This photo perfectly encapsulates my holiday in the sun.

I spent a week in my beloved Portugal, east of Faro, in the places that are becoming an annual ritual for us.

I swam – in the sea and in the pool – ate delicious pasteis de nata and spent time generally hanging out with my love and my three gorgeous ’step daughters,’ relaxing in the sun and shade, playing their favourite card games (the game ‘Cheat’ seems to feature heavily) and gathering shells on Barril beach.

One highlight of the holiday was my rediscovery of the pleasures of the hammock. I last encountered hammocks of many bright colours strung between the trees in the grounds of a hotel on the shores of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala. This holiday, the hammocks were white (courtesy of the owners of the stylish Quinta do Anjo, possibly the best holiday house in the sun that I’ve ever encountered – and believe me, I’m picky).

This holiday, I remembered just how good it feels to surrender to the gentle rhythm that is hammock relaxation, the ropes gently swaying, the light filtering through the cut-cane canopy and dappling my face, the crickets chirruping somewhere above my head.

Is this a kind of self-hypnosis? I think so. I can just close my eyes and be there now.

It’s good to be back in my beloved Yorkshire – via the Edinburgh Festival, where we were guests of the fabulous Dean Parkin (more on this later) – and to work with wonderful hypnotherapy clients this week.

I’m also returning – slowly, gradually – to the blogging thing and the Facebook and Twitter thing – but with  a new insight into how my break from the world of social media reinvigorated my creativity in many ways. More on this in days to come too.

In the meantime, thank you to those who noticed I was gone and enquired after my well-being. (I forgot to say that I was going away!) I so appreciate your kindness and caring.

It was good to be away-but-at-home-in-myself and it’s good to be home-and-fully-present-here in that way that taking some time out always creates for me.

Thank you for being part of it and connected with me.

Of course, it wasn’t always a cake. It didn’t always look delicious.

At 8pm on Wednesday evening, it felt more like this: ‘It’s Tom’s dad’s birthday and I have to make him a cake right now because, if I don’t make it now, I’ll have no time tomorrow.’

‘You don’t have to make him a cake,’ said Tom.

‘I do, I do. I made your mum one for her birthday last week and so I have to do the same for your dad. And he doesn’t like the quick and easy kind. He likes carrot cake. But, anyway, I want to do it for him. And I said on my blog on Monday that I would be making something every day this week. So this is today’s thing.’

And now I’m starting to feel horrible at my lack of graciousness. I shouldn’t be moaning about making this cake. I should make it with kindness and from the heart, even though I’m Really So Tired.

Or not do it at all. Because it’s only me that has set up this ridiculous expectation that I must make cake. And not just a cake but quite a complicated cake. I could just go out and buy one tomorrow, of course. But that feels wrong too.

‘Stop being so horrible,’ says that voice inside me, ‘Stop being so ungracious and selfish. Stop being, quite frankly, such a lazy cow. Stop moaning.’ Oh, yes. You have no idea how mean and strict it can get inside my head sometimes. Or maybe you have.

Anyway, once I realised that the only person who was telling me I had to make cake was my very own unkind self, I took a couple of deep slow breaths and decided to be kinder.

My body relaxed. I noticed where I was holding in and holding on. Actually, I didn’t even need to decide to talk to myself in a different way. It was suddenly so obvious.

I wanted to make that cake. So I surrendered to it.

Surr-enderrrrrr-ed.

I stopped thinking about all the Other Things I also had to get done and that I could be doing now if only it wasn’t for having to do this thing. I stopped thinking at all. Instead I measured out flour, broke eggs into the bowl. I began to enjoy it, the smell of vanilla essence and grating the carrots into slippery ribbons.

Before long the cake was in the oven and the frosting was waiting in the fridge and I sat down with a cup of fennel tea and decided not to do all the Other Things. Until tomorrow. Because this was enough.

Carrot cake for Tony. Made with love.

And it tasted good too.

Each day on my blog this week, I’m hosting a Carnival of Making. I’m sharing with you something that I’ve made and hearing about what you make too. I’m interested in what happens when we simply allow ourselves to make something – without it having to be Perfect or A Work Of Art. I’m interested in the process of Making something, finding our flow, Making as, well, simply Being. Please join me and tell me about what you’re making. I’d love to hear from you.

I just wanted to share with you a little of how it is for me – this Making thing.

So, yesterday, I wrote that making something doesn’t mean that you have to get out all your paints and a great big canvas or craft A Great Poem.

When I get into that, I’m already outside the flow, outside the making, doing the ‘ummm,’ and ‘errr’ and ‘Is this Good Enough?’ that makes my chest tight and my stomach and shoulders tense – a place where nothing new can easily happen.

But here is a quick scribble I drew whilst sitting waiting for someone yesterday. And a few more doodles that I did in my notebook, just towards the end of the day.

A few moments, that’s all it was. My hand moving across the soft white page. I noticed the thoughts, ‘This is infantile, this is silly, I really should practise my drawing skills…’ and then I let them go.

The page, the pen, making marks, noticing with curiosity what wants to emerge.

A few moments. I felt calm and quiet – a little fizz of excitement somewhere in the bottom of my stomach beginning now too.

Something had happened.

Each day on my blog this week, I’m hosting a Carnival of Making. I’m sharing with you something that I’ve made and hearing about what you make too. I’m interested in what happens when we simply allow ourselves to make something – wothout it having to be Perfect or A Work Of Art. I’m interested in the process of Making something, finding our flow, Making as, well, simply being. Please join me and tell me about what you’re making. I’d love to hear from you.

There’s nothing quite like plunging your hands into a big gooey mess of dough and moving them around a bit.

Rye sourdough bread. Very messy fun.

I made a batch last night and, whilst I was bringing it together and getting flour all over the floor, it got me thinking and making connections in the way that making things always does.

I started to think just how good it is to make something new, to experiment with paint, with dough, with words and that it’s so helpful for me to remember to do it more.

It’s so easy for things to get narrowed down to what you see right in front of you. When you remember to shift into doing something different, there are amazing insights to be had. I often feel my entire body change, let go a little, making room for the ideas to flow in.

We do sometimes need a bit of a nudge to do something new though, don’t we? And so I was wondering…

What if we were to have a great big, juicy  Creative Love-In, right here on this blog?

What if we were to make some new things – experimenting, rolling up our sleeves, making a mess, making (erm, are we allowed?) mistakes, getting dirty, playing around?

It wouldn’t need to be a big extravagant canvas or a finished poem – although that would be fantastic. It could be something very small  – a pen-sketch, a scribble, a very delectable and innovative sandwich – and still be so important.

And just look at what Adele in Finland is making over here.

What if I were to keep telling you about what I make and you could tell me all about what you make, right here in the Comments? And we could keep it going for the next week or so…

Are you in?

This week I cleared out a tiny studio space at the top of our house. It’s the eyrie where I perched to write the last pages of my PhD, the summer that we had just moved into this house. I remember feeling hot and bothered up there and wishing I could be downstairs in the rest of my life again. Perhaps because of that, the space soon got overlooked in favour of the much bigger downstairs room where I work with clients or the kitchen table where I like to sit in the mornings. The poor, old abandoned roof space had become a bit of a dusty dumping-ground.

But last week I cleared it out. I was craving a new space – a light, airy private space that has something to do with making things in secret. And I realised that I already had just that space. Time to reclaim it.

On Saturday, I went up there and unwrapped a new canvas and some acrylics. I had decided that I would make a painting to go in a space above our bed and I felt full of zizz  and spark at the idea of getting the paint on the canvas – and my fingers.

Now, can I just add that I have never really painted before. I have no idea about technique. I just knew that I wanted to do it. And what did I discover? That painting is just like writing.

Yes, the small square of blue sky framed in the window above my head. Yes, the white clouds passing, the sound of birds, the sunlight on the table. Yes, the thrill of mixing a colour and experimenting with different sized brushes.

There was a moment when it was just right – the bluey-green seemed just the right shade of bluey-green, a little hazy, letting the paint underneath show through. Everything was flowing – my hand, the sun on my shoulders, the smell and feel of the paint.

And then I thought something like, ‘Now, I just need to get more texture here and add in something with a finer brush here… and what is it that I’m making, anyway? Does it need more of this here? Does that look a bit clumsy?’

Gone! My painting suddenly more thought than felt. Over-thunk. Bang. Gone. In one teeny moment!!!

And I thought, this is just like making a poem. The minute I catch myself saying, ‘Oooo, I’m writing a poem about X, Y, Z ,’ I might as well get up from my desk. Because I’ve already left the process. I’m sitting outside of it going ‘Oooo’ and ‘Errrr’ and ‘Not good enough’ and ‘That would be better.’

I looked at my painting – you know, the one that was supposed to go in that space waiting in our bedroom, well, that is if I’d actually been capable of doing it right - and I heard myself starting in on more of this, just for a second, ‘See, not as good as you thought you would be, are you? What did you even try for? Why didn’t you just stick to writing?’

And then I realised. And I laughed. I had a good old chuckle at myself.

I think I’ll be painting over the canvas and beginning again – some parts, anyway. But at least I know that I can.

And I had so much fun painting.

Even now, I’m looking at my painting and thinking, I’m going to be kind to myself about it and curious about what will happen next. And I feel a big surge of joy for this new process I’ve discovered.

It seems that painting, like making poems, is all about the process. Surrendering to it. Rolling around in it. Loving it. Laughing about it. Knowing you can start all over again and make something even better. Remembering to trust that there’s so much more where that came from.

Funny, that. Who would ever have thought it?

It’s found all over the place in personal development speak. I think I probably have it sprinkled liberally all over my own web site.

And, in some senses, this statement is true: You already have all the resources you need to achieve whatever you want to achieve.

You know how it goes: If you think you can’t, then you’re right – you can’t. If you think you can, then you can. That’s the powerfully hypnotic effect of our ’self-talk,’ those scripts we’re constantly running somewhere inside our minds. By taking the conscious decision to choose to believe that we can do something, we can actually start to make it happen.

My job is to help people to recognise, uncover, rediscover, nurture and love into being their special abilities and inner resources for positive change.

On the other hand, that pesky statment can also act as a limiting belief: I already have all the resources I need to achieve whatever I want to achieve. (So I don’t have to do anything. I’ll just lie back and close my eyes and the therapist will do it all for me.)

This is where the ‘magic wand’ perception of hypnotherapy can be so unhelpful.

Because we have to actively grow and cultivate a mindset, an attitude, behaviors and habits that create our sense of well-being. We have to work at them every day. It requires commitment and effort.

Get to know your resources, even the nascent ones, the hidden or not-quite-ready-yet ones. Recognise the difference between the knowledge and skills that you might not have yet and the stuff you already know how to do. Fill in the gaps. With love and patience and curiosity towards yourself.

You have the capacity to learn and grow everything that you need to learn and grow. And you will need to actively cultivate it.

That’s the bit that sometimes gets missed out in the more Pollyanna, happy-clappy interpretations.

You already know what to do. The thing is, do you really want to?

Because over the past few months now, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what it is that I do as someone working in the field of well-being or personal and professional development or whatever term you prefer for it. OK, I am constantly giving it thought but lately I’ve been giving it extra turbo-charged thought and asking myself, rather frequently, whether all my stories about being a therapist sit easily with me.

Is being a therapist really congruent with who I feel I am? Are the particular stories I’m telling myself about what a therapist does and how I think a therapist might be perceived by others really helpful to me? (You know, at parties, when people ask me what I do, I have two things I can say: “I’m a therapist’ or ‘I’m a therapist and a poet.’ Yes. Exactly.)

But seriously. Passing on advice that might be helpful to people in living their lives is not exactly a new phenomenon. We’ve been doing it since ’society’ as such began. It used to take place in a tent or a hut or a cave or around a camp fire. Women or men passing on their knowledge and experience to one another, sharing stories, offering advice about everything in the human experience from how to bake the best bread or make the best tools to how best to deal with particular emotions – grief, loss, anger, love -  or care for a sick family member or deliver a baby.

Now we have the internet. And self-help books. If we’re lucky, we also have access to good medical and health care professionals and a supportive network of friends and family to help us to process our experiences as we move through life in progressive ways.

We might even enlist the support of a therapist or a coach. Because sometimes we don’t have that support network or it fails us in some way – by judging us or some bit of our experience or by just not being there for us in a way that is helpful.

And if, like me, you find yourself in this simultaneously completely natural (see ancient tribal systems, support networks, your granny) and also rather odd (see the Popular Psychology  section of any major book store) role of offering support to people, people who are challenged by something in their lives, whether that is fear or sickness or anxiety or the temporary  break-down of their ability to make meaning out of their life, that is one weird thing.

If you then blog or write about it too, perhaps you do open yourself up to the possible accusation that you might be telling people what to do, raising yourself above others in some way or claiming to have all the answers.

At this point, I am chuckling into my keyboard. Because, oh my goodness, the extent to which I just don’t have all the answers (whatever having all the answers might mean).

There are people who do appear to set themselves up as gurus, who appear to cultivate (consciously or subconsciously) a sense of status around who they are and what they do in the field of personal development. It may be fair to say that some people are attracted to this field for reasons other than trying to be of benefit to others.

But I don’t want this post to become all about How I Am Not One of Those People.

I want to share with you the script in my head that goes something like this: ‘I have discovered a few things, a few tools and approaches that are really helpful to me in my life and for my clients and I read all kinds of research that seems to hold some promise for what we are discovering all the time about how to develop the skills of happiness and resilience, but if I blog about them or write about them, people are going to think I am a Great Big Know-All. They might even attack me because they might think that I think that I am somehow better than them. Which I am not. They might think that I am claiming to have all the answers. Which I clearly don’t have. So I’d better just shut up and not try to share this stuff. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t be a therapist. Because who do I think I am?

Do you know that script? Or maybe you have something similar that applies to your stuff? You know, something like ‘I won’t send this poem out because then people might think that I think that I’m a really good poet, when actually I don’t think I am. And how embarrassing if it really is a bad poem and then they’ll think I’m stupid.’

I catch myself having these sorts of conversations with myself from time to time. Better shut up. Better not say anything that might make people think you are somehow better than them. Who do you think you are? It happens a lot less than it used to – and it’s usually a sign that I’m tired and need to rest.

And then a couple of days ago, Paul sent me (thanks, Paul) an excerpt from an interview in The Telegraph with the philosopher Slavoj Zizek. The Telegraph calls him ‘the world’s hippest philosopher,’ which is another example of how the media loves to create a persona for someone.

The article is about Zizek’s new book and the excerpt Paul sent me reads like this:

‘When I ask Zˇizˇek if there are any pointers I’ve missed, he explodes one final time: “I despise the kind of book which tells you how to live, how to make yourself happy! Philosophers have no good news for you at this level! I believe the first duty of philosophy is making you understand what deep s— you are in!” ‘

Hmm, I thought, as I read that. Tell that to the people with clinical depression who want to work with a therapist because they feel they have nowhere else to turn. Tell that to the young 19-year-old boy who can’t even leave his house or create friendships or do meaningful work because he is so incredibly anxious. Tell that to the client who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. What if we just said to these people ‘Go away. We’re all in deep s— anyway.’

Would that be helpful?

The interesting thing about Zizek’s argument is that he seems to be on the side of impossible dreams. Earlier in the interview, he argues against what he calls ‘the standard liberal-conservative argument against communism’ which says that ’since it wants to impose on reality an impossible dream, it necessarily ends in terror.’

Zizek argues that we should be able to build something new, maybe a new kind of communism. He asks: ‘What, however, if one should nonetheless insist on taking the risk of enforcing the Impossible onto reality? Even if, in this way, we do not get what we wanted and/or expected, we none the less change the coordinates of what appears as ‘possible’ and give birth to something genuinely new.”

Well, yes. Exactly. Reach for the moon. Travel joyfully. It’s not about arriving but about the journey, the process. These are central tenets of most personal development systems and approaches.

It seems that Zizek isn’t personally in deep s— after all. He has hope, he has ideas. He has a sense of purpose and passion. He sees that the impossible really can become possible.

I hope people realise that I don’t presume to tell anyone how to live or make themselves happy. But I do passionately believe in the value of the camp fire (virtual or otherwise), in story-telling and sharing. I believe that people have a right to as much information and discussion as possible about what might be helpful and what seems to work for others.

It’s easy to scoff, to say ‘why bother?’ or to talk about the ‘luxury’ of so-called developed world psychological problems. You might as well say to someone ‘Pull yourself together.’

In the end, we do need more and better ways to help people to feel good and live ordinarily every-day wonderful, even ‘impossible’ lives.

Zizek has reminded me why I continue to write about them.

Exactly. Which is why a new study led by Chien-Ming Yang from the National Chengchi University in Taipei, and reported here in the wonderful Mindhacks blog, is so interesting.

The new study investigates the early phases of sleep, the transitions between wakefulness and sleep often referred to as the hypnagogic state.

The way that our mind works in this phase is, as yet, poorly understood – just as the phenomena of hypnosis are poorly understood from anything other than a phenomenological level. As yet, neuroscience can’t explain hypnosis, just as it can’t yet fully explain the complex mechanisms of sleep and dreaming.

This new study took a very small sample size – 20 people – and asked them to take an afternoon nap in the lab whilst wired up to an EEG monitor measuring electrical activity in the brain, eye movement,  heart rate and muscular movements. It combined this data with accounts from the participants themselves about their experiences. Here is how Mindhacks reports the study:

‘As the participants drifted off they were awakened at different times: either just after eye-closing, the onset of ’stage 1′ sleep where you’re still aware of the external world, the onset of ’stage 2′ sleep where awareness starts to diminish, and after five minutes at ’stage 2′ where awareness should have largely disappeared.

After wakening, participants were asked questions about their perception of being asleep and the experience of their own minds: “Did you fall asleep?”, “Did you see any visual images?”, “Were you able to control your perceptual experiences?”, “How real did any of the experiences seem to you?”, “How well were you able to control your thoughts?”, “Were your thoughts logical?” and several questions to try and capture the conscious experience of sleep onset.’

The study found that the experience of having control over their own thoughts, and how coherent and logical these thoughts appeared to be, began to change almost as soon as the participants closed their eyes. As time went on, the thoughts appeared increasingly unusual and autonomous.

However, as soon as ’stage 2′ sleep began, participants seemed to experience a marked change into a state of mind where thoughts became much more freewheeling and seemingly illogical, almost as if they took on a life of their own.

Participants’ awareness of the outside world remained largely present until ’stage 2′ kicked in, at which point it quickly dropped off.

It seems that, when woken, people largely reported the experience that ‘I was asleep’ when they felt that they no longer had control over their increasingly illogical thoughts and not when their awareness of their surroundings was reduced.

This is very interesting on a number of levels for a hypnotherapist. Firstly, as hypnotherapists, we will have experienced our clients returning to full conscious awareness of the room, reporting things like: ‘That was weird. I know I wasn’t asleep. I could hear everything you were saying but it was as if my thoughts kept drifting around.’ Or ‘I was aware of everything and I could hear your voice but I can’t quite remember now what you were saying. I went to all kinds of places.’

If I were to guess, I would say that the ’stage 1′ phase of hypnagogia certainly seems quite similar to that of hypnosis – with the marked difference that the hypnotherapist is using language and suggestion that is designed to enable the client to  experience a more focused quality of awareness, with their thoughts directed towards particular imagery, ideas, feelings and sounds.

Another way of interpreting the test data might be that thoughts become less consciously directed as participants drift from ’stage 1′ to ’stage 2.’

I often feel that these fascinating studies are just barely touching the surface of some of the richest and most mysterious experiences of our inner life: thought, day-dreaming, fantasy, creative imagination, trance.

What I like about this small study is its methodology – correlating EEG data with interviews with the participants themselves. I think it’s only when we start to put the two kinds of research together  that we begin to get a picture of what happens when we turn our attention inside ourselves.

I’m passionate about it because it seems to me that so much can be done with some very basic information and resources that can make very positive changes in the experiences of so many women and babies. And it could result in huge costs savings to the NHS.

Athough there is a lot more information now available about using hypnotherapy and self-hypnosis to prepare for the birth of your baby, many women still do not pursue this approach and one of the reasons that I think tends to put them off is the perception that hypnosis for childbirth is all a bit ‘hippy’ and ‘alternative’ – in other words, that there is enormous pressure on women choosing this approach to have a totally natural and drug-free delivery.

So I want to dispel this myth right here and now. Because any well-trained hypnotherapist will adhere to a strict code of ethics in working with women to help them to prepare for the birth of their baby in a way that supports the client’s choices, views and desires. This is all about using modern tools of hypnotherapy and self-hypnosis to enjoy the birth that you want to have.

The women I’ve worked with have used the hypnotherapy sessions and self-hypnosis audios that I give them to let go of fear, unwanted emotions, unhelpful stories and associations around birth and to access the powerful natural resources they possess to have a safe birth in a way that works for them.

The work we have done together has helped them to enjoy more control and calm over their birth experience and to make choices that feel right for them.

There is now a growing body of research to suggest that the use of simple self-hypnosis techniques can reduce length of labour and the need for medical intervention.

This is not really rocket science. It makes perfect sense that anything that helps to minimise the adrenaline response – therefore minimising muscular tension, production of other stress hormones and sensitivity to pain and discomfort – is going to be enormously helpful in childbirth. We are beginning to discover that consistent practice in self-hypnosis can enable people to minimise or interrupt the the ‘fight or flight’ or adrenaline response and increase production of ‘feel-good’ chemicals such as the ‘love hormone’ oxytocin.

Regular practice with self-hypnosis audios, use of simple ‘anchors’ to reinforce positive, progressive feeling states and develop calm and confidence and looking at the way that you talk to yourself inside your own mind are all part of this process.

Then there are other interesting applications of hypnotherapy – working in session with a trained and experienced practitioner – that can provide other sorts of powerful benefits. A couple of weeks ago I was delighted to be able to assist a first-time mother in helping her baby, who was breech position, to turn. We achieved this together through simple visualisation and breathing techniques in hypnosis – and this client felt justifiably proud that she had been able to achieve this. There is lots of anecdotal evidence of using hypnotherapy to help breech babies to turn – I’ve witnessed it quite a few times in my practice now – and I think we need more research into this fascinating application of hypnotherapy.

For me, the most important aspect of my work using hypnotherapy for childbirth  is that my client feels supported and able to make the choices she wants to make with informed advice from her other health care providers. For me, this isn’t an ‘alternative’ treatment but one that beautifully complements the work of doctors, consultants, nursing staff and midwives.

Whether you opt for a homebirth in a birthing pool or a birth in hospital – and whether these plans change over time – self-hypnosis and hypnotherapy help you to prepare and develop valuable tools that can help you at every stage.

In amongst all the many messages and pieces of advice that seem to be targeted at expectant mothers from every angle these days, hypnotherapy for childbirth is about finding and strengthening your way – by developing trust in what your body can do so wonderfully and finding what is most helpful for you personally.

Hypnotherapy for childbirth – not just for drum-banging advocates  of ‘natural childbirth’ but a powerful modern complement to the very best health care.

This writing is a piece of free-writing, produced very quickly, without pausing to edit or cross-out or ‘think’ things through. Free-writing is about letting go of our expectations of ourselves, the ’shoulds’ and ‘oughts’ through which we think rather than feel our writing. It’s about letting go of or slipping past that internal critic that sits waiting to judge us before we’ve even opened our mouths or made our mark on the page.

I asked participants to use free-writing to write a ‘praise poem’ to their clients  – or perhaps to a particular client that came to mind, perhaps even a client who had been challenging to work with in some way.

What emerged for this participant is, we all thought, so beautiful and already so naturally formed and it really spoke to all of us, and so I asked her permission to share it with you here:

Praise poem to my clients

You who want something different, different from this, different from before;

you who have been carrying, hauling, dragging;

you whose hands spin dinner plates to a song heard once on the radio in that restaurant in Mykonos, so many years ago now but still as new; and you whose feet dance tango to a different tune;

you who shriek, who whisper; and you who don’t yet know the words.

Put down what you are carrying,

put down your plates, whole and broken, your whispers, whole and broken,

put down your feet, one in front of the other.

See that different is where you already are, when you tilt your head in that particular way,

when you look over my right shoulder and see the future.

I love this poem. It so perfectly sums up for me the spirit of what the hypnotherapist, Stephen Brooks, calls ‘working from the heart.’ I thank the person who allowed me to share this with you all. I’m deeply grateful that I get to work with such wonderful people.