PRAISE FOR LETTING GO
'A practical and heartfelt guide to healing for anyone who has suffered from low self-esteem, a lack of confidence, or disordered eating. Woolf writes with intelligence, wisdom and compassion for a generation of women battling an enduring media onslaught of perfectionism. The fightback continues.'
Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett, The Vagenda
'Psychology, philosophy and personal growth marvellously rolled into one, Letting Go is a must-read. This book shows us how to develop inner confidence, open new doors, and rediscover joy and meaning in our lives.'
Deanne Jade, psychologist and founder of the National Centre For Eating Disorders
'Letting Go is not about giving up, but about letting freedom in. This brave and personal account shows us that the path to true liberation is through embracing our true selves, however flawed we fear they might be.'
Sally Brampton, author of Shoot the Damn Dog and columnist for Top Santé and Psychologies
'A timely reminder that though we may take ourselves for granted at times, self-care is a divine responsibility. In Woolf's intimately personal yet relatable voice, Letting Go empowers us to accept both the role of wounded and healer.'
Caroline Kent, Telegraph journalist
'Gutsy and engaging, Letting Go combines research and real-life advice on fulfilling your inner potential and building self-belief... Woolf's latest book is highly recommended.'
Tim Weeks, Olympic trainer
'Emma Woolf is the voice of friendly sanity; she is the warm, assured hand that reaches out and grasps yours. A wonderfully helpful book.'
Kate Long, author of The Bad Mother's Handbook
'Emma Woolf's book is a reminder to us all to focus on what is important in our lives; our own well-being, the loved ones around us and the community. With the pervasive technology that so often consumes us and bombards us with trivia, it is easy to forget this. The book underscores the need to reclaim a break.'
Tanya Schevitz, spokesperson for Reboot's National Day of Unplugging www.nationaldayofunplugging.com
'What an entertaining, insightful, authentic and inviting exploration into the power of letting go this book is. These words will help many people really live again.'
John C. Parkin, author of the F**k It books
PRAISE FOR AN APPLE A DAY
'An Apple a Day is the single most important book in my library. I genuinely believe that I am alive because of it. It saved my life.'
Martha Greengrass
'I read An Apple a Day, and cried and cried. Reading about the illness in black and white forced me to admit to myself that I did have a problem… Through baring your innermost thoughts and feelings you have given me so much support. Thank you.'
Tessa
'I don't think I will ever be able to find the words to appropriately express my gratitude to you for writing An Apple a Day.'
TJ
'I cannot thank you enough for writing An Apple a Day… I could write and write and write forever about all the ways you helped me, but I am going to sit and enjoy the rest of my food now, because of you :)'
Samantha
'An Apple a Day: inspiring and heartbreakingly honest.'
Rachel Sales, www.pinkpangea.com
'Second time reading An Apple a Day – honestly the most inspiring thing I've ever read.'
Charlotte (@char_cassels)
'An Apple a Day: I have never read anything that so accurately describes how I feel.'
Simon
'When I read An Apple a Day, I finally realised that my struggle was a real one and that I was not alone… Thank you for reminding me that this isn't living. Thank you for reminding me: I want my life back.'
Yasmin
'Just finished reading An Apple a Day – not ashamed to say I cried. @EJWoolf is a massive inspiration.'
Esther Greenwood (@amissabyss)
'I first read An Apple a Day when I was in my very worst struggle with anorexia, and looking back I can truly say that it was one of the things that saved me. Your words are so real and true… Opening up to the public and media about eating disorders is such an incredibly brave thing to do. I admire you so much. Thank you for everything you do.'
Aine
PRAISE FOR THE MINISTRY OF THIN
'Just finished reading The Ministry of Thin by @EJWoolf. It strengthened my resolve to be pro-cake, pro-health and pro-happiness. Awesome read.'
@CakeSpy
'I loved The Ministry of Thin, impressively researched and argued. It's really hard with such books to find the balance between tantrum and tirade – and you've nailed it.'
Carolyn
'It is because of you and your books that you have conveyed to me and thousands of others that I am able to truly believe I am totally, utterly, and undoubtedly worthy of being totally, utterly and beautifully free of my own demons… You have reached out to me without even knowing.'
SV
'I cannot put The Ministry of Thin down! It should be on school compulsory reading lists… Inspires a lot of question and debate.'
Emma Louise Vizard (@EmmiLouize)
'I'm currently reading The Ministry of Thin and I couldn't just let it pass by without trying to contact you and tell you how much reading it has helped me.'
Sara
'Your books An Apple a Day and The Ministry of Thin have been essential reading in preventing my own relapse while I'm studying at university. Time and again they have stopped me from falling back into that dark, dark place.'
ML
'I loved The Ministry Of Thin – I don't believe there's anyone with a better overall grasp of body image issues than Emma Woolf right now.'
Kate Long
'The Ministry of Thin is a call to arms – Fat is a Feminist Issue for our times.'
Katharine Quarmby, Newsweek Europe
PRAISE FOR WAYS OF ESCAPE
'Is there anything Emma Woolf can't accomplish? She has proved herself as a topical, insightful journalist, a vulnerable biographer in An Apple a Day and a powerful voice of feminism in The Ministry of Thin…'
Esther Dark, Amazon review
LETTING GO
Copyright © Emma Woolf, 2015
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publishers.
Emma Woolf has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Summersdale Publishers Ltd
46 West Street
Chichester
West Sussex
PO19 1RP
UK
www.summersdale.com
eISBN: 978-1-78372-490-1
Substantial discounts on bulk quantities of Summersdale books are available to corporations, professional associations and other organisations. For details contact Nicky Douglas by telephone: +44 (0) 1243 756902, fax: +44 (0) 1243 786300 or email: nicky@summersdale.com.
To Cecil and Jean Woolf
In the end these things matter most:
How well did you love?
How fully did you live?
How deeply did you let go?
Buddha
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photograph by Thomas Skovsende
Emma Woolf is a writer and journalist. Born and brought up in London, she studied English at Oxford University. She worked in publishing for ten years before going freelance, and now writes for The Times, The Independent, The Sunday Telegraph, The Guardian, The Mail on Sunday, Vanity Fair, Cosmopolitan, Harper's Bazaar, Grazia, Red, Psychologies, Top Santé and The Sun, among others. Media appearances include Newsnight, Woman's Hour, World at One, PM and Radio Five Live. Emma is a regular on Radio 4's Saturday Review, BBC London's Review the Day, and BBC Radio Ulster. She's also the co-presenter on Channel 4's Supersize vs Superskinny, and has been twice nominated for Mind's Journalist of the Year award.
Emma is the great-niece of Virginia Woolf. Her non-fiction includes the bestselling An Apple a Day (2012) and The Ministry of Thin (2013). Her first novel Ways of Escape was published in 2014.
You can follow Emma on Twitter @EJWoolf.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to everyone who has kept me going during the writing of this book. Particular thanks are due to the following:
Everyone at Summersdale Publishers, especially Alastair Williams, Claire Plimmer and Lizzie Curtin; and Abbie Headon and Debbie Chapman for their patience, editorial insight and friendship. Thanks to Emily Kearns for copy-editing, and Marianne Thompson for the cover design. Thanks to James and Sarah Roy, and Kate Hewett, for a truly transformational retreat.
Thanks to some special friends: Joanna Tarbit, Darren Bird, Nick Breakell, Michael Lee Rattigan, Libby Courtice, Rita Guenigault, Susan Archer, Ilya Fisher, Mark Walsh, Fran Twinn and Beth Wilson.
Thanks to my inspiring readers: far too many to mention by name, but you're the most important people in this business.
Thanks also to everyone on Twitter for endless amusement and distraction.
To TGW, Marie Schendler, and Nana, in loving memory.
Thank you to my amazing siblings, Katie, Philip, Alice and Trim, and to my parents Cecil and Jean Woolf… 'It is not words could pay you what I owe.'
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1 – Transformational Retreat: Learning to Let Go
Chapter 2 – Change Your Body Language
Chapter 3 – Truly, Madly Confident
Chapter 4 – Building True Confidence
Chapter 5 – Adventures in Food
Chapter 6 – Supersize vs Superskinny
Chapter 7 – The Girl with the Apple Tattoo
Chapter 8 – Stop, Drop and Yoga
Chapter 9 – Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock: Women, Age and Fertility
Chapter 10 – Life, Love and Break-Ups Online
Chapter 11 – Looking for Love in Cyberspace
Chapter 12 – A Wounded Healer
Conclusion
Further Reading
Resources
Introduction
Some of us think holding on makes us strong but sometimes it is letting go.
Hermann Hesse
I still remember the moment I realised it was time to let go. I was coming to the end of a mind-body-spirit retreat in France. I'd had no contact with the outside world for nine days, so I was feeling uncharacteristically peaceful.
On the final evening I wandered down to the river alone. Sitting there in the dusk, a single line kept running through my head: Don't try to hold back the river. It was something I kept hearing on the retreat: Look at the way water flows over the riverbed. Let your life flow as naturally and easily as water… don't try to hold back the river. Watching the water flowing smoothly around rocks and pebbles, never stopping for obstructions, just flowing on, I found myself close to tears.
I knew, with absolute certainty, that it was time to let go. Happiness was within reach, but I needed to flow around the rocks and pebbles in my path, rather than getting stuck on them. Consciously or not, I'd been holding myself back for far too long. But could I do it? Could I leave the past behind, relinquish control and allow my life to flow as naturally as water?
I sat beside the river until night had fallen. In the darkness I could no longer see the fast-flowing waters, but I could still hear them. I was filled with jittery emotions of relief, excitement and unease. Change and uncertainty were my greatest fears, now it was time to face them head on. I was making a conscious decision to let go. Along with relief, I also felt empty… Anxiety and struggle were my modus operandi: what would life be like without them?
OK, I needed to let go: that was clear. But what, really, was I letting go of?
I was letting go of a badly broken heart, and a legacy of grief and bereavement which I had never faced. I was letting go of a decade of anorexia, with all the confusion and isolation that had brought with it. I was letting go of shame and despair; I was letting go of hope. That sounds defeatist, but it wasn't. Until I stopped hoping to change my past, or change other people, I couldn't move forward.
Many of us live in the present surrounded by the past: painful memories, experiences or conversations, difficult family relationships or failed love affairs, emotions which have been misunderstood. We replay failures or humiliations, we repeat childhood patterns: we persist in behaviour which we know we should leave behind. I was full of all that, and more.
Sometimes you can be trying too hard. I wanted the perfect recovery: I wanted to be healthy, fit and happy. I wanted to heal everyone who was still unwell, to make them happy too. I wanted to write more and work harder and be a 'success' (whatever that means). I wanted the perfect relationship and I wanted to become a mother.
The more I tried to will everything right, the less it worked out. You know the definition of insanity (attributed to Einstein): doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. My life had become an embodiment of that paradox. Perhaps it was time to stop trying altogether.
It wasn't only letting go; I had to start actively changing. I had to find the bravery to try new things. After ten years in the wilderness, I had some catching up to do. Food, love, friends – by throwing off the shackles of control I was giving myself permission to live again. Getting out of that wilderness hadn't been easy: now I was free and I had to do something with that freedom. I'd gained weight and restored my health. I'd met the right man, fallen in love and we were planning to have a baby together. Everything was hopeful; anything was possible.
And yet, I was still stuck. Despite all the exhilaration of recovery, something was missing. I had learned that losing weight was not the answer to happiness – but what was? I often think of a line in the Bible, Jeremiah (17:9): 'The heart is deceitful above all things.' From the outside I was a new person, but it didn't feel like it inside. I might be recovered, but I still wasn't quite letting go.
Letting go isn't giving up: it's knowing when to move on. It's knowing how to walk away with dignity. It's refusing to allow your past to define your present or your future. It's not a state of denial, it's not pretending that bad things haven't happened, or that you're not hurt. There is a time and a place for therapy and self-reflection and learning from the past. But there is also a time to accept that some things cannot be fixed, no matter how hard you try. Some things stay broken. Some relationships have run out of steam. Some dreams need to be quietly forgotten.
I had been holding on to old hopes and dreams for too long. I kept repeating the same patterns, an exhausting ricochet between openness and wariness, confidence and despair, rejection and being rejected, retreat, privacy, floodgates open, then barriers up. I was trying to control every aspect of my life, but emotionally I was a mess. The rigid control came from a place of profound fear that if I let go, I might fail – and if I failed, I was useless. What was stopping me from simply taking a deep breath and believing in myself? What was holding me back from letting go?
Nothing was holding me back – nothing but the usual self-doubt we've all felt; those illusions we create inside our heads that others are happier or more successful. That we're somehow inadequate, insignificant or lagging behind in the life stakes. The most important lesson we can learn, from every positive and negative experience, is to keep going. No setback is ever as bad as it seems: in fact, the only failure is to give up.
We may not always feel confident, but not giving up is brave. Some days, just keeping going takes immense strength. Nothing changes unless we find the courage to change it – but we have to keep moving, learning, risking and failing, because the same old paths don't lead anywhere new. You can stay stuck for years, or you can make changes in a few days or weeks.
This book is about why I got stuck, how I got unstuck and what happened along the way. This book is about you too – about all of us: why we deserve to heal and be happy; how to forgive ourselves and others; how to love deeply, live fully and learn to let go.
Chapter One
TRANSFORMATIONAL RETREAT: LEARNING TO LET GO
'After the meditation session this evening, can you stay behind? I've noticed your breathing and I'd like to do some work on your diaphragm.' James smiled at me, removing the electrodes from my brain cap. I nodded, wondering what on earth he was talking about, and left the treatment room in silence. Moments later, rinsing off the conductive gel in the shower, I found myself close to tears. Was this the 'emotional wall' I'd heard about? What was wrong with my breathing anyway – why was he singling me out? I felt irrationally upset: if I couldn't even manage to breathe, what chance did I have of fixing everything else? So began the second day of my transformational retreat.
I had booked my place on the retreat a few months earlier during the summer, in a mood of optimistic self-improvement. A nine-day programme of neurofeedback, yoga and meditation, it seemed an interesting combination of science and spirituality.
My reason for going was simple: I was stuck. I had been fully recovered from long-term anorexia for about two years, but after all that time focusing on my physical health, I needed help healing my mind and my heart. The stronger my body grew, the more I began to see that recovery wasn't just about gaining weight. It was also about relearning how to eat with others and how to relax around food.
Most of all, I had to learn how to let go. I was tired of struggling with guilt, anxiety and control. After a decade of rigid self-discipline, perhaps it was no wonder this mindset had become so ingrained. Overcoming anorexia was the hardest thing I'd ever done and the process had taken its toll. Now I was ready to leave the shame and the sadness behind; I was ready for the next phase of my life.
Life was busy in the weeks leading up to the retreat and I had little time to focus on what was ahead. It was only at the airport that I looked at the brochures properly:
'Aimed at spiritual practitioners who wish to take a step forward in their path, this Transformational Retreat will explore the themes of nature… Using the best neurofeedback technology, yoga, meditation, bodywork and shamanic ritual, we'll shake out the old and bring in the new.'
Shamanic ritual? Bodywork? I could feel my anxiety levels rising. In retrospect, it was naïve to have signed up for this particular retreat, with its emphasis on spiritual development, something I'd always been sceptical of. In fact, I had enquired about neurofeedback sessions in their London clinic, a course of brain training without the hippyish retreat, but they were fully booked for the next six months.
I arrived at the retreat full of trepidation. Even though I wanted to feel less anxious, to commit fully to my relationship, to embrace the future; even though I knew I had been 'stuck' for too long, the idea of changing scared me too.
I'm not alone in this: we humans are creatures of habit. We remain in relationships which have gone stale, we stick with jobs or friendships that are way beyond their sell-by date. We get stuck in the comfort zone, no matter how uncomfortable it becomes. We maintain habits for which we despise ourselves – smoking, drinking, overeating – because it's easier to stay stuck than it is to change. Change means uncertainty, change demands courage. Change carries the possibility of humiliation, disappointment or failure. Not changing can be boring, but safe.
I had been repeating the same mistakes for a long time, shutting others out, avoiding commitment, building barriers. Physical intimacy was OK, but emotional intimacy made me anxious. I manned my fortress as if the barbarians were at the gate. Contemplating the future, I knew I needed to start afresh and coming on this retreat was the first step. But the possibility that I might become less tense, anxious, controlling – that I might learn how to let go of everything that was making me miserable – this was as unsettling as it was necessary.
There were six of us at Tourné, an old French manor house tucked into the Artillac forest valley on the edge of the Pyrenees. By the middle of the week, everyone was reacting differently to the treatment. One of the women had a splitting detox headache, another was sleeping incredibly deeply. One man found himself recalling strange memories, such as the names and faces of his primary school classmates from 40 years before. I was alternating between insomnia and vivid dreaming, but I felt mentally alert too: engaged and present in my body. One experience we all shared was the exhaustion: transformation would prove to be surprisingly hard work.
Although this was a group retreat, there was no group therapy – everyone arrived with their own reasons for being there and there was no obligation to 'share'. Neurofeedback is a completely individual process: we worked one-on-one with the practitioners.
The others ranged in age from mid-40s to late 50s: I was the youngest by ten years. There were four professional women – a lawyer, an accountant, an HR director, a freelance film director – and one businessman. Of the women, one felt burnt out and was looking for a change of direction in her career, another wanted to lose weight and get in shape, one was recovering from divorce and empty-nest struggles, and the film director felt she'd reached a dead end in her life. The businessman was very quiet and spent most of the time in his bedroom, asleep I assumed. Later I heard he'd been struggling with severe insomnia for years. We were all looking for some kind of transformation in our personal lives.
'In fact, the transformation has already begun. Even the fact that you're here means that something has been making you unhappy, or uncomfortable, for a long time. You've decided to come on this retreat, and it wasn't by accident: you've committed this time and money because something is really bothering you. That's a positive. The first step in changing is wanting to change.'
James was a wonderfully open-hearted Canadian; he reminded me of a friendly puppy, curious about everything. Having worked for years in the hotel business, he had a mid-life crisis and went to India to find himself, where he and Sarah met and later married. They travelled across Thailand, Nepal and Indonesia, studying Buddhism, yoga, bodywork, nutrition and holistic medicine, before discovering neurofeedback. 'With neurofeedback we achieved, in a single week, more profound personal change than we could have achieved in years of meditation and traditional Eastern techniques,' he said. They had founded Transformational Retreats to combine the latest in Western brain research with traditional healing skills.
That first evening, we sat barefoot on silk scatter cushions and oriental rugs in the large sitting room of the manor house. A few hours before, getting off the plane in Toulouse airport, we'd been strangers, a group of stressed-looking city folk, mumbling our awkward introductions. That morning I had woken to the sound of police sirens outside my flat in central London, the clanging of rubbish bins and dreary autumn rain. Already, after just a few hours at the retreat, I felt I was in a different world.
With candles and incense burning, James and Sarah told us about the week ahead. They warned us that we were likely to feel very tired: 'Your brain will be sorting and processing a lot of old stuff and forging new neural pathways.' Twelve neurofeedback sessions in nine days is an intensive programme. At their UK clinics, it's administered once a week over several months.
As well as the tiredness, we'd feel ravenous too, they said: bowls of nuts and seeds were placed throughout the house, and we were encouraged to keep our protein levels topped up. Even in a normal resting state, the brain is a 'hungry organ', consuming over 20 per cent of our daily calories – and it craves protein like crazy when it's forming all these new connections.
Food was plentiful, but incredibly healthy: platters of quinoa, brown rice, green beans tossed in garlic, avocados, ripe cherry tomatoes, lettuce and cucumber fresh from the vegetable garden. For dinner, mouth-watering soups of carrot and coriander, broccoli and Stilton, fresh pea and mint, all homemade in the old farmhouse kitchen. This is what nutritionists mean by 'eating the colours of the rainbow': everything was colourful and bursting with flavour.
Those simple meals punctuated our days. It was a shock to find myself looking forward to sitting down at the large trestle table, breaking bread together. For years, eating in public had been extremely difficult for me: even in recovery, I preferred to avoid social situations involving food. Yet there I was, eating with the others and enjoying it. Perhaps something transformational really was taking place.
Each day after lunch we had nutritional masterclasses in the kitchen, where we experimented with vegan recipes and learnt to get excited about bee pollen, chia seeds, spirulina, goji berries and raw cacao. Among the new taste experiences for me were sliced beetroots glazed in honey, and grated carrot and wakame seaweed salad – two dishes I'd never encountered before. I also ate dessert for the first time in many years, an Armenian fruit salad of melon, figs, pistachio and pine nuts. I tasted it solely because the others were saying it was delicious (and it was). Trying something just because I wanted to – this was a personal breakthrough. I was joining in.
The emphasis was on nutritious, unprocessed food, almost entirely vegetarian. I haven't eaten meat or fish for 15 years, so I didn't register the vegetarian aspect, but there was excitement in the ranks when chicken appeared in a lunchtime curry. A couple of the meat eaters were longing for protein and a breakaway group walked five miles into the village one afternoon for cheese supplies. Lamb was served at the 'last supper', which also caused a spontaneous overflow of joy.
The absence of meat wasn't a rule, as such, but more a way of complementing the other positive changes we were making on the retreat. There were few 'rules', but strictly no drinking was one of them. It's thought that alcohol interferes with neural pathways and, at a time when the brain is forging new connections, it makes sense to avoid alcohol completely. (We were encouraged to continue this when we returned to our old lives.) Although I missed having a glass of wine on the first few evenings, I soon started to enjoy being booze-free. The five of us women frequently complimented each other on our glowing skin and sparkling eyes, to make the abstinence easier!
While I didn't mind the lack of meat or alcohol, the lack of technology was more challenging. For me, being completely disconnected was one of the most radical aspects of the retreat. I still don't understand how something so simple could be transformative, and why I'm not able to avoid the Internet and social media of my own free will. Why does it take enforced seclusion and a costly retreat to make me disconnect?
Looking back, I see how desperately I needed to switch off. That autumn, I had been close to meltdown. It had crept up on me, a combination of writing deadlines, digital overload, too much work and too little sleep. I felt profoundly out of touch with the real world and with myself.
So I decided to make my break from technology total. We had been advised to leave laptops and tablets behind, and encouraged to keep our phones switched off. Wi-Fi was available in certain areas of the manor house, but was intermittent. The neurofeedback process is thought to be far more effective in a neutral environment. (For the same reason, couples aren't encouraged to come on these retreats, because one needs to disengage from all that – whatever that is – in order to start afresh. If you go away with a partner, they reason, it's harder to break those patterns of behaviour.)
Twenty-five years since the invention of the World Wide Web, many of us are spending hours every day online. We're either on our computer, checking our emails, chatting, tweeting, or connected in some other way. What's the first thing you do when you wake up? Or before you go to sleep? While waiting for the train? In the queue at Starbucks? If you're anything like me, you're aimlessly Googling, checking out Instagram or Twitter, bidding on eBay, adding reminders to your calendar or replying to texts. How can we expect to fiddle with these devices from morning until late into the night – admit it, many of us take our tablets or phones to bed – then switch them off and switch ourselves off too?
We only need to look around to see how new technologies are changing the way we think, communicate and behave. Many neuroscientists have speculated how this constant digital saturation – something our species is not designed to cope with – might affect the brains of future generations. In the 1970s and 1980s we had non-digital childhoods, whereas most babies and toddlers are now completely at ease interacting with tablets and smartphones. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, children spend an average of seven hours a day on various forms of entertainment media, including televisions, computers, smartphones and other electronic devices.
You don't need to be a paediatrician or a neuroscientist to worry about the effects of prolonged digital exposure: the actress Cameron Diaz recently argued in The Body Book: 'We have analog bodies trying to live digital lives. Biologically we have not caught up to all this technology.' There has been particular scientific focus on the damaging effects of technology on our sleep patterns. Sleep cycles are regulated by circadian rhythms, which are regulated by light and darkness. Melatonin is a hormone produced by the pineal gland in the brain and it plays a key role in making us feel sleepy. Electronic devices, such as tablets, smartphones, laptops and TVs, emit blue light, a short-wavelength light that has been found to interfere with the production of melatonin. When we have these devices in our bedrooms we're giving our bodies and brains confusing signals, blocking the natural production of melatonin and thus interfering with our natural sleep cycles. We are artificially wakeful but simultaneously sleep-starved. No wonder many of us are left feeling distracted, anxious and unable to power down.
Necessary as it was, I found the prospect of this digital detox daunting. Back in London I'd packed a stack of books – with no Internet, mobile phone or newspapers, how would I fill my time?
I needn't have worried: a personalised daily schedule was handed out to each of us on the first evening. Almost every hour of the day was accounted for, from dawn yoga to evening meditation, by way of neurofeedback, life coaching, massage and bodywork.
Our bedrooms were what you might call spartan. Mine held a single bed, a desk and chair, and a low couch, no TV or radio, no wardrobe. I found the simple surroundings a relief. I've always rather liked the idea of living in a nun's cell (in fact I've always liked the idea of being a nun). There was no mirror in my bedroom, which didn't matter since I wore yoga pants, or shorts, or a sundress every day – I had no complicated wardrobe choices to make. I didn't use my hairdryer once and I noticed that all the women quickly abandoned make-up.
When we were free, between sessions, we were encouraged to spend time alone, in silence, 'simply resting'. This was quite a radical idea. I found it hard at first without my gadgets, no ping of texts, no 'likes' or retweets to validate my existence. Before I left I had set an email auto-reply and told myself that nine days away from work wasn't the end of the world. What could happen that was so important it needed my immediate attention? The whole point was to leave that anxiety behind.
Once I arrived, sans leads or chargers, and accepted that I was stranded, truly offline, without a paddle (ok, Blackberry), after a few days I began to relish it. It was liberating, not knowing and not needing to know what was going on in the world, by which I mean who was splitting up or getting back together with whom on the Daily Mail sidebar. I had no radio, so no economic or political updates, no arts or science documentaries, no World Service during the night.
Of course I could have borrowed someone else's laptop in an emergency. A couple of the women did keep their phones on, and they walked down to the main road to ring their husbands and children in the evening. But on day three, when the businessman offered me the use of his iPad, I shrank away in horror and went to pick raspberries in the garden. I knew that if I glanced at my emails I'd get sucked into that endless stream of replying, worrying and replying to replies. Instead I spent hours sitting on the low couch in my attic bedroom, writing – real writing, with a pen and paper. Once I got used to the strangeness of disconnection, my over-anxious, 'busy' brain began to quieten down.
At the centre of it all were the twice-daily sessions of neurofeedback. Essentially brain training, this is a powerful way to reach states of mind which lie outside our conscious control, and to break out of unwanted habitual thoughts or behaviours. Neurofeedback is non-invasive and drug-free, and uses low-resolution electromagnetic tomography to work deep areas of the brain. Sensors monitor the electrical activity from the scalp, and translate them into audio-visual form, allowing you to recognise negative patterns and convert them into healthier ones. The result is a calm, clear, focused mind, similar to that attained by meditation or mindfulness, but far more quickly.
With its Frankenstein-style electrodes, neurofeedback looks like something from science fiction – possibly even a bit sinister. In fact it was pioneered by NASA in the 1960s to help astronauts who were having fits when exposed to rocket fuel. Over the decades the technology has developed and there is a growing body of scientific evidence that it works.
There is no external manipulation; this is not electroconvulsive therapy. Through its own neuroplasticity, given the right cues, it appears that the brain is able to learn and change itself. Neurofeedback has been used to alleviate panic attacks, depression, binge eating, epileptic fits and trauma. In America, psychiatrists, neurologists and military medics use it to treat post-traumatic stress disorder. It has been used by yogis and monks to attain higher levels of consciousness, and by Premier League footballers, City high-flyers, poker champions and Olympic athletes to reach peak performance. Apparently even Stephen Hawking is a fan.
I had my brain mapped on the first day of the retreat and again on the last day. The neurofeedback suite was at the top of the house, just beneath my attic bedroom. That first day, James put a tight brain cap (similar to a swimming cap) on my head. He injected conductive gel into the brain cap, and connected 15 or 20 sensors via the cap to my scalp and forehead. Then he asked me to sit motionless for ten minutes, first with my eyes open, then with my eyes closed, while the sensors tracked my brainwaves.
I felt exposed, sitting there, unable to control what my brainwaves might be revealing. Was he reading my mind, my innermost thoughts, fears and hang-ups? In that way it was unlike any other therapy I'd tried; I wasn't in control of what I disclosed.
After the scan, James began to translate the data into a visual representation of my brain activity. It was instantly clear where the problems lay: my map showed alarming red spikes in theta and beta frequencies, the areas responsible for fightor-flight, panic and danger responses. These theta and beta spikes indicated excessive subconscious activity, leading to over-analysing, hyper-alertness, a tendency to be self-critical and an inability to power down at the end of the day. These elevated fight-or-flight responses are ideal when you live in a combat zone, but I don't.
We had not discussed my 'issues' beforehand. This was a purely neurological analysis, not a psychological assessment. But I didn't need to say a word: everything I was struggling with was right there, in my brain map.
And so to treatment. Each morning, after yoga and breakfast, I'd sit in front of a large computer screen with the brain cap and sensors connected to different areas, depending on what we were working on. It seemed incongruous, being wired up to a machine in such an idyllic setting, but infinitely more calming than sitting in a laboratory or consulting room. As I focused on the flickering screen I could see the forest through the open window beyond and hear the sound of birds.
The brain-training exercises – essentially computer games – involved small coloured orbs like flying spaceships, musical waves, spinning shapes. Each person's treatment programme was individualised, to reach our optimal brain parameters. When the brain reaches the 'optimal' zone, the computer shapes move, or buzz, or flower, depending on the game. The brain likes the audio-visual feedback and wants to find that optimal state again. This is what is meant by neuroplasticity: the ability of the brain to adapt itself and forge new connections.
Eventually, given repeated positive cues, the brain shifts itself out of the old pathways, and learns to function in the new zone without prompting. You can't directly affect the images on screen so it's an odd sensation – somewhere between relaxing and focusing – and surprisingly tiring.