Trigger Warning: grief, miscarriage

This blog explores how ritual, nature and creativity can support grief. It offers three grief rituals for you to try wherever you are.

Today is the one year deathaversary of mine and Joe’s relationship. This time last year, I was sobbing on the carpet amongst the dust and debris that he left behind in our terraced house in Bristol.

This announcement first appeared in the Holly Stoppit Workshops Newsletter, April 2022.

Hello. I am Holly and I am a Public Shedder. “Shedding” is a term I got from Amy Turn Sharp (I've posted her writing below), for me Shedding means letting go of a reality that used to define me, it can be a painful process, full of grief and vulnerability. Usually considered a highly private activity, I have shed in public, on purpose, many times as a performer, public speaker and writer. I have also helped other artists to shed in my capacity as a facilitator of self-exploratory workshops and a director of comic autobiographical theatre.

This blog charts my Public Shedding journey, from novice, impulsive, not-very-aware-of-why-I-was-doing-it Shedder to professional Shedder and holder of fellow Sheddies. There are guest spots from writers Amy Turn Sharp and Jeff Foster and a couple of cameos from a friend on facebook and my Clinical Supervisor. Plus two useful lists (who doesn’t love a list?): Why Have I Been Shedding In Public? and Questions To Ask Yourself Before you Shed In Public. Enjoy!

Dear Me From July 2021,

It’s Me From March 2022! I’ve come to sit with you in this den made of sticks, in these snowdrop carpeted woods on the undulating Sharpham estate in Devon. Spring hope is bursting through the decaying remnants of your summer’s leaves. There are perfect new buds on the trees, quivering with the potential for another vibrant summer.

I come baring two huge hot-pink flowers that I found on the ground. One of them is for you. 

To mark the turning of the years, I started 2022 on my meditation cushion in the company of over a hundred people, scattered across the globe. I’d signed up for an online meditation retreat, led by one of my favourite teachers, Martin Aylward and assisted by Milla Gregory. For four days, we gathered on Zoom to explore presence, letting go and opening up, through guided meditations, dharma talks, breakout discussions and invitations for solo investigations.

I had a number of lightbulb moments about how to let go which I’d like to share with you, as well as some meditations for you to try. But first I’d like to give you a little context to help you accompany me on my journey towards understanding more about the power of surrender.

I am logging my daily delights for the month of November, inspired by The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. If you'd like to know why I'm doing this – start back at Moments of Delight #1.

Duck Pond Delights

I'm having an admin day at home. I've finished my not especially delightful lunch and my sprawling to-do list is waiting impatiently for my return. I take a moment to check in with myself and notice I'm coiled tight and panicky, I'm never going to get everything done! 

Compassion takes over, eases off my slippers and replaces them with my boots, before wrestling me into my coat and shoving me out the front door to go and see the ducks.

I am logging my daily delights for the month of November, inspired by The Book of Delights by Ross Gay. If you'd like to know why I'm doing this – start back at Moments of Delight #1.

Clifton Delights

It's Supervision day and I've ridden the tiny train all the way from the dirty East of Bristol where I belong to the grand North Western heights of Clifton, where I am an alien..

Inspired by The Book Of Delights, I challenged myself to write about a moment of delight every day for the whole of November. Far from distracting me from the grief, connecting with my delight has been helping me to replenish my strength and determination to keep going through what could be described as one of the hardest parts of my life to date.

Yesterday, I marked the 12 week anniversary of my partner walking out of our story, with a solo walk through wind, rain and sun at Weston-super-Mare beach. I listened to Tom Waits whilst gazing out on the mud flats and thought about all that I've lost and how far I've come.