This article was written for World Childless Week 2026

What does a childless, single woman do in August?

Does she tag along on a friend's family holiday?

Does she send herself off on a yoga retreat?

Does she hike, ramble, climb, kayak or deep sea dive?

Does she do another training course?

Generally, I like to fill the whole month of August with work.

I run playful, creative and therapeutic workshops for adults, helping people to connect with their inner parts (ie their inner critic, inner child, inner diva, inner sloth, etc) in creative and embodied ways. 

I generally run my courses in school halls, so it makes sense to squeeze in as many as I can during the school holidays, while the space is available.

But this year I’m trying something different: I am exploring what happens when I give myself some space.

When I came up with this idea, some parts of me were absolutely delighted: my crowd of Exhausted Inner Children were so ready for a rest from the relentless productivity, my inner Free-Spirit Wanderer was desperate to kick off her shoes and roam around barefoot, my inner Action Adventurer was already zipping up her jumpsuit and putting on her goggles.

But I also have a cluster of inner parts that have never been the biggest fans of unstructured time. These are my Stability-Focussed Parts. They love the containment of a schedule, the clarity of a role, the anchoring of responsibility and the direction that comes with living my purpose. 

I’m enormously grateful to Team Stability. They took hold of the driving wheel of my life when I lost my four babies. They were there when my partner left, and they’ve stayed with me every step of the way as I’ve tried to come to terms with living a life without children.

They work hard, designing an astonishing, creative, meaningful life for me, where I get to travel, learn, teach, write and support endless streams of people to find more joy, play and freedom in their lives. 

Team Stability are at their happiest when I’m being useful to others. If they had it their way, I’d be useful 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If they had it their way, I’d be Kuan Yin, the Buddhist deity with 1000 arms.

Kuan Yin hears the cries of the world and in each of her hands, she holds a tool; a soothing balm, a medicinal herb, a sword, a thunderbolt. Whenever someone is in need of compassionate care, Kuan Yin is there in a flash.

Team Stability’s relentless campaign is: “If you can’t have children, why not be Kuan Yin?” I mean I get it, I have got the time and the energy and people do need support. But the thing is, Kuan Yin has access to the realm of the gods for her support, whereas I am one single human who has, unsurprisingly, arrived in August totally burned out.

I want this to change. I don’t want my life to be entirely focussed around meeting other people’s needs, so I’m taking some time to explore what happens when I give myself some space. 

Come walk with me through week one of The Embracing Space Experiment…

Phase One - The Exhausted Inner Children

My crowd of Exhausted Inner Children demanded rest, comfort food and crap telly. Some of my Proactive Manager parts thought it would be nice to clean and tidy the flat for them, but the kids couldn’t be arsed! A swarm of hot air balloons drifted by my window (the joys of living in Bristol!) and my Inner Children just wanted to snuggle under a blanket amongst the mess, eating crisps and watching the colourful balloons float by. 

The Proactive Managers stood down and let the kids do what they needed to do. But apparently 24 hours is quite enough of that! 

Phase Two - A Gentle Devon Retreat

The next day, my Proactive Manager parts heaved me out of bed, tidied up the crisp crumbs and packed a suitcase. 

They bundled me onto a train to Devon, where I spent three evenings comparing notes with a fellow childless friend who knows a thing or two about burnout.

In the daytimes, while my friend was busy tending to her ailing mum, I wandered around the Dartington Estate in a Jane-Austin-goes-punk hot pink and lime green gingham dress and baseball cap, draping myself in exquisite landscapes and reposing by the river Dart. 

Inside, my Must-Work-Harder parts were having an absolute field day: “What is this? What is she doing? Hasn’t she got work to do? Is this some kind of art project? Why isn’t she thinking about the important email that’s sitting in her inbox?” 

I felt the familiar clench with each inner interruption, and I said: “Not now, dear parts. I really need to rest.”

But they persisted, so I turned towards them, gently asking, “Why is this so scary for you?” They told me, “We remember a time when you couldn’t get off the sofa. We’re scared that’s going to happen again. We want to keep you busy and connected with other humans because if you stop, you might never start again”.

Feeling compassion towards my poor, worried, Must-Work-Harder parts; I said; “I can see how scary this is for you, and I know you’re trying to help, but I am OK. I’m not that broken one, stuck to the sofa. I am resourceful. I am loved. I am safe. I just need a rest is all. Hey, why don’t you come and rest with me?” 

So they did. Well, kind of. They managed a few moments of rest, in between the ruminating and the planning. This has been their work for a long, long time, it’s not easy for them to stop at the drop of a hat!

Wanting to help my parts continue to practice the art of letting go, I found a good enough apartment for a few days in St Austell, Cornwall. 

Phase Three - Walking In Cornwall

As soon as I arrived, I dumped my bags and headed straight for Charlestown. The little harbour was bustling with couples and families and groups of friends, all eating and drinking and laughing in the sunshine. Feeling like the only solo person in the whole of Charlestown, I found a little tucked-away table, ordered chips and wine and hid myself in a book.

The next day I caught the meandering bus to Fowey and spent the day walking back along the up-and-down rollercoaster track known as The Southwest Coast Path. It took some time to fully open to the epic beauty on offer. Some of my parts were busy grumbling about my sore legs and berating me about my fitness levels and others were still fixating on that unanswered email. 

Knowing I needed some help, I sang a song to the sea:

“Hello, hello the sea, 

It's me, it's me, it's me. 

I need some time in your company, 

Your great wise company,

I need some time to breathe,

I need some time to heal,

I need some time to free myself up

From all that I've been holding.

I’m gonna need some help with that, 

I'm gonna need some help with that.”

The sea said: “Hiya love! All you need to do is SLOW DOWN AND NOTICE MORE!”

So I paused and took in the lichen covered craggy rocks, the vast, clear, rippling ocean, the sounds of the sea birds, the breeze on my skin, the smell of the bracken and the manic erratic tiny yellow butterflies.

Carrying on along the path, whenever I got lost in thought, my senses brought me back to the present. I opened my heart to the stunning views, sang love songs to the landscape and swam in the gentle calm sea.

It was the day of the eclipse. As the moon began its journey across the sun, I wove my way through clusters of humans clutching home-made cereal box pinhole cameras, self-consciously manhandling colanders and wearing space-aged specs. I couldn't seem to stop anywhere, so I just kept walking.

As the sun disappeared behind the moon, we were temporarily plunged into eerie darkness and the sea birds squawked their confusion. I thought to myself: moments like this are supposed to be shared. But I kept on walking.

I asked my Walking Parts why they needed me to keep moving. They said, “As long as you’re walking, you’re not collapsing into your grief.” True, but unfortunately their coping methods have consequences! It turns out - if you walk for 8 hours in nylon shorts on a hot day, you’re going to end up with the dreaded CHUB RUB!

I woke up the next day with my red raw thighs stuck to the duvet and hobbled down to the chemist to stock up on every type of chub rub remedy on offer. Gah! Just when I’d discovered that walking is the answer to everything! What would I do instead? 

My Admin Parts said, ”That work email still needs answering...” “Nope!” I said, “There’s plenty of time for admin, but this week we need to prioritise letting go and opening up to spaciousness. We all need this!”

I rode the bus to the Lost Gardens of Heligan, where I quickly slid back into my default walking setting, but the stinging pain in my thighs told me I had to stop. Taking inspiration from the Mud Maid, a serene sculpture of a woman resting on the earth, I sat beside her for about 2 1/2 seconds before my Walking Parts had me up and marching about again. 

Turning towards my Walking Parts, I said, “Dear Walking Ones - I am in pain and I don’t want to walk this much today, what’s happening for you?” They pointed out all the families and couples and groups of friends and they said, “It’s too sad for you to sit amongst them, all alone. It’s better for you to keep moving.” 

They were clearly activated and I really didn’t want to cause my poor thighs any more pain, so I decided the kindest thing would be to slowly take myself back to my accommodation to rest and write for the afternoon.

On my final day in Cornwall, I woke up to find the chub rub remedies and enforced rest had worked their magic! So I decided to bus it down to Gorran Haven and walk back along the coast path. 

Loving being back on the path, I drank in the views, breathed in the sea air and appreciated the strength of my body. Some of my parts were still grumbling about my legs, wanting to catch the bus home at every opportunity, but my Completionist Parts drove me on, insisting that I complete the whole stretch of coast. 

The last few miles had a flavour of grim endurance, as I trudged up and down steep steps and crept through fields of moody looking cows. I’d run out of water and I was hot, sweaty and thirsty, but my Completionist Parts enticed me onwards with promises of a cold Orangina. 

According to my app, I walked 29.99 km that day! As I returned to Charlestown, I could hear the dulcet sounds of a brass band playing Happy by Pharrell Williams. My feet began to dance me closer when I realised the musicians were all youngsters. Overwhelmed with fatigue and the sweet unlikeliness of all these young Cornish folk finding their way to each other to play music together, I shed a little tear and then another and another.

And there she was - the Lonely Grieving Part who sits underneath all the work, all the busy-ness, all the striving, all the walking. The part that simply feels the aching pain of loss and loneliness. I asked if she wanted me to take her home and she said, “No, I want to stay here, amongst the people. I want to listen to the music, I want to watch the kids dive-bombing off the quayside and I want that Orangina you promised!” 

Kuan Yin finds a table overlooking the sea and orders a cold Orangina. She puts down her thousand tools of compassion and lets her thousand arms rest. 

No need to do or be anything for anyone tonight. 

No need to walk a thousand miles.

No need to hide. 

I am here, alone, grieving and alive.

This Article was written for World Childless Week 2026, which runs from 14-20 September 2026. 

"World Childless Week aims to raise awareness of the childless not by choice (cnbc) community and enable every childless person to share their story with confidence."  

Find out more about World Childless Week here.

For last year's World Childless Week, I offered a session called Exploring Childlessness Through Creative Approaches To Internal Family Systems (IFS). 

You can find the video of my session for World Childless Week 2025 here.

I have been writing about my journey with child loss and coming to terms with childlessness on this here blog for the last few years. 

You can find all those blogs here.