So lovely. So true. So freaking difficult!


If you are struggling to see past the red crosses you have drawn all over yourself and self-love is this mysterious thing other people seem able to adopt and then apply but which you (no matter how hard you try – and you really do try hard) just can’t seem to be able to implement…

Forgive yourself.

It’s not something that happens overnight.

Neither is it something that comes from a place of punishment and guilt. So…

Stop beating yourself up.

And stop judging your insides against the outsides of others. Their insides are mixed up too. And most of them have issues with their outsides, no matter what you in your ‘not knowing’, in your ‘separateness’ from them, perceive. They’re only together, ‘fixed’, ‘sussed’, on the right spiritual/life path… because you, in your ignorance of their authentic truth, their blueprint reality, are attributing that quality to them. You’ve literally shone a halo over their head. And it’s beautiful and it’s bright. But in their mind’s eye (and that’s the eye that’s important), it’s not there, it’s not even remotely visible. In fact, if you were to ask them and find them willing to share, they would tell you that actually they’re scared, they’re stressed; they’re angry, depressed, sick, aching, damaged, battered and bruised. Because viewed in that light, none of us escape unscathed.

But who says injury is a bad thing?

And why does an outbreak of eczema or acne, a large birthmark, a scar, a burn, etc., make us any the less beautiful, any the less acceptable to the world?

And do we have to wear make-up; have clean, styled, freshly-washed hair, don tight bodies and fashionable clothes, in order to be deemed worthy to ourselves and our colleagues, our friends and family? No, it’s ridiculous.
Animals love themselves exactly as they are. They don’t even question it.

Babies and children too.

Watch a child. See how they treat themselves, the love they demonstrate.

They don’t see faults, flaws. They don’t look in the mirror and grimace, turn from their reflection when passing shop windows, apologise hundreds of times each day for their behaviour, their lack.

When they are in pain, they demand immediate attention.

And when they play, there’s no “you go first” or “it’s ok you hurt me… I don’t mind”. They protest. They stand up for their rights. They know who is supposed to come first and they make sure that in every given moment, encountered situation, received experience, that that person does.
Now, I’m not suggesting that we all start acting like two-year-olds or that we forget about kindness to others and consideration and care. These are important too.

What I’m saying is that somewhere in the process of growing up, we sort of lost ourselves and forgot that we need to be treated with respect. And that that respect ought to come from inside first before we even attempt to find it outside of ourselves. Because outside is, essentially, external, separate; subject to mood, location, season and whim. We need to have a firm, stable centre; foundations to draw from, to act from, to sit upon… before we start collecting people and things, adding them to what lights us up.
Acceptance and compassion (i.e. self-love) are all about learning to hold the space and to embrace yourself exactly as you are in any given moment or situation. Yes, that means loving the lesser as much as the better hair days. And treating the belly aches, back aches, headaches, foot aches, arm aches, breaks and sprains; psoriasis, eczema, acne, dry patches, wrinkles, shadows, creases and lines, and all of the other various nefarious illnesses, ailments, injuries and perceived misdemeanours – that, irritatingly (although I won’t judge), seem to multiply over the years – with care. By this, I mean tuning into the body-part or area in which we are experiencing discomfort: feeling it, seeing it, sensing it from inside. And then attempting to commune with it, striking up a conversation, building a relationship.

• What does it look like?
• What does it sound like?
• What does it want to say?

Finding out as much as we can so that we can get to know it, not just as a part of ourselves, but as a part in its own right.

For example: a spot might be telling us numerous things. That we are allergic to something in our diet or environment. That we need a good night’s sleep. That we would benefit from more exercise. That we are unhappy in our relationship. That we are stressed at work, etc.

And what about neck pain? What are we refusing to see? What won’t we turn and look at – thereby avoiding and, knowingly or unknowingly, allowing to dominate our lives…?

Every perceived problem is actually a communication, a message from our bodies, begging us to slow down, go inside, stop and listen.

And by learning to listen, we not only develop a much better relationship to ourselves; we improve all of our other relationships too. Our relationship to our life. Our relationship to the people around us. Our relationship to our job…
So, next time you’re beating yourself up:

• take a moment to stop and listen
• find a quiet space
• close your eyes
• put on some relaxing music
• hold where it hurts

– or where you think it (the discomfort, the thing you are ‘right-now’ hating, resisting in the moment; the thing that is perceived as a burden) is coming from.

• sense it
• see it
• feel it
• listen

And as you are listening, ask not “why are you doing this to me?” but “why are you doing this for me?”, “what do you have to say?”. And know that the answer is important, no matter what it is.

Because the truth is that:

Your insides can’t lie to you like your outside can.

Be brave. Be strong. Be reliable.

Instead of rejecting yourself, show up.

And when you do, be accepting and compassionate. Treat yourself as you would treat a plant or a small child. Get to know yourself all over again. And from that place plant many seeds that – with love and attention, with kindness and consideration – will grow.

Open. Unfold. Spread out and unpack. Expand, develop and communicate. Commence. Initiate. Set in motion. Set up. Raise the curtain and – when you are good and ready but not when you are too late, when you are in the here and now not in the goodbye – proudly step out to embrace and meet. 

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

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I believe in fairies

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It is said that every time you say ‘there’s no such thing as fairies’, a fairy dies. And so it’s not something I’ve ever done. But I’m not sure either if I’ve ever really believed, not since I was a child and believing in magical things was easy, just part of the course, as natural as walking and sleeping and breathing. In fact, back then, it would have been an effort not to believe, because I was a dreamy child and I have always had a vivid imagination.

But as I got older and my life turned outwards, things like fairies and Santa Claus and magic and miracles fell off. It happens to all of us. It’s part of growing up. A sad fact of life that only a few of us escape.

I continued to love fairies. Angels too, but in a distant, only half-aware kind of way. I might turn to my guardian angel every so often to help me to get past something, to heal me in ways where I was stuck. But I was more likely to turn to God and ask for his forgiveness and love.

Until recently, that is… when I woke up.

Since then, the magic has filtered into my life in delicate streams, small amounts that fit me ‘just right’; amounts that are knowing and gentle, respectful and kind. Some simply see, waking overnight, shutting their eyes to one world and opening them to another. I have slowly had the blindfold removed and I am still unveiling.

Today is one of those days when I experienced a shift, one of several large ones when something remarkable happened, something so impossible, so undeniable, so inexplicable otherwise, it could only be a miracle.

I have a bracelet that is very dear to me. It symbolises many things. And each time I wear it and look at it: I find peace and stability and reassurance and strength. It’s a talisman, each individual bead, each crystal, chosen for its reason and meaning, its inherent properties; its power further heightened by the symbols I’ve placed into it. So when I woke this morning and its absence was felt, I went into panic. How could this be? How could this happen? There was no logic. The clasp is secure. I wear it carefully, I don’t take it off. And yet… here it was: missing, no longer resident on my arm.

I scoured the apartment. I searched high and low. I turned out drawers and looked inside pillow cases and underneath beds. I was distraught. A new one wouldn’t hold half of the meaning or symbolism this one did. It wouldn’t have travelled nearly as far. It would be a replica and thereby impotent. The thought was distasteful to me. I’d rather be without than with alien, with fraud.

After an hour, I gave up: reality setting in. I was tired yesterday, out of sorts. I must have lost it while out shopping, the bags on my arm unclipping the clasp. I must have then not noticed it all afternoon and all evening. I must have slept not noticing it still. I was distracted, desensitised. And, anyway… it’s so much a part of me, I no longer feel it. It just is until it is not.

I concluded that it was gone, that someone had found and taken it, that a stranger had chanced upon an unexpected gift. I buried my head in distraction, surrendering myself to the process of grief.

But there was one thing I did that was different, that was unexpected and new. I went to my bookcase, I selected a book, I looked up lost objects and I called upon Chamuel and asked him to help me. For Chamuel is the archangel of finding lost objects and so, in my newly awakened state, referring to him was the next logical step. But I was doubtful. I’ve asked for feathers and coins as proof of existence before and come up short. In fact, I haven’t seen a feather in months. Maybe that’s a sign in itself? You see, there’s this resistance, this reluctance to bother something so mighty and powerful, so divine, with something as trivial as me. And asking for feathers and coins, just really isn’t my thing. I’d prefer to wait for the big one: helping a loved one, healing a bone, overcoming a really big block. But I have been wanting something more tangible, more solid than the flickers of light that appear just outside my vision and the inexplicable smells that suddenly appear, and the strange noises I hear in certain places and the visions that come unbidden and the things that I know with such surety, such clarity, they can only have come from elsewhere. So I asked. And then I let go and left it there, trusting to the Universe and the grace of things I cannot see but which I am increasingly aware of and gradually more certain.

And I was leaving it, accepting it and letting it, until I suddenly had this urge to go look out the window and check to see if last night’s rubbish was still there. Now this is central London and rubbish disappears fast. Dustmen come at least once a day. And if not dustmen, then other men looking for things that might hold worth. So the chances of my rubbish still being there a good 16 hours later were slim. I’d go as far as to say impossible. And yet, as I looked out the window: there it was, the bag that this morning, only hours earlier, had not been there. Because I had checked, just on the off chance, in the name of not leaving any stone unturned. As much as I had retraced my path to each shop and pavement. But I had come up empty as I had expected to.

It was a sign and one that had me racing down the stairs, washing-up glove in hand, to retrieve the now dirty bag from the opposite pavement, avoiding the looks, the feelings of shame, that picking up things that are dirty seems to attract.

I sat in the kitchen: eager, hopeful, somehow certain. And yet… as the bag grew empty and the amount of pieces that might be hiding it shrank, my faith shrank too. Maybe it was just another test? Another challenge? Because there have been many of those.

And then there is was, staring up at me from the bottom right corner: my beautiful bracelet; complete, whole, undamage, returned.

I won’t go into how I leapt about like a child, thanking Chamuel until my energy was spent. Or how I then picked up the phone, needing to share. I shall simply leave you with this… We are not alone. We are not abandoned. We are watched and cherished and guided and loved.

There are things out there I cannot explain. Things, even, I cannot see. But I have faith and I am learning to surrender, because the more I let go, the more I see.

If you are in need of guidance or holding, why not give the angels a chance? After all, the worst that could happen is nothing at all.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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To be healed is having an awareness that you were never broken

To keep up to date with my progress and receive love and light in your inbox, send me your email address.

Ask me a question or book an appointment
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