Why a daily dose of calm BEST is the medicine
I’m abundantly aware that Anthony is not Ottilie’s father — and so is he — but being the three of us together makes my soul soar
Meditation is known to be useful for reducing stress and improving mental health — but did you realise it can also help you beat disease?
Mindfulness is a way of focusing your attention on being in the moment — aware of your thoughts and anxieties but not engaging with them. Both Clare and i practise mindful meditation, and my sister, Susie, teaches it at the oxford Mindfulness Centre, so we’re a family of believers!
and there’s plenty of science to show it can have a big impact on your physical as well as your mental health — in particular by reducing blood sugar levels and inflammation, which lie at the root of many diseases.
that’s why i recommend trying mindfulness meditation as part of the Fast 800 programme.
So let’s take a look at how a short morning meditation could help you in your quest f or a healthier, happier 2021.
Many of us, s, now more than ever, are living inn a state of stress. .
Being physically or emotionally stressed triggers the so-called ‘fight or flight’ ’ response, causing your body to release stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol.
these pull glucose helping into the blood, you to stay alert and energised — vital for survival, as our cave man ancestors found.
But the low-level stream of stress many of us encounter in modern life can mean our bodies are continuously releasing adrenaline or cortisol — hormones that can cause problems for blood sugar levels and people with type 2 diabetes. this is because adrenaline cortisol make it harder for insulin, another hormone, to do its job and bring blood sugar levels down. over time, you can develop insulin resistance, when your cells stop responding to it, so your pancreas has to produce ever larger amounts of insulin. Having constantly raised insulin levels will not only make you hungry and put you at greater risk of type 2 diabetes, but it is also linked to an increased risk of cancer.
other symptoms of stress — such as increased heart rate — cause further damage to blood vessels and arteries, raising blood pressure and increasing the risk of heart attack and stroke. By taking steps to manage stress, you are lowering your risk of serious health problems.
and if you already have health problems, meditation can help.
it’s been shown, for instance, to lower blood pressure and slow heart rate.
Here are some of our favourite ways to incorporate some mindful moments into your new life.
Set aside 20 minutes in the morning for a guided meditation. (the Fast 800 online programme has a collection of meditations and mindfulness guides f or members, see thefast800.com; and you’ll find free apps online.)
Sit with your eyes closed. Pay attention to the sensation of the breath through your nostrils, filling your chest, expanding your diaphragm, then gently breathing out again. if your mind wanders, gently pull your thoughts back to your breath. You may find it hard at first but persist. try to keep it up for three to five minutes.
Go For a walk — at least 20 minutes outdoors if possible (in the morning) to take advantage of daylight that will regulate your internal body clock, helping you sleep better at night.
Leave your phone at home so you can focus on your surroundings, what you can see, smell, hear and feel. Science has found walking can reduce anxiety and the physical symptoms associated with stress.
at ruined Cathar castles and tried t o push open t he doors of medieval churches.
On the very first day, when we stopped for lunch, he had asked me if I had wanted to have children. ‘I know that you know,’ I said and I looked at him directly.
Blushing, he began asking a torrent of questions. ‘I think you’re heroic,’ he said, when I’d finished explaining. ‘I don’t feel heroic,’ I answered. ‘I feel sick.’
I had suffered from car sickness from early on in my childhood. Being pregnant in the Pyrenees, it was even worse. So when Anthony drove around mountain bends slowly, for the sake of my heaving stomach, I was very grateful. When he stepped in front of me, as I slid down some scree on a hillside, I thought him a very nice man.
And when he offered to drive me to the airport, when he wasn’t going there himself, I suspected that he might be thinking I was quite nice, too.
For a week we had done nothing but walk and talk. Now, on our last car journey together, we fell silent, not knowing what to say.
‘It would be a pity,’ he said eventually, ‘if we lost touch.’ And I agreed. Then he dropped me off and drove off into the night, leaving me feeling his absence, but sending a flurry of messages only a few hours later, as I knew he would.
It soon transpired that he was not at all put off by my pregnancy. In fact, far from it. He had been married, very happily, for 25 years when his wife died unexpectedly from a heart condition.
Now, nine years later, at the age of 63, he was rattling about, on his own, in a seven-bedroom house in Wiltshire, falling asleep in front of the 10 o’clock news and wondering what to do with his life.
A father to four children, aged between 26 and 31, the prospect of adding another was one he positively welcomed. He liked the idea of filling his house back up with family. And the fact my child would be a similar age to his three grandchildren (all under three) made it even better.
Almost at once, he told his family about me and my baby and, though taken aback, they were unfailingly supportive.
My preference was to get to know each other slowly, meeting up occasionally for nice outings and spending plenty of time with one another’s friends and family.
But that wasn’t what happened. Within a month, the country had descended into lockdown — forcing new couples to stay together or stay apart. The prospect of being together, having only met a few weeks earlier, seemed preposterous. But it was that or nothing, and we both felt ‘to hell with it, let’s go for it’.
So we did — first in Wiltshire and then at my home in London. And slowly, we started to come together as a couple. We shared experiences. Saw each other at our weakest point and lowest ebb. Looked for solutions and found compromises. And, most importantly, wanted, and kept trying, to make things work.
Meanwhile, my stomach was burgeoning, my breasts were engorging, a baby girl was growing within me and I was beginning to panic about giving birth.
The new restrictions meant I was allowed only one person with me when I was in active labour. Who should that be? My mother? A friend? A doula (who helps women when t hey’re gi vi ng birth)? Or Anthony?
For months, I debated the options. But, in the end, the answer was clear. It was Anthony who had consistently supported my choices about how and when I would give birth. It was Anthony who had sat through lengthy Zoom sessions about hypnobirthing, doing his best to tell me to ‘be calm and relaxed’ when I was anything but, and driving me to the local hospital, at three in the morning, when I became worried it had been too long since I had felt the baby kick.
Finally, at the end of August, my time came. For two nights, I stayed at my home in London, suffering contractions. On the third night, the exhaustion and pain began to overwhelm me and we went to St Mary’s in Paddington.
For two days we waited in our birthing suite, and on the third day she came. Not in a rush. Not in a haze of medication. But in an agony of un-medicated pushing, with four midwives holding up my legs and Anthony joining them, egging me on.
‘Would you like to hold her?’ they asked me, and I retorted ‘No’. Nothing had prepared me f or such pain. And no one had told me that after pushing out her head, I would have to push again to free her shoulders.
But seconds later, I had changed my mind, and, then, there we lay, mother and baby — slimy, sweaty, exhausted but happy.
Thanks to lockdown, I’d told very few people I was pregnant. Now, though, I wanted everyone to see my gorgeous baby — and I didn’t care a jot how she had come about.
Anthony held Ottilie skin to skin on the night she was born, with an expression of the utmost tenderness on his face. Now he sits up, half asleep, to keep me company during night-time feeds. Changing her nappies, bathing her and singing her songs, he’s shown nothing but love and dedication to us both from that very first day.
Of course, I’m abundantly aware that he is not her father and so is he. I refer to him as ‘Anthony’ and he calls Ottilie ‘my girlfriend’s baby’ and sometimes I do find that upsetting.
But the truth is as it is: Anthony has his own children and Ottilie has her own father, and I wouldn’t want to deny the significance of that for either.
What the future holds for me and Anthony and for Anthony and Ottilie we can’t yet know. But what I do know is that I never imagined this could happen.
Gone are all my feelings of self- loathing and desolation. My heart is full of love and my soul soars with delight. Being a mother to Ottilie is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Being the three of us, together, makes me happy and content.
‘Present ecstasies thrive on the very anguish of the past,’ wrote t he Oxford poet Elizabeth Jennings. As far as I’m concerned, she was right.
ANTHONY’S STORY:
‘COME and stay with us in the Pyrenees — it’ll be great fun!’ A throw-away invitation, accepted on a whim. After all, I had never been to the Pyrenees, so why not? I arrived at night to join the party — late for dinner but in time to spot a girl with a flash of white hair and a welcoming smile. So I met Blanche.
It was a skiing week, which suited neither Blanche nor myself. I had a car, so we were paired off to look after ourselves. We both like walking, and after walking there were restaurants to be enjoyed. And we talked.
The more we talked, the more there was to talk about. We discussed her pregnancy: the anonymous donor father, the relationships and disappointments along the way.
Blanche asked me about my 25- year marriage, which had unexpectedly ended nine years before with my wife’s sudden death. What was being a widower like? What had been my relationships and disappointments? My four children: what did they do, how had they coped?
Given our age difference, I never thought this might lead to a relationship. But at the end of the week, I realised I was going to miss Blanche and the intimacy of these conversations. Five days with someone who is intelligent, attractive and apparently interested in you is a rare gift.
On the evening drive to the airport she played me Lauridsen’s O Magnum Mysterium. I played it on repeat after dropping her off. Also repeating in my head was the promise that we should see each other again.
Lockdown began and initially we were apart, reading our favourite books to each other, emailing daily recordings: Blanche read Strange Meeting by Susan Hill, while I chose The Betrothed by Alessandro Manzoni. I was wryly amused by the aptness of the titles.
We then decided to spend our time together. Blanche’s pregnancy was now obvious and one f ri end warned that I didn’t appreciate the commitment I was taking on.
But it was exactly that commitment which appealed to me. I had had a happy marriage and I love my children: I know both the challenges and the rewards.
Blanche’s decision to have a baby had always struck me as brave and impressive. The fact that the baby’s father was an anonymous donor created space for me to have a significant role in her life. I was very moved when Blanche asked me to be there for Ottilie’s birth.
Holding Ottilie for the first time I f elt emotional and rather stunned. It is incredible to think how far we have travelled since our meeting in the Pyrenees less than a year ago.
Ottilie adds a creative dimension to our relationship: as she grows, our relationship grows too. My hope is in my future with Blanche, and a future for Ottilie within my family. I look forward to that.
As we started as a couple, my stomach was burgeoning, a baby girl growing within me