A happy place
An emotional crisis forced Kay Hutchison to flee a French holiday and seek help in alternative remedies. Now 61, she reveals how she eventually found inner peace
When author Kay Hutchinson reached crisis point, she tried 37 therapies to find her inner calm
It all started one morning, holidaying on the French riviera. I wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, I felt out of place somehow. I turned to my dear husband and told him had to leave. I didn’t even know why. Everything suddenly seemed pointless. All the fancy holidays, the career stuff, the relentless effort. (I used to work in radio and television and had senior roles at the BBC, Disney, Channel 4 and Channel 5.) I simply needed to get away and be on my own. To breathe. I left him there and then, half-eaten croissant in hand and went to catch the first flight home.
I started to look for a flat to rent. I saw my GP who sent me straight for tests, wondering if there was something medically wrong. Or had it been the shock of my mother’s death followed soon after by the discovery of my husband’s cancer? I remember endless rounds of chemo and radiotherapy, rushing home from work to care for him, making sure he ate the right foods, that I was there to support him.
The fear and worry stayed long after he recovered. It changes you. We were both different and our carefree lives were now a thing of the past.
I had some counselling. At first it only made me question myself even more. Sleeping became difficult, my nerves were playing up, so I went for a massage with soothing aromatherapy oils and
that calmed me down. I went for homeopathy. I started asking friends about reiki energy healing, acupuncture, cupping and more.
I tried them all – and one thing led to another. I went on a yoga retreat. That led to astrology. One of the girls was a professional and with just my date and time of birth, she was able to uncover surprisingly accurate details about my childhood and current relationship issues. She said my chart showed that although the path wouldn’t be easy and it would be some years before the turmoil would end, a more fulfilling time was coming.
I started reading up on ways to help myself, too. I began using positive affirmations. I repeatedly told myself I was fitter, slimmer and happier. I’m not joking. I lost weight quickly, started eating healthy foods and people told me how cheery I was or said, ‘You always see the positive in things, Kay.’
On retreats I met new people. I wasn’t alone. I tried my hand at creative writing – and that eventually led me to publishing a book about my father’s life
– and over time a new way of life gradually started to emerge.
I kept on discovering more therapies – detox retreats, Ayurvedic retreats, past-life regression, sonic therapy, numerology, whirling dervish dancing, quantum therapy, even a shamanic trip to Egypt, sleeping under the stars in the Sahara and meditating in the King’s Chamber, right at the centre of the Great Pyramid of Giza. In all I counted 37 different therapies over a period of six years. Each of them helped me through. One of the first – and best – therapies I tried was a silent retreat. It sounded exotic.
Would it be a fun holiday?
Could I keep quiet for more than a few minutes? How would I cope with 10 days of silence over Christmas? My father’s card arrived just before I set off. ‘Christmas without wee Kay, I can’t believe it.’ That made me feel guilty. Still, I needed this. For me. To sort some things out in my mind.
A good friend at yoga said it was right up my street, as she knew I was always open to new experiences. As usual, I hadn’t done my homework. Would it be run by some weird sect? Would it be religious, like being a nun in a convent, or just a chance to spend time away from the Christmas chaos with some peace and quiet to myself? No idea.
It wasn’t quite what I expected. First off, it was in Norfolk, lovely but not especially exotic. And, as the taxi driver did a three-point turn and started driving away from the town with its tempting smells of fish and chips, I realised the pretty seaside escape I’d been looking forward to was not to be.
A few minutes later we turned on to a muddy driveway and stopped in front of some large brown huts. It was a children’s outdoor adventure centre. There were 50 of us, all women, and for the next 10 days we slept on bunk beds, six to a ‘room’.
We rose at 4am each day, immediately dashing (as politely as we could) to be first into the single bathroom that we shared. The rest of the time was about meditation, sitting together in silence, cross-legged in a hot hall, rain lashing outside, focusing all our attention on the tiny sensations of blood flowing around our bodies. Most days we meditated for 10 to 11 hours.
When we were occasionally let outside for a break and some fresh air, we paced around the 15 square metre roped-off area. It had a couple of fir trees, a Buddha and a tiny turquoise plastic pagoda. We just stared at the ground or up at the sky or at people’s feet (we were told not
“Everything seemed pointless. All the fancy holidays, the career stuff, the relentless effort”
to look at anyone to discourage communication of any kind).
At mealtimes we ate lots of vegetables and fruit and even in the communal dining room the only sounds you could hear were people shuffling about, herby teas being poured from a giant urn, cutlery or the gentle splashing of soapy water in a basin we used to wash our dishes.
Some people disappeared after a couple of days. The meat eaters perhaps? Who knew? We didn’t talk so there was no way to find out.
I’d been trying quite a lot of therapies to see if any of them could help me, but this was taking things a lot further. I was hoping it might help sort out the growing mess of my life.
Although it sometimes felt like purgatory, the silent retreat was a wonderful experience for me.
As I sat down that Christmas for ‘dinner’ – an apple and an orange – I thought how amazing it was that I had managed to keep going. I got through it and in fact enjoyed it, too. I realised just how much my thinking had shifted. I’d relaxed and slowed down. My mind had stopped over-functioning. I could clearly see the benefits of simple food, not eating too much, eating more slowly and what’s best for the body. And I now knew how to switch off when I needed to, to take a pause or rest when things got too much.
The silent retreat gave me a fresh start.
Today, I’m more settled. Now
I run my own publishing business, have a happy home life and, despite everything, still have a good relationship with my former husband. There is more balance to my life and though it may have been challenging at times, I’m grateful for what happened and can look forward to the future, whatever it brings.”