Hello readers. I am delighted to announce that after three years of wandering in the wilderness, I have officially moved back to Bristol!  

For those of you who haven’t been following my blog, welcome! For the last three years, I have been on a pilgrimage, trying to figure out where to put this particular version of me. Was it a spiritual quest? Was it an extended social experiment? Or was it a trauma response? This blog explores some of the driving forces behind my three year odyssey. 

If you’ve ever found yourself doing strange repetitive things that feel comforting at the time but eventually spiral into compulsion, then this blog is for you. If you’re curious to find out why anyone would get into that sort of thing, then this blog is for you too.

What’s In The Blog?

The first bit is a brief recap of what I’ve been up to over the last three years, with a little added context for you to understand why I embarked on my big journey in the first place. I’ve added links to other blogs that describe the various stages in more detail. 

Then we’re going to travel back in time to explore two other times in my life when I’ve thrown caution to the wind and headed out on the open road for extended periods. Then we’ll come back to the present day and see how the landing is going. Come with me to discover what drives me to move and what helps me to stop!

Trigger warnings: Non-graphic mentions of miscarriage, grief, heartbreak, trauma 

August 2021

The end of the covid lockdowns. As the world was waking up, my relationship broke down. We’d been in a cycle of making and losing babies for several years, and my partner had reached his limit. He moved out and I fell to pieces for six blurry, tear-drenched weeks. 

I scooped my shattered, heartbroken, grief-stricken parts back into my skin and tried to soldier on for another year, throwing all my time and energy into my work and training to become a clinical supervisor. But it turns out you can’t fix grief with work! Needless to say, I burned out in a Big Way.

July 2022

With the support of my friends and peers, I staged an intervention on myself, packing all my belongings into a storage container and leaving the vibrant, gritty city of Bristol, that had been my home for the best part of 22 years.

I spent a year volunteering at The Barn meditation retreat centre in the lush green hills of Devon, working enthusiastically, meditating furiously, dancing wildly, grieving prolifically, learning to accept support, growing fierce boundaries, immersing myself in nature, exploring my relationship with work and effort and writing A LOT of blogs. 

Although this wasn’t strictly travelling, we hosted a new group of retreatants every week - which felt a lot like being on tour to me!

June 2023

I emerged from my year at The Barn softer, slower and even more sensitive. I had no idea where to put this calmer, quieter version of me, so I decided to place my body in different environments until I felt a clear YES. I visited friends and family in France, Devon, Cornwall and Somerset, but no clear YES did I receive. 

I did, however, find a big YES for Internal Family Systems (IFS) - a parts-based system of therapy - and undertook my Level 1 training from August - October 2023.

October 2023

After 5 months of wafting about, I was absolutely knackered and I needed to start earning money again. My mum invited me to head back to hers, in my hometown of Cardiff. I set up my office in her spare room and started integrating IFS into my toolkit, offering online one-to-ones and in-person weekend workshops.

Discovering that my mum was in need of more support than she was letting on (she’d been waiting on a hip replacement for 5 years and the waiting had taken its toll on her body), I found a sweet little sublet round the corner from hers for a few months.

I opened my heart to Cardiff as my potential new home, reconnecting with old friends and meeting new folks. I was just starting to settle in, when my mum’s hip replacement surgery finally happened! After supporting her through her recovery, my feisty independent mother firmly dismissed me from my caring duties. This happened just as my Cardiff sublet came to an end. Feeling a bit lost at sea, my Bristol tribe enticed me back to my beloved adoptive city. 

March 2024

I wasn’t sure whether I could handle being back in Bristol, with so much of my grief littering the familiar streets; everywhere I turned there was either a memory of someone I used to be, or a screwed-up, discarded fantasy of the family life I’d longed to live. So, to test the waters, I found another sublet in the bohemian area of St Werburghs, where I’d spent the majority of my two Bristol decades. 

Although it was wonderful to catch up with my friends and to start offering longer workshops for my community of glorious misfits, I was devastated to discover that my whole body said NO to Bristol. I felt like I’d been beaten up, I literally couldn’t get out of bed some days, as the grief flew at me from all directions.

May 2024

Gasping for air, I put my feelers out to find somewhere close enough to Bristol so that I could work, but far enough away to not have to live amongst my grief every day. The universe provided a fantastic sublet in the far-out mystical land of Glastonbury!

I opened to every kind of healing you can imagine; swigging the healing rusty waters, paddling in the freezing cold white spring pools, climbing up the ancient Tor, making spells on Bridie’s mound, having my tarot cards read, attending weird rituals, joining support groups, going to Dance Medicine classes and finding an incredible IFS therapist. 

Glastonbury was both healing and hilarious, but it didn’t feel like home.

July 2024 

When the Glastonbury sublet was up, I headed out onto the open road again for a couple of months, living out of a suitcase, flitting around, leading courses and retreats and participating in projects, here, there and everywhere. How glamorous! What adventures! How exhausting! 

September 2024

As summer turned to autumn I was unsurprisingly frazzled and somewhat ill. My lovely Glastonbury host offered me her place again for a couple of months, which gave me space to figure out that I was now totally stuck in a familiar cycle of perpetual movement. With the help of my friends and my therapist, I staged another intervention on myself, overriding the parts that would have me move around forever and sent myself back to Bristol to be with my tribe. 

November 2024

Still nervous about how my grief would feel in Bristol,I subletted a temporary basement flat in the Stokes Croft area for six months. Stokes Croft is a kaleidoscope of colourful street art, independent shops, tiny cafes and cool bars with live music seven nights a week! Although familiar, I didn’t have so many grief-tinged memories associated with this area and the liminal nature of Stokes Croft, with all of human life passing through each day, meant I was able to scuttle around largely unnoticed while I began to find my groove.

I did the things that people can only do when they stay in one place; I joined the local swimming pool, I signed up to regular dance classes, I saw my pals a lot, I made friends with the trees in the local parks and I checked in for regular therapy and supervision. Some of my parts were delighted to experience the gifts of a stable life and others were absolutely revolted!

My Posse Of Moving Parts

Through therapy, meditation and writing, I became increasingly familiar with the cast of inner characters that wanted to hoik me back on the road; amongst them is a Wolf who hates being inside buildings and needs to be constantly roaming around, mapping potential threats and opportunities, a Punk who detests anything to do with “the system,” a Novice Buddhist who thinks the answer to everything to is to renounce it, a Change-A-Holic who is addicted to novelty, adventure and adrenaline and a Mad Scientist who loves to make me do increasingly extreme social experiments, strictly for the data. I call these guys my Posse Of Moving Parts (they’re coming back later in this blog, so don’t forget them!)

January 2025

Holding all my parts with love and compassion, I approached the tricky three month mark…

Hang on, what’s the tricky three month mark?

Let me take you back to my late teens / early 20’s so you can see for yourself…

I left home when I was 18, following a year of trying to mop-up the mess after the dramatic and painful end of my parents’ stormy relationship. I was also mourning the death of my twinkly-eyed Nana and the end of my first relationship. Seeking Anything But All That, I hit the road. Having travelled a lot as a kid, touring with the family’s circus during the summer months, motion and adventure felt safe, familiar and exciting to me. 

From the ages of 18-23, I travelled pretty much continuously, first hitching around Australia for a year with my best friend, then schlepping around the UK, moving between Cardiff, Brighton, London, Ross-on-Wye, Sheffield and Bristol, scraping a living through busking, working in bars and kitchens, bits of performing, nannying and playwork. I was searching for the place where I might feel OK, but I wasn’t able to stop anywhere for more than three months. 

Wherever I landed, I found my way into temporary communities through my creative skills, humour and ability to party HARD. But as the tricky three-month mark loomed; the point where things were starting to get familiar, I’d be overcome with an overwhelming urge to leave. 

The Wolf would howl for the open road, The Punk would say "Fuck this shit! Let's burn it down!" The Novice Buddhist would say "It's wrong to get attached, let's go!" The Change-a-holic would say "This is boring, let's do something new!" and the Mad Scientist would say "I wonder what would happen if we were to try again somewhere else, but we'll change some of the variables..." So I’d pack my bags, burn my bridges and head off towards The Next Thing; a new job, a new performance skills course, or just a new start Somewhere Else.

Moving every three months was fun and fresh at first, but as the years went by, this perpetual urge to move became my identity. I literally couldn’t stop moving. I was tired and lonely, desperate and depressed, but moving like this meant I couldn’t access services like doctors or therapy, so I just carried on.

How did you stop?

Stopping happened gradually. It wasn’t easy and it took a fair few attempts, as my Posse Of Moving Parts were on a hair-trigger. But through the kindness of friends and acquaintances, I began to relax into connection and learn how to receive love and support. 

A big part of this support was finding my way to Fooling, a form of solo improvisation where the performer embodies all the voices in their head. At the age of 21 I attended a 3- month Fools Journey course with Franki Anderson and a wonderful group of Fools from all over Europe. Fooling helped me begin to understand that I had a cast of characters living inside of me who all wanted different things. 

Around the age of 23, I finally managed to set down roots in Bristol and bundled myself into therapy where I began to learn to listen to those inner voices with curiosity and compassion. I began building a life, making friends, falling in and out of love, learning about meditation, getting clean, developing a career as a workshop leader / performer / director, co-founding a storytelling company, then a street theatre company, then a gypsy punk show-band. I had countless adventures, all supported by maintaining a stable base in Bristol.

Hmmm interesting - so was that the end of your wandering ways?

Ha no! I did it again! In my early 30’s, after completing my Dramatherapy MA and surviving a shockingly brutal end to a long term working relationship, plus a really horrible housemate bust up, my Posse Of Moving Parts all agreed that the best thing would be to hit the road again!

By this point I’d accumulated a lot of skills as a clown teacher / director / dramatherapist and I could get work pretty much anywhere. So I did the legitimate / professional version of my itchy feet thing, putting all my stuff into storage and travelling all around the UK and France, going from job to job, working with theatre companies, circuses and individual artists, living in hotels, on people’s sofas and in my tiny red tent.

After nine months of relentless motion, my best friend sat me down and said, “You are now COMPLETELY insane and you really need to stop!” Which was good, because I hadn’t really noticed.

How can you not have noticed you were barking mad?

Well, you see, that’s the thing about perpetual movement, it’s so all-encompassing, like touring with the circus, there isn’t a lot of time or headspace for much else. I was either coming to terms with being in a new place with new people, or touting for work, figuring out how to get there and what I need to take with me. There’s a lot of logistics involved in staying in continuous motion!

But this is exactly why I moved so much. You see, the main aim for my Posse Of Moving Parts is for me to be completely absorbed in ANYTHING that isn’t the pain that I’m feeling deep inside.

Aha! That makes sense! That’s why stopping is so hard!

You’ve got it! Stopping felt like hell. In both these examples, it felt much easier to stay on the road, than to have to face the pain that led me to the road in the first place. Yet in both examples, the road ended up taking more than it was giving.

Sounds like a country and western song

Ha! Yes! You’re right! My life is nothing but a clown country and western song! 

So, what happened when you settled down that time?

With my best friend’s support, I overrode the Posse Of Moving Parts and found a tiny little one-bedroom flat in St Werbrughs, Bristol. This was the first time I’d ever lived on my own. Having lived and worked in crazy, creative communities all my life, I had no real idea about what I liked and didn’t like. Through a process of trial and error I discovered that: 

1.) Late night punk baking (where you don’t weigh or measure anything) is fun, but you have to eat the cakes out of the tin with a spoon. 

2.) It's OK to be alone and quiet sometimes.

3.) Daily meditation changes everything! 

I loved that flat so much, whenever I came home, I kissed the walls! The stability it gave allowed me to cultivate my Bristol clown community and grow my business, with the support of two amazing administrators, a maverick, wise supervisor, a kind and boundaried therapist and a huge throng of friends. 

A year and a half later, my new-found stability allowed me to attract and fall in love with a lovely guy.

Ah, was this the guy you shacked up and tried to make babies with?

Yep! That was the guy. 

Ah mate, that sucks!

I know, right? Surely, the narrative should have been; “She turned her life around and then she had all the beautiful babies and they all lived happily ever after!” But that’s not what happened. For whatever reason (we never really got to the bottom of it, despite having all sorts of tests) those babies couldn’t stick around and then he left.

So it makes perfect sense that your Posse Of Moving Parts would get activated!

Exactly! It was the perfect storm! Looking back at these three periods of perpetual movement, I see patterns. What seems to activate my Posse Of Moving Parts is:

1.) A period of intense study (A levels, Dramatherapy MA, Supervision course) - which involves needing to stay in one place for an extended length of time - which is a Very Dangerous Thing for many of my parts.

2.) The pain of a break up (parents, housemates, business partners, romantic partners) - it doesn’t really make a difference to my parts, who is breaking up with whom - they just can’t stand irreconcilable conflict and enforced separation.

3.) A period of trying to hold it together on my own - followed by the crushing disappointment of not being able to fix everything.

As I write this, I feel a lot of affection for my Posse Of Moving Parts - they’ve been taking care of me all of my life, helping me deal with all sorts of stuff that happened in my childhood. I don’t need to go into all that right now, but just to say I’m grateful to my Moving Crew and all the strategies they’ve developed to try and keep me safe.

And in a lot of ways travelling works! I get to go on adventures, explore different landscapes, meet new people, be a shiny new person, learn and evolve, contribute my gifts and talents to enhance other people’s work and lives and I get to not feel the pain of separation, rejection, abandonment, grief, loss and shame. Genius! 

Only, these strategies have a limited time period that they work for. After 3 months, things start getting familiar, I’m no longer in the fresh discovery phase, I’ve figured out where to buy my miso paste and garlic pickle and the guy in the local cafe makes me a decaff-oat -flat-white without me even asking.

When I am no longer fully engaged in trying to figure out how everything works, time and space begin to appear and in that time and space emerges pain, grief and trauma. 

Hmmm Trauma, you say?

Well yes. As I reflect on what led up to these three periods of compulsive travel, I realise that I *may* have unconsciously curated the conditions that allowed me to re-experience some of my early traumatic childhood experiences. 

How interesting!

I know! My understanding of trauma is that whatever isn’t healed, continuously tries to get our attention. If left in the unconscious, our protective parts will always try to find ways to soothe or distract us from the pain, but they won’t actually heal it. But with the right support, we can shed light onto our coping mechanisms and gently trace our way back to our original wounds. In my experience, bringing loving attention to these long suffering parts of ourselves can bring huge amounts of healing and release us from unhealthy patterns of behaviour / compulsive coping mechanisms.

Is that what happened to you?

Well yes! Thanks to my IFS therapist, my friends, my numerous collaborators (I have been co-creating a range of theatre-therapy labs with various incredible practitioners throughout this whole adventure), my teachers and peers on IFS trainings and my meditation and writing practices, I managed to stay past the tricky 3-month threshold and watch the internal drama unfold. My Posse Of Moving Parts upped their game, day by day, trying everything in their power to convince me that the road was better than the pain.

I listened to them, with compassion and care, but like a firm, loving parent I said “NO!” I said, “I hear you, dear ones, I know this feels scary, but we’re staying put. I’ve got this!”

They continued to heckle me, as I went ahead and found us all a cosy, bright flat in South Bristol, with a big view of the sunset from my bedroom window. This isn’t another sublet, by the way, this is MY (rented) FLAT for as long as I want it! I arranged for two strong, funny, patient men to help me empty out my storage unit and I’ve spent the last 6 weeks arranging all my stuff into a colourful, comfy nest.

How do your Posse Of Moving Parts feel about the flat now?

Well, let’s ask them!

Wolf: I hated it to begin with. It’s on the first floor! There’s no garden! I have to run down a whole flight of stairs to get out! It's good that there's big windows that let all the air in and the big views are pretty cool - I can spot all the threats and opportunities from up here. There's loads of green spaces in south Bristol that I can roam around in. Oh, OK, I quite like it here. 

Punk: At first I thought "it seems very bourgeois to rent a flat", but I understand that Holly needs a base from which to FUCK THE SYSTEM in a much bigger way, so I approve. There are also a lot of punks in Bristol, so I’m happy.

Novice Buddhist: I agree with the punk, it did seem terribly lavish at first to have a whole flat and all this stuff! But I also get it that Holly needs a base - plus, not moving all the time has freed up time for more meditation study and practice, so I’m happy about that.

Change-a-holic: Hmmm. Staying in one place… Not my idea of fun! AT ALL! But I’m pretty sure I can find adventures here, it’s great that we’re in a new part of the city that we don’t know. I want to make sure that Holly doesn’t get too boring and middle-aged though, so I’m looking for exciting things to get her involved with.

Mad Scientist: Aha! A new experiment! Staying still! Marvellous! I will get to work on designing a research methodology!

And what about the younger parts that The Movers have been protecting?

Oh, they are delighted to have somewhere safe and cosy to rest and be. They’ve been helping me with the decor, demanding piles of the softest and most colourful cushions and blankets in every room. They appear to be needing a lot of deep rest, according to their frequent napping. 

And what about you?

Well, what a process this has been! I’m so grateful for all the support that turned up to help me finally press pause! I’m enjoying playing house and getting to know my new neighbourhood. Now that I’m not constantly thinking about where next, there seems to be more time and space in the days… I wonder what I’ll do with it?

The grief of having lost all those babies and the pain of letting go of the dream of a family life is still very much here, but I feel like I'm in a much stronger position to take care of it all now. My three year odyssey showed me how fucking strong I am! 

In choosing to stop, I am choosing to participate in the flow of life. I am choosing to move towards community and belonging, connection and intimacy. All this stuff carries the risk of me experiencing more grief, loss, abandonment, rejection and/or shame. But after three years of wandering in the wilderness, I think it’s worth the risk.

This blog was a labour of love. If it touched you, I'd love to hear from you, feel free to email me on holly@hollystoppit.com.