Frazzled? FLOAT stress! away your
They were a New Age craze — but today’s flotation tanks are being hailed as the ultimate digital detox
For a moment, I feel like an astronaut, tumbling through outer space. It’s warm and dark, and I’m floating weightless, adrift in the universe. The image in my head, as I swirl in the black nothingness, is of Sandra Bullock in the film Gravity, turning head over heels, through infinity.
Actually, I’m buoyed up in a tiny shallow pool of very salty water at Floatworks in South London.
Developed in the Fifties by a neuroscientist to investigate how sensory deprivation affects consciousness, the flotation tank has been a niche trend among New-Agers for decades. Now, however, it’s been updated for the 21st century, with an A-list following that includes Elle Macpherson, and actress Naomie Harris.
Scientists, meanwhile, are researching what happens to our brains while we float, as data suggests that flotation has the same effect as some anti-anxiety drugs and could even be used as an alternative.
As I daydream in my private pod, the sensation is so wondrous, I’m astonished it’s taken the rest of us so long to cotton on. In this era of relentless information, smartphone addiction and 24-hour news, floating is a glorious way to switch off.
on arrival, I leave my shoes at reception, and pad upstairs to a ‘chill-out’ room boasting squashy sofas and herbal tea. The guest book bodes well: ‘Such a beautiful tranquil float today. Thoughts included Hampton Court, Hampstead Heath, dancing and space travel.’ Another message reads, ‘Goodbye Theresa, Jeremy et al, goodbye News at Ten . . . for a while at least.’
rave reviews chime with the reported benefits of floating. In a 2014 study, in the BMC Complementary and Alternative Medicine journal, 14 men and 51 women took part in a seven-week programme incorporating 12 flotation sessions.
PArTICIpANTS’ stress, depression, anxiety and pain significantly decreased while their optimism and sleep quality significantly increased.
I’m shown to my private float room. It’s spotless, with a large shower, and semi-dark, so far, so calming. The flotation pod — 8ft 6in long by 5ft 6in — is white, lit fluorescent blue, and has a pull-down lid. I’m given pliable earplugs. I shower, change into my swimsuit, and step in. The water is comfortingly set at skin-temperature 35.5c, and gentle music heralds the start of the session.
The water contains 525kg ( 1,157lb) of magnesium- rich Epsom salts, and I’m instantly buoyed up. I turn off the light, and am immersed in warm, silky darkness. It’s disorientating being deprived of sense of sight and sound. I can’t feel the water, it’s as if I’m suspended in a vast emptiness. I feel cool air on my legs and chest, which detracts from the cosiness, so I pull down the hatch. There’s a cossetting warmth.
I can imagine that for many, this is a vital part of the experience, but the fear of being shut in a small space overwhelms me, and I fling the lid open.
Gently held by the water, acclimatising to the curious, delightful novelty of weightlessness, I realise how tense I am. It requires deliberate effort to release every muscle. I slowly let go, allow the water to support me fully, until only my face is above the surface.
My natural floating position turns out to be similar to a baby sleeping on its back, arms bent, hands up by my head. My motherin-law, a fan of floating, says: ‘It feels like the most natural thing, and I wonder whether it has its roots deep in the subconscious. It’s like being in the womb.’
It certainly feels meaningful and profound. You reach a state of bliss. Total detachment. I feel free enough to slip out of my costume. relax the body, the mind follows.
As I stepped into the pod, I was feeling irritable. But as I float, the physical peace relaxes my mind. Time warps and I’m disappointed when the music gently swells, notifying me that my session ends in five minutes. I had worried that I’d be bored, but I relished every moment and leave my cocoon with reluctance.
I still feel as if I’m floating. The effect is of a massage and meditation combined. The sensation persists, and I don’t re-engage with the real, frenetic world again for the rest of the day.
After my session, I chat to the co-founder of Floatworks, Chris plowman, 32. He worked in banking for eight years, but it was wearing him down. ‘I was dreading going to work. Eventually that takes it toll,’ he says. ‘Towards the end, I was in and out of hospital with stress and anxiety.’
He then suffered a back injury which required surgery. His physiotherapist suggested he try floating to help him relax.
‘I came out feeling euphoric. I realised how powerful it was,’ he says. Though it helped his back pain, ‘The key, for me was being able to switch off from all technology, from all anxiety, and reconnect with myself, and be present.’
He and his friend Ed Hawley, 32, quit their jobs and re-launched Floatworks in 2016. The company had been around since the Nineties and had a cult following, but Chris and Ed aim to make floating a mainstream practice in the UK.
As Chris found, at a time when we relentlessly communicate by social media and constantly absorb information, it’s essential for our mental health to escape.
Ten thousand people float with them each year and there’s a waiting list. Happily the UK has plenty of options for flotation — go to floatationlocations.com.
The night after my float, I’m aware of the leaden weight of my body on the bed, and areas of tension. I try to relax fully and recreate that magical state. My limbs still feel loose and I sleep deeply.
I’m not sure I want to return to the womb. But I’m surprised how much I crave that extraordinary sense of peace, quiet and weightlessness. I’ll be back. floatworks.com. Single 1-hour float, £50. 3-float package, £105.