Sustainabilty/Resilience Tag

Water is the source of life. Now that it comes when bidden through a tap conveniently in the kitchen, it’s easy to forget. I have become entranced by the secret life of the land, and its water flows. I find myself seeking out the places where water springs – the source of a river, a local spring, a well, or culvert.

We walk most days by the River Lea. It has a number of tributaries, and it divides, where long sections of canal have been cut to make the ‘River Lea Navigation’. Once narrow boats transported goods up and down through its locks. Now they provide more affordable housing for nomadic ‘boaters’.

In search of the beginning of the river, we travel to Leagrave village in Luton. The source is nested at the foot of several blocks of flats, which are in the midst of a post Grenfell Tower cladding refurbishment. Hedgerows and trees surround an adjacent field, where megalithic burial mound, ‘Waulud’s Bank’ reclines unobtrusively. Locals wander over it with dogs, or on their way to and from Macdonalds.

There is historical information on a sign above the outlet of the Lea. The source point is hidden behind bars, and drains for surface water rise here too, adding to the stream. This is the first of many waste-water in-flows. As the river moves through industrial sites, its toxicity increases. It is now one of many polluted British rivers. An Environment Agency report on the 17th September 2020 rated the River Lea as ‘Poor’.

Here, where the river is young, there is still a little magic, and a nesting egret near by. We clear cans and plastic bags, pull out the remains of a dumped metal security safe box. By the time we leave, this will be kicked back into the water, by someone with other intentions.

We offer flowers, find our own meaning and sense of the sacred under the shadow of the housing estate. In this time of uncertainty, where life has become tangled in complexity, I ask that we remember what we once knew was essential.

‘Honeyland’ is an extraordinary portrait of  Hatidze Muratova, a woman keeping wild bees using traditional methods. The story which unfolds, came about as the film-makers Tamara Kotevska and Ljubomire Stefanov, were filming in Northern Macedonia, and met the bee keeper. Unusually, the film was Oscar nominated for both ‘best documentary’ and ‘best international feature’. It is visually stunning. Gold light pours like honey through the film, as we step into the bee keeper’s domain.

Much like the narrative of the film, it is long, slow and painful. The old ways meet the contradictory demands of modern poverty, played out through the interactions between Muratova, and the family who move in next door.

At the Medicine Festival, I made a bee line to hear some of the barefoot hive philosophy of Chris Park. He is a very unassuming Dad, beekeeper, Druid, and storyteller. He spoke of ancient lore from a time when Britain was known as ‘The Honey Isle’. As he spoke, he invited us to roll words around our mouths with him, to hear the etymology of bee keeping. It was as though we were sipping linguistic mead or metheglin (mead brewed with herbs or spices). He spoke of the three medicines in Druid philosophy – water, honey and labour. Like the finest pollen taken from bee legs, unadulterated, he is the bees knees.


These changeable days feel autumnal. It rains, then the sun comes out. There’s a cool breeze. It is back to school weather. For the first time in months, red and grey school blazers pass by. Young faces wear the generic blank of masks. The boundaries we have held – by choice, by consensus or by law, become more complex as society ‘opens up’.

In our household pod, going nowhere but the park and to buy food, boundaries were easier to define. As our contacts expand, so do the conversations we need to have, in order to navigate our boundaries clearly. I like the traffic light system, which some people have suggested. Red denotes very cautious, amber for some managed risk, and green for broader risk taking. Vintage words like ‘quarantine’ are in common usage. I consider it a kindness to be aware of other people’s level of engagement, allowing space for their concerns.

To make our levels of willing interaction explicit, it is helpful to use the tools of consent. We may need to accept our different or changing needs, in the face of differing attitudes and situations. I notice how easily fear inserts itself into protocols for virus protection. I see my relationship with authority arises, as I question the rules made by others. I recognise how easy it is to assume the age-old cognitive bias around illness and death, “it won’t happen to me”. Aiming for taking reasonable precautions, I am trying to avoid becoming paranoid. I am trying to slow down my responses, while being aware of the other in each meeting, to allow more opportunity for feeling into, and communicating boundaries.

Follow the link here to watch ‘Consent and the Nervous System: Self Care and Community Resilience in the age of Covid 19’ by Rose C Jiggens and Rupert James Alison.


Before a grief tending session, we recommend connecting with support. We suggest checking in with someone before and after a group. We often ask, “How resourced do you feel?” Responses to this question vary, and sources of support can range hugely too. They may include some very general terms like ‘nature’, ‘friends’, and ‘my community’, as well as more specific ‘my cat, therapist or partner’, or reveal an absence of dependable support. The Bay Area Transformative Justice Collective focuses on “building relationship and trust” in transformative justice. Their work includes those whose need for support may be affected by a history of abuse, isolation and oppression. Mia Mingus writes an exploration of ‘pods’ and ‘pod mapping’ for the collective, which illuminates some very common gaps in support networks. “Most people have few solid, dependable relationships in their lives.” Mingus goes on to say, “Although ‘community’ is a word that we use all the time, many people don’t know what it is or feel they have never experienced it… Asking people to organize their pod was much more concrete than asking people to organize their ‘community’.”

I used the ‘pod mapping’ worksheet to identify my own sources of support. It was a really useful exercise. I wanted to look at my ‘pod’ in the context of grief in particular, but also reflected on maps for other themes. My grief ‘Venn diagram’ features particular people, inspirations and practices. A few key people overlap in several of my ‘pods’. These are the ones who stand near the centre of my life in multiple roles. They are often my first port of call to witness tears of sadness or joy. I find it helpful to consider, who I can really count on. ‘Chosen family’ is also an important part of my own queer social network. Widening my pod identified people with shared interests to connect with for reciprocal support. I found it helpful to get clear about what feeds me, and where there are sources of emotional credit to draw on when I need it, as well as the places that could use more resilience building.
See The Bay Area Transformative Justice Collective for pods and pod mapping article and worksheet.

Throughout the spring, I have had the honour of assisting Sophy Banks (one of my teachers). As a digital agnostic, I had no idea how it would be to hold grief tending sessions on line. I still prefer pen and paper, and a real hand to hold. But I have learned there is value in the virtual space too. There is the safety of opening up while sitting in my home. I have travelled through the miraculous internet to meet with those in other parts of the UK, or in other continents, and other time zones. It can provide an opportunity for experiencing something that might otherwise be unaffordable or impractical. On-line spaces also allow the introvert to be equally welcomed. During the last fortnight, I have been participating in ‘Coming Down to Earth: a Conflict Transformation Summit’. I am still fumbling to find my way through the technological hoops, but there are talks, live sessions and extraordinary people from around the world to meet there. This year, I have had the good fortune of spending much time hearing Sophy Banks share her insights on the consequences of unattended grief, which may cause conflict in families, communities and societies. Sophy also brings an understanding of practical “social technologies” to build “healthy human culture at all levels of scale”. She is one of the speakers whose unassuming manner, but inspiring words can be accessed free as part of the summit. She really nails the interface between relational trauma and dysfunctional systems for me, and provides the perspectives “I longed to hear, but didn’t know until I tasted them”.
You can find more about Sophy Banks here, and the ‘Coming Down to Earth Summit’ here.

Every year at mid-summer a small purposeful crew mark out a labyrinth at the centre of the Middlesex filter beds Nature Reserve in chalk spray. It follows the pattern of the one in Chartres cathedral, which dates back to around 1205. There is a tradition of walking a labyrinth at the summer solstice. They are sometimes cut in grass, or edged with stones. Unlike a maze that offers alternative routes, there is only one route both in and out. However, this invites the possibility of unwinding something on the way in – unravelling, or letting go. On the way out there is the possibility of calling or winding something in. Stepping in at the point marked ‘Enter’, I walk it as a meditation. The convolutions brought intestines to mind, so I use the journey in as an exploration of my digestion. I meet my companions at the centre. We pause then begin the reverse journey of return. I focus on steps forward, notice ideas, call in gut health. Our measured pacing takes six minutes to spiral in each direction. Some passers-by courteously circumnavigate the circumference, while others wander through our midst, oblivious. Two youngsters run around it, creating an energetic vortex. ‘The Great Turning’ comes to mind. We totter off, a little dizzy – and inspired.
See more about Joanna Macy and ‘The Great Turning’

At 8.30am for 20 minutes, I bring my attention to a virtual group who “come together in stillness, and send light and love to people who need it.” It’s a brilliantly simple way to connect with a positive attitude. My inspiring friend Julie sets the intention every morning. Yesterday I scrubbed the bathroom first; today I was still in pyjamas. I like the invitation to come together across the ether. The energy of this group helps me to commit to this restorative practice. It can be really hard to find time to meditate, let alone do it. “Even if it is very foggy, cloudy or stormy, the blue sky is always there, for us, above the clouds.” Thich Nhat Hanh describes the sky, as a similie for our true nature – often cluttered or obscured with clouds. The clouds are the mental chatter of worries, memories, inner dialogue and the distractions that usually fill my head. By noticing the ‘clouds’ that cross or blot out my mental space – observing their texture and quality, it helps me to become more present. This foundation of mindfulness acts like an anchor, and then I can focus on generating more expansive thoughts. By allowing a few minutes to do a calming practice at the start of the day, my nervous system resets; so I feel better, and perhaps others benefit too.
Thich Nhat Hanh teaches mindfulness, global ethics, and peace.


Anxiety about the future

Many people feel anxiety about the future. We live with uncertainty in this age. We may be afraid of the possibility of social collapse, the breakdown of society under a pandemic. While this may be what we are focussing on right now, climate changes are still happening. More people are recognising how they feel in response to the times we are living in.

Eco grief and climate anxiety are surfacing. Many people are now more aware of global injustices happening now. Climate chaos looms in many people’s awareness. Threats posed by nuclear arms and nano-technology amongst others may sit in the background of our consciousness. Researchers, psychologists, psychotherapists, teachers and parents are trying to understand more and develop helpful strategies. How can we support those who are suffering from anxiety about the future?

“If the world is to be healed through human efforts, I am convinced it will be by ordinary people, people whose love for this life is even greater than their fear. 
Joanna Macy

Climate grief or eco grief

‘Grief’ is an umbrella term that may include a whole range of emotions. These include: anger, sadness, fear, release, numbness, relief, shame and overwhelm. It is a natural response to any kind of loss or change. ‘Climate Grief’ is a feeling response of ‘grief’ (which may include any of the above and more). This is because of the changes that are happening in the world. In particular, climate grief centres round the issues sparked by changes in climate and biosphere. Anxiety about the future may be in response to the pandemic here now.  Feelings may arise as a result of current systems that feed social injustices, conflict, consumerism. These are just a few local and global issues that may cause feelings of grief to come up.

Worried about climate change?

Worry may be consuming those who are seeing news items and reading reports about, extreme weather events, temperature changes and documented changes in pollution. Grief is a reasonable response to habitat loss and species extinctions to name just some of the causes. Many people are simply noticing changes in their local habitats, insect and wildlife populations. Some people may be more aware of these changes as a result of their work, because of personal research, or lived experience.

Climate Anxiety or Eco Anxiety

Anxiety is a response on the fear spectrum that may include mental, emotional and physical symptoms. Fear of what will happen in the face of climate chaos, as a consequence of things that have already happened, is a reasonable response. Anxiety in the face of climate change is not irrational.

Anticipatory anxiety

Fear of what is to come, based on current information is known as ‘anticipatory anxiety’. It may be mingled with ‘anticipatory grief’. The definition of ‘anticipatory grief’ is more usually used to describe feelings of grief in the context of the impending death of a loved one. It is not unusual to feel this in response to something in the future. Especially for something that we anticipate will be painful, difficult or challenging.

What does anxiety about the future feel like?

Any of the symptoms of anxiety or grief may be present for someone who is experiencing anxiety about the future. It may include a complex mix of feelings, and different responses at different times. For different people feelings will also vary in intensity. In addition this may depend on the emotional load they are already carrying.

For some there may be a sense of heaviness on the chest, perhaps tears are often close to the surface. For others, there may be a dull underlying anxiety, a sense of unease that is hard to locate. Some people who are fearful of what is to come may be feeling jumpy, or easily tipped into overwhelm, anger, perhaps have a racing pulse. For others there may be an unusual sense of numbness or disconnection. Depression or hopelessness may be present.

Underlying anxiety about the future may be continually present in someone’s thoughts. For some it may be only when they think about their children or grandchildren for example. Sleep patterns may be disrupted. A whole range of physical sensations may accompany any combination of emotions.

Different reactions to uncertainty

We all face uncertainty in relation to changes in our world. People have different perspectives on the future for different reasons. For some people this is because they have had different lived experiences. Many people have absorbed information from different sources. This may be because they are within certain social groups or communities. Because of personality type, character, family history, culture, political awareness, and sensitivity of perception, people receive information about the world differently.

Different trauma responses

Our ‘core wounding’ also plays a part in how we respond to the outside world. Through our personal history, we each develop coping strategies for dealing with stress. When a source of stress – perceived or unconscious – is present, our primary trauma response may be triggered. People typically react to threat with an unconscious activation of their primal responses. These responses may be greater if you have a dis-regulated nervous system.

The typical responses to threat are flight, flight, freeze and fawn (tend and befriend as it is also known). If you are feeling very angry, and you’re full of energy to stand up against injustice, ‘fight’ might be your pre-dominant response. Or are you rushing around in a busy frenzy of activity or heading for the hills? You might be in ‘flight’ mode. Perhaps you feel totally overwhelmed or aren’t able to engage with the world. Are you paralysed by indecision or apathy? If so, perhaps ‘freeze’ is your primary response. Putting your head in the sand and finding other distractions or ‘numbing out’ in addictive behaviors could be either flight/freeze or a combination.

Climate change grief is like any other form of grief

In relation to eco grief, the things we typically recognise in any form of grief may be present. This includes the well-known responses of shock, denial, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. There may be layers of emotions, or different feelings at different times. It is important to remember that just like any other grief, everyone’s make-up is different. As a consequence they will perceive and respond in different ways.

Different responses to the threat of climate chaos

Noticing your own reactions to the threat of trauma may be helpful. Observing your responses to global issues may also be illuminating. Acknowledging our feelings can help us to face our anxiety about the future. Notice if others are reacting in ways that are unlike our own responses. This can also help to reduce the shame and judgment between people who are reacting differently from one another.

For some, the preoccupation with every day life, their inner thoughts may distract them. As a consequence they may simply not register changes manifest in the outer world. Many people have been preoccupied with questions around possible system breakdown. This may seem irrelevant to those who are not registering any anxiety about the future.

Reflecting on how I feel

You may be feeling a complex mix of emotions. In trying to tease out how I feel, I notice that I am often in a ‘freeze’ state, finding it hard to access my sadness, or the energy needed for action. I am aware of much devastating environmental research, but too much information swiftly tips me into overwhelm. Anxiety about the future regularly visits me in the early hours of the morning. This often manifests as internal background noise, a low level sense of urgency and worry, that I only hear when I stop doing and pause. Typically for me, this is loudest around dawn. I try to track these responses, and notice my inner dialogue.

Nervous System Activation

For me, and I suspect for many others, news reports, or reading the latest scientific information on the climate and global news trends tend to ‘activate’ my nervous system. It triggers a response that puts my physiological system on alert. Physical symptoms may soon follow, such as fatigue or brain fog.

Strategies to help with anxiety about the future

Grief tending in community, which may include practices from Joanna Macy’s ‘Work That Reconnects’, and the practice of ‘Deep Adaptation’ are designed to help process feelings, and can be excellent resources in coping with climate change. I recommend ways of working that help us to face our anxiety about the future, in an environment that encourages us to build resources, express feelings and connect with love. These are some of the things I have learned and witnessed from co-facilitating groups on this theme.

Coping with climate change

I regularly co-facilitate grief tending sessions called ‘Feeling Nature’. These experiential workshops are designed to offer time for gentle exploration for those who are affected by climate anxiety and grief. We offer a session that includes some simple embodiment practices, making a connection with nature, making contact with our feeling selves, being part of a supportive group, and some expression of feelings. These are strategies that I have found helpful in order to face anxiety about the future.


Time to slow down, to ground and rest the body, to focus on being present is helpful. Focusing on the sensations present in the body, can aid us to stay connected, rather than disconnect in panic. Being present helps us to co-ordinate mind, heart and body. As a consequence, this enables us to act more effectively. Mindfulness practices can be a great resource. These work particularly well when they include leaning back (rather than sitting up actively unsupported), assisting our Parasympathetic Nervous System to go into restore, rest and digest mode.

“The biggest gift you can give is to be absolutely present, and when you’re worrying about whether you’re hopeful or hopeless or pessimistic or optimistic, who cares? The main thing is that you’re showing up, that you’re here and that you’re finding ever more capacity to love this world because it will not be healed without that. That is what is going to unleash our intelligence and our ingenuity and our solidarity for the healing of our world.”
Joanna Macy

Getting in touch with feelings

Through dropping more into an awareness of the physical body, in a space that is ‘held by others, hyper vigilance which may be present, might be dialed down. We aim to build trust through creating a nervous-system-aware and friendly environment. We try to introduce a conceptual framework that allows participants to recognise and name feelings that they may be familiar with. Through doing this sensitively, we hope to soften the reactions of shame that often accompanies expression of feelings. People feel shame around what they feel and what they don’t feel, amongst other things. We hope to give permission for a huge range of authentic expressions of emotion.

Connecting with nature

Many people spend little time each day outside in fresh air, under the elements, among plants and wildlife. Being surrounded by nature, whether walking in the park, digging in an allotment or feeling rain on your face can be a really helpful way to soothe the nervous system, to allow time for resting and digesting. We regularly hold events in the city, so try to find small ways to bring nature into the spaces we hold – by placing elements on a shrine or visualising places where nature is a resource, for example. Spending time in nature can be simple and restorative. Although for some, being in nature can add an additional layer of grief – because there are fewer insects, less birds, blossom or snow out of season. While nature can be an excellent resource, increasingly it is helpful to connect with like-minded others in order to co-regulate nervous systems.

Connecting with people

Connecting with other people helps us to validate ourselves, and our experience both in person and on-line. Being with people in ‘brave spaces’, where we can be vulnerable is affirming. So that we can be witnessed and heard, it is important to find communities where our authentic expression of truth is welcomed. Ideally we will be able to express ourselves without being shamed for our feelings or beliefs. Heart-felt communication can help us to ‘co-regulate’ our nervous system with others. This can enable us better to return from a state of activation, and is one way to build resilience. The witnessing presence of a supportive group, whether chosen family, long term or temporary community, can change our relationship with our anxiety for the future.

Cognitive Dissonance

There is often a gap between what people say, and what we sense is true. When my feelings, picked up from the information I am sensing from the world, don’t match what I am told, it creates an uncomfortable mismatch. This gap between perception and what I am being led to believe is called ‘cognitive dissonance’. News reports, politicians, parents, teachers, and friends, especially on social media, may be saying things that do not match with my internal felt messages of what I am hearing from them. However, when my internal perceptions match with information I am hearing, there can be a sense of relief, and shared outlook. This confirms my intuition, and is supportive, rather than dismissive of my feelings. This can be an important element in coping with climate change, especially in regard to having a shared reality of the world around us.

Grief Rituals

Grief rituals can allow us to connect with something greater than ourselves, and to the mystery of life. This might include grief tending in community rituals and rituals from Joanna Macy’s ‘Work That Reconnects’. Despite our different identities, words may  connect us through our humanity, in grief rituals.

The premise of ‘Deep Adaptation’ is that climate-collapse is likely, and changes are necessary if we are to face it together. Jem Bendell’s work recommends we address Relinquishment, Restoration, Reconciliation and Resilience in response, both in our own lives and beyond. ‘Relinquishment’, the first of these includes coming to terms with our own mortality. We can use the tools of grief work and mourning to begin the work of Deep Adaptation. This may include taking part in grief rituals.

In facing the future, practices that enable us to develop gratitude, presence, connection and love will build our personal resources. These help us to develop both emotional intelligence and cultural resilience.

“Love for this life is greater than fear”

Building personal resilience will help to buffer our fear of the unknown. It is important to build our personal resources. What do you love doing? What connects you to something greater than yourself? Where do you love to be? Who do you love? Expressing gratitude can help us find connection with love. Finding our delight for life in the present will resource us. Growing our gratitude will help us to live in spite of anxiety for the future. In the words of Joanna Macy, “love for this life is greater than fear.

The personal steps we can take include connecting ourselves to our bodies, our feelings, to nature, to our delight in the present. In order to re-frame the narrative of the industrial growth economy, we must listen deeply to one another. Finding our shared humanity to find our interdependence is necessary for building our resilience so that we may act now and with love.

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” 
James Baldwin


See our article ‘What is Grief Tending?’
Joanna Macy
Deep Adaptation

I’m trying to find my way back to the ‘functional zone’. I sit in the sauna. I try the steam room with eucalyptus and mint to soothe my sinuses. I exchange massages. My head is foggy. The weather is clammy cold. I sound husky, my legs move more slowly than usual. Each night I sweat and cough, wake feeling bed-ship-wrecked – drenched and exhausted with bruises on the insides. I have lost patience with the common cold. It feels as though days keep escaping from me. The habitual sense of being overloaded with communication increases as my output decreases. I notice how an underlying anxiety rises as my inbox grows. Messages wait unanswered and my to-do list eludes me, mocks me. I realise how little leeway there is between the functional zone and feeling out of control.

There it sits, nestling on a rail between drab coats and no-longer-treasured jackets. It has been waiting for me. Like a glass slipper, it fits perfectly. Today my prize is a pink fur jacket with illicit micro-fibres. I try to reserve my fashion purchases to the pre-loved, or organic eco-cotton. Like a well-matched blind date, we tentatively introduce ourselves, but notice the chemistry between us. I imagine how we will be years into our relationship – partnering with dresses I’m already intimate with. I glance coyly in the mirror as we snuggle behind the too-tight-fitting changing room curtain. If the universe has sent me a jacket in dusky pink with the softest touch, it would be churlish to reject it. We leave the shop together, my purse lighter, to get to know one another.