in the shadow of Huayna Picchu. We take a minute to take in the sight, and what we have just achieved. I have seen this image so many times on the internet that it seems strange to be looking at it for real. I allow myself to just be, to fully experience this moment before we don our charity T-shirts for some pictures. Standing together with Amanda and Dave for a photo I feel like I'm part of their family - we have been through so many highs and lows together over the past week. And our journey, which has been so much more than these five days of trekking, is finally at an end.