I think I may need to post a trigger warning here. My feeling is that this piece, from Edith Eger's book The Choice, is one of the most beautiful, challenging, and relevant pieces of writing I've read recently. I think its time is absolutely now to be heard. But it's not easy reading.

Edith Eger (1927-2026) was a Hungarian Jewish Holocaust survivor. A Hungarian, American psychologist and beautiful spirited being.

Her books The Gift and The Choice are well worth a read in full. I shared this passage with several wonderful groups of people recently, in classrooms and in a circle that I'm a part of. I feel that its time is absolutely now to be heard.

Edith writes (starts pg 298 The Choice):

'Do I have what it takes to make a difference? Can I pass on my strength instead of my loss? My love instead of my hatred?

I've been tested before. A fourteen year-old boy who had participated in a car theft was sent to me by a judge. The boy wore brown boots, a brown shirt. He leaned his elbow on my desk. He said, "It's time for America to be white again. I'm going to kill all the Jews, all the niggers, all the Mexicans, all the chinks."

I thought I would be sick. I struggled not to run from the room. What is the meaning of this? I wanted to shout. I wanted to shake the boy, say Who do you think you're talking to? I saw my mother go to the gas chamber. I would have been justified. And maybe it was my job to set him straight, maybe that's why God had sent him my way. To nip his hate in the bud. I could feel the rush of righteousness. It felt good to be angry. Better angry than afraid.

But then I heard a voice within. Find the bigot in you, the voice said. Find the bigot in you.

I tried to silence that voice. I listed my many objections to the very notion that I could be a bigot. I came to America penniless. I used the 'colored' bathroom in solidarity with my fellow African American factory workers. I marched with Dr Martin Luther King Jr. to end segregation. But the voice insisted: Find the bigot in you. Find the part in you that is judging, assigning labels, diminishing another's humanity, making others less than who they are.

The boy continued to rant about the blights to America's purity. My whole being trembled with unease, and I struggled with the inclination to wag my finger, shake my fist, make him accountable for his hate - without being accountable for my own. This boy didn't kill my parents. Witholding my love wouldn't conquer his prejudice.

I prayed for the ability to meet him with love. I summoned evevry image I had of unconditional love. I thought of Corrie ten Boom, one of the Righteous Gentiles. She and her family resisted Hitler by hiding hundreds of Jews in their home, and she ended up in a concentration camp herself. Her sister perished there - she died in Corrie's arms. Corrie was released due to a clerical error one day before all of the inmates of Revensbrück were executed. And a few years after the war, she met one of the most vicious guards at her camp, one of the men who were responsible for her sister's death. She could have spit on hi, wished him death, cursed his name. But she prayed for the strength to forgive him, and she took his hands in her own. She says that in that moment, the former prisoner clasping the hands of the former guard, she felt the purest and most profound love. I tried to find that embrace, that compassion in my own heart. To fill my eyes with that quality of kindness. I wondered if it was possible, that this racist boy had been sent to me so I could learn about unconditional love. What opportunity did I have in this moment? What choice chould I make right then that could move me in the direction of love?

I had an opportunity to love this young person, just for him, for his singular being and shared humanity. The opportunity to welcome him to say anything, feel any feeling, without the fear of being judged. I remembered a German family that was stationed for a while at Fort Bliss, how the girl would climb into my lap and call me Oma - Grandma - and this little benedication from a child felt like the answer to the fantasy I'd had as I passed through German towns with Magda and the other inmates, as the children spat at us, when I dreamed of a day when German children would know they didn't have to hate me. And in my own lifetime, that day came to pass. I thought of a statistic I read, that most of the members of white supremacist groups in America lost one of their parents before they were ten years old. These are lost children looking for an identity, looking for a way to feel strength, to feel like they matter.

And so I gathered myself up and I looked at this young man as lovingly as I could. I said three words: "Tell me more."

I didn't say much more than that during his first visit. I listed, I empathized. He was so much like me after the war. We had both lost our parents - his to neglect and abandonment and mine to death. We both thought of ourselves as damaged goods. In letting go of my judgement, in letting go of my desire for him to be or believe anything different, by seeing his vulnerability and his yearning for belonging and love, in allowing myself to get past my own fear and anger in order to accept and love him, I was able to give him something his brown shirt and brown boots couldn't - an authentic image of his own worth. When he left my office that day, he didn't know a thing about my history. But he had seen an alternative to hate and prejudice, he was no longer talking about killing, he had shown me his soft smile. And I had taken responsibility that I not perpetuate hostility and blame, that I now bow to hate and say, You are too much for me.

Now, on the eve of my return to prison, I remind myself that each of us has an Adolf Hitler and a Corrie ten Boom within us. We have the capacity to hate and the capacity to love. Which one we reach for - our inner Hitler or inner ten Boom - is up to us.'

The Choice
Edith Eger
Published by Penguin Random House 2017

In my opinion, there is always, always something special about a group of homeopaths coming together. There is an energy that I don't always experience out in the 'real world', though that's not to say it's not there too.

Is is about an ability to let go, to embrace, to be yourself, delightedly unique as you are? To meet with a shared purpose? To feel you are amongst like minded beings? To support each other? Celebrate with each other? Perhaps all of these and so much more alongside.

This weekend showed me, once again, how what we have is so special. On arrival, I was ushered in by drums. Welcomed by them. A huge drumming circle, and I was passionately embraced by the noise.

Or at least, as I was on the later side getting there, the drumming circle had begun. The joyful sound from the barn space accompanied me putting my tent up, and despite having been listening to Michael Singer's The Surrender Experiment (I highly recommend) on my trip to South Wales, I was feeling resentful to have brought my one Em tent (3 person if you listen to the tent peeps), instead of my 2 person tent that I suggested I bring. I could have the 2 person tent up in half the time. Less than gracefully I rang Steve, my partner - who, for the record had entirely packed the car for me with my camping things, including a hot water bottle - and complained.

Complaining done (and for what it's worth, I was grateful for the space and still entirely love that tent and did apologise later), it was the tent I had so it was time to get on with the erection process. I did consider sleeping without a tent but decided quickly against that. I can absolutely manage it solo, but moving the tent backwards because it was, in fact, the less great tent size for the space was a challenge. Just at that moment, my tent neighbours arrived. Literally the people who were staying right next to me. They assisted and in no time I was set up. The moment of needing help and it arriving was not lost on me. To reconnect with people I met several years ago was also perfect.

I want to backtrack a moment which feels relevant to The Surrender Experiment, and finding yourself in surprising places you'd never expected. There's been a lot of that for me, and mostly by saying yes to opportunities I didn't always feel ready for, but others did, and I got on with it. I'd taken on a role at the School of Homeopathy in Stroud, and due to this ended up going to Stroud on a weekend that I didn't usually attend. There I met Bill Rumble there whilst out at dinner. A few weeks after that I had an email from Linda Gwillim to say that Bill had said I'd be happy to teach in Wales. Racking my brain, I replied that I didn't think I'd said that - but yes, I'd love to. Linda told me that sounded just like Bill. And so I got to attend and teach at the Welsh Winter School and two other teaching weekends at the Welsh School of Homeopathy. Each time it was wonderful to be with the students and folk there. Saying yes to life has brought much joy.

When I was invited to the Summer School - I knew it was right to go along. The Welsh Summer Schools have always been spoken of with a tone of reverence, awe and wonder. And are only for graduates, students and lecturers/past lecturers of the School. To be able to go due to a chance meeting and saying yes to several opportunities, it felt like there was really only one right answer.

Likewise when I was asked if I'd like to speak at the Summer School. Absolutely happy to, though I also don't need to. Whatever works best. And if I was to speak, at the moment I'm a bit obsessed with joy - and what we do when we lose joy as well.

At some point on Friday, Linda mentioned that my session would be sometime in the morning, with Richard Pitt the other time, and Geoff Johnson in the afternoon... well, I'm glad I didn't know that before. They're both brilliant, well known teachers and I’m not sure how I’d have felt, even though I'm sure how I'd have responded. It was probably just going to be accompanied by more nerves if I'd have known. I was taught by Geoff whilst I was at the North West College of Homeopathy and for quite some time, I have taught the same weekends as he does in Stroud. I used to read about Richard Pitt doing amazing things in Africa in journals whilst I was studying. That said, I've been teaching for somewhere around 12 years (I'm going to have to check out the exact dates later) but it's amazing how you can suddenly feel dwarfed by the presence you're in.

Anyway - that's just my feel the fear and do it anyway reminder. It was wonderful speaking and sharing my thoughts and learnings with the room, hearing stories and facilitating creativity and curiosity in my session. I am so grateful to have been asked - and to have said yes.

That's enough about me - and the story of why I was there. For me the weekend really highlighted the beauty of collaboration, a celebration of the individual with the support of the group, and so I want to get back to that. The fact circles were used as a seating configuration so often felt significant. Drumming circles, fire circles, circles used in ceremony. Everyone had an equal place and part to play in those spaces. Ceremonies were held, people nourished, with both soul food and delicious vegetarian fare. I left with my cup overflowing, my heart full and feeling filled with gratitude and hope for the world we live in and the homeopathic community. New connections made, older ones nurtured, good friends caught up with and feeling grateful for it all.

The Welsh School does things differently. At parties at least is my take. There's a bit more of a wild, free energy, something perhaps a little more feral. Feral - for me by the way - is considered a high compliment. An embracing of our wilder sides (that said, I was assured that the Summer School I attended was plenty more sedate than other times).. Still, for once, I was not the only person dancing barefoot. There was a different rhythm. And with that, a whole load of connection, of beauty. Bring me barefoot to a field with a group of homeopaths anyday.  Being woken by the dawn chorus, in a field full of peaceful beings is a gift by itself, but to be entertained and inspired by the likes of Geoff and Richard and frankly, to arrive a relative stranger and leave feeling so nourished is amazing. Welcoming. Inclusive. And joy-full.

It felt like the land and sky were meeting us there. The venue, Mud and Wool in Lampeter, was perfect. Complete with sauna, plunge bath, cold shower, outdoor shower, cottages, camping space including the camping meadow, indoor shower and loos, room for campervans, two shepherds huts, a studio space, bell tents and a huge barn area with a bar, and creative areas... oh and the fire pit, plus loads of seating - comfortable and dining, inside and out, great views and lots more - it was a dream of a location to be. The owners were fascinating to chat to, accommodating and helpful. And, as I have excitedly told several people, have two rescue pigs. The mist that came in during the water blessing ceremony just added to the magic, to the joy of being held in the space together.

The thought that must have gone into planning the weekend was impressive. And the somewhat winging it element where needed was also inspiring. I had prepared to be sharing a powerpoint, however I hadn't got the right connections with me to make it work - and had also been ready to potentially present outside, without tech, so the fact I didn't have my shiny slides, felt like it fitted into an energy of - we've got a plan but it's flexible if it needs to be. A great way to do life. Geoff was going to teach inside, but the weather was so lovely, so we headed out to be the sun. What a joy. To adapt, to embrace what is.

There's been a couple of times recently I'd been disappointed by marketing by folk - almost putting down someone or something else, and this weekend was such an amazing counterbalance to that. Let's lift each other up, stand in circle together. Nourish, grow, love and learn. Here's to each other. The unique brilliance of all of us. And celebrate everything.

I was aware I might not get close to doing the event credit in the writing, but still it felt important to write. So much magic. Smiles shared, joy touched upon, magic well and truly embraced. For we are fine out there ourselves, but are so much better together.

I am hopeful, on that note, for an event, inspired by the beauty of the final Welsh Summer School, and Welsh School altogether to come out of that weekend. Watch this space - and if it does come into being, then definitely get the date in the diary and your ticket bought.

There is so much more, and perhaps for me it takes time for it to sink in, or perhaps it's just supposed to stay sacred in that space. The learning from the beauty, the collective, the collaboration in harmony felt important to share. The biggest thanks to the joy, healing and incredible magic Bill and Linda have brought to the world through their 31 years of running the Welsh School of Homeopathy together. Totally and utterly remarkable and their beauty, passion, compassion and joy shone out of them all weekend.

With joy, Em x

Left to right: John Morgan, me, Linda Gwillim, Bill Rumbe, Richard Pitt, Geoff Johnson

On the panel I didn't know I was doing til 3 mins before we began. What an utter honour and joy to be there accompanied by these amazing beings. Maybe that's all I needed to write after all. What an utter joy and honour to be in Wales surrounded by all the amazing beings who were there this weekend. Magic indeed.

It was a poor example. Clumsy. I've had, probably hundreds of more eloquent conversations with others on the same topic, but sometimes I can dash in and enthusiastically share and here I did, and on reflection it feels a bit yucky. Like I got it wrong. Which if you listened to my words, I feel like it’s fair to say that I did. If you listened to my heart and what I feel and know I stand for…well then that perhaps made my words even more clumsy. The example was a poor one. I had plenty of other things I could have shared - or even shut up, and my point was that it didn’t illustrate well what I was trying to say well.  It felt wrong. Which left me feeling irritated at myself for my lack of eloquence and good explanation in the space. Not getting across what I was trying to and potentially being misunderstood.

There is learning about better expression here, and I’ll take that forward. And also, for me at least, learning around being able to be misunderstood and potentially thought badly of.

How I think others perceive me, and allowing that not to feel congruent with who I feel I am, is definitely something I am still learning, working on and feeling my way around. I’m miles on from where I was years ago - with still plenty of room to grow.

My neighbour, for example, ‘knows’ that I’m a narcissist. ‘Knows’ as in that is her belief. To her, it is a fact. I took some time to examine her ‘fact’ after she shouted it at me some time ago and decided that personally I know, or I at least feel I know that I am pretty confidently, most likely not a narcissist. Of course, perhaps a question is if one were, would one sign up to the label or not?!

That query aside, it was one of her best teaching points for me over our at times quite uncomfortable relationship. And I am incredibly grateful for it.

It is able to inform my discomfort in this space somewhat. And whilst I am still working with it; the recent experience is definitely shining a light that I haven’t let go of what others perceive of me being important to me. More work to do and hey, that’s one of the joys for me in this discomfort. And really each time. This time there’s definitely a highlight on a need to be able to express my heart more eloquently. And perhaps to pause more too.

That day felt like a rushing day. It had more packed into it than I could get through. This week, if I’m honest, this month, has had a few too many tasks if I stop and listen in. And perhaps that is very relevant learning also.

Stepping back, slowing, creating space. Interestingly they are some areas the course has touched upon so perhaps my experience was, whilst not comfortable, exactly what I needed. After all, my favourite mantra is ‘it’s all learning.’ Most of my best learning comes from the moments that aren’t exactly glorious, where I didn’t 'get it right'. Or at least felt that way.

Permission to get it wrong too, feels important somehow. For that, what comes to mind for me is the beautiful Morgan Freeman and his line in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves** that ‘there are no perfect men in this world, only perfect intentions.’ Here’s to fking up and learning from it all. In all the ways that we can.

Interestingly, for me at least, half of my observation, the other part aside from my poorly worded, badly explained attempt at standing in someone else’s shoes, was whether someone could experience a scenario with curiosity and creativity meeting discomfort in an unexpected situation with compassion for the self, compassion for the whole energy of any emotions arising and embracing the potential creative spark in the unexpected. Perhaps it is time to do just that for myself.

Here’s then too, to compassion, creativity and curiosity. Along with being delightfully human. Which is not getting it right all the time. Or at least, certainly not for me ;)


This experience has sparked something in me and may be a start of a few blogs on the topic, or even the seed of a project to bear fruit. I'm aware I'm not the only person in the world that fucks up here and there. And perhaps I am not the only one who is up in the night reflecting on their learning around it. I used some really useful tools learnt over the years and am grateful for all of that too. I'm not sure what form a project going forwards may take... It may look like just a blog here and there, and may be a circle space to explore, create and reflect, or may be something entirely different altogether.


** I actually think that may be the exact moment that I fell in love with Morgan Freeman. I wrote the quote on a postcard sized framed card full of my favourite quotes back when I was about 14. Since I’m here with my Robin Hood trivia, one of my draws to see the film was that Kevin Costner went skinny dipping and, well, the waterfall scene. I like to think that 14 year old me would be happy that I wove Morgan, being imperfect as a human, skinny dipping - and Kevin’s naked bum into a blog on fking up and learning from it.

14 year old me would definitely be pleased I swam in the waterfall from the film last year. Here's to life. Diving in. Fking up. Learning. Loving. Ourselves and others.

A guest post by Les Peebles, Creator of The Four Turning Points Method

Em is my homeopath, and during the time I’ve known her she has become someone I genuinely value — not just for her skill and care, but for the quality of her thinking and the warmth she brings to everything she does.

When I recently shared with her some of the work I have been developing around conflict, disturbance, and finding clarity, she responded with such generosity and enthusiasm that she invited me to write something for her blog. I am honoured to be here.

My work is called The Four Turning Points. It is a very simple, pen-and-paper method for finding clarity when you feel disturbed, angry, or caught in a story. But before I explain what it is, I should probably explain why I created it.

The Illusion of the Victim

For a long time, I believed that the conflict in my life was everyone else's fault.

I had experienced a lot of it—from being bullied as an eight-year-old, to deep conflicts in communities and my own marriage. I felt misunderstood, and my response was anger. I became a shouter. I wasn't physically violent, but my shouting was a form of emotional violence that scared the people closest to me. And I couldn't see it. I genuinely believed I was the reasonable one, and the world was just winding me up.

Until one afternoon when I was 37.

My 12-year-old son was having a meltdown, which triggered my own anger. I was holding him by the shoulders on the lounge floor, shouting at him to calm down.

And then, he spat in my face.

In that exact second, something shifted. I suddenly saw what I had become. I let him go, and I made a promise to myself: the next time I felt that rage rising, I would catch it before it left my mouth.

The very next day, the anger flared up again. Every instinct told me to stay and fight. But I remembered my promise. I walked out of the house.

After 15 minutes of walking, the heat faded. And I realised something profound: no one had been hurt. I didn't feel any shame. All my choices were still intact. I had found the pause.

The Power of the Pause

That moment changed my life. I realised that between the trigger (what happens to us) and our reaction (what we do next), there is a gap. If we can learn to stand in that gap, we can change the story.

When we get caught in a disturbance—whether it is a blunt email, a disagreement with a partner, or just the overwhelming news cycle—our minds love to write a novel. We pull in past grievances, future worries, and complex theories about other people's motives. We get completely lost in the chapters.

But to find clarity, you don't need to read the whole novel. You just need to catch the headline.
"They don't respect me."
"I'm failing at this."
"This is going to be a disaster."

Once you see the headline, you can stop reading. You can step back, take a pause, and wait for a truer perspective to arrive.

A Simple Invitation

You don't have to be a "shouter" to need this. We all get caught in stories when we feel threatened or disturbed.

The Four Turning Points method is simply a structured way to catch the story, take a pause, and find clarity before you react. It is a practice of noticing without judging. If a disturbance arises, you just acknowledge it. "Ah, there's that feeling again." You don't need to dive into it. Just let it be there, take a breath, and return to your day.

If this resonates with you, I would love to invite you to explore it further.

I host a free, 45-minute Open Practice session on Zoom every fortnight. It is a quiet, guided space where we practice the method together using just a pen and paper. There are no breakout rooms and no pressure to share—just a supportive environment to find the pause.

You can find out more and book a free spot at www.thefourturningpoints.co.uk

Thank you to Em for your work and for creating such a lovely space here, and for inviting me to share this with you all.

Warmly,
Les

I thought I'd have the last word... it is my website afterall ;) and say a massive thanks to Les for both the development of this work, and his sharing the guest blog here.

It's been an honour. Thank you, Les.

Em :)

So, in my somewhat typical spontaneous way... I decided I'd do a gentle experiment in September, from the 1st to the 7th. Obviously (if you know me well, at least), I'd little idea of what it might look like, and initially I thought it might be just me. Then I invited others. I knew that I didn't want it to be me directing the show, wanted a community to inspire and empower each other. And I think that's coming together. I set up the September's Seven Days of Falling in Love (and onward) group on Facebook - it is currently a public group, you're welcome to join in if you like.

I want it to be experiential, experimental - and I will design a very optional short survey to take before and after so participants (of the survey, which again will be totally optional) and I, can see if playing with this stuff has made any shifts - in terms of wellbeing/levels of joy etc. It's curiousity, not serious research, but time and again I feel that working with some of the ideas I'll share can make a big impact on our lives in positive ways.

Oooh I'll also share my sheep paths to motorways theory at the bottom of the blog for those interested. I believe it resonates with much of this in many ways.

So if you want to take part, feel free to do it in whatever way you like. Use the daily prompts and ideas - or go off on your own path, with the general idea in mind of falling in love with life, ourselves, people around us and our gorgeous planet that we are lucky enough to live with.

There's a lovely post here which might provide inspiration for you too.

I've had my morning cup of mint tea outside with a book the last few days - and seen geese on fly-bys in their V formation, bees bobbing around the flowers and - well, I love to watch the clouds drifting across the sky. Life is happening out there and it's gorgeous.

Here's my suggestion for the days - in a gentle order of Monday to Sunday - but feel free make it your own, do one every day, do none of them, play with it however suits.

I wanted to elaborate a little, and will share these on the facebook group each day for ease too.

Slowing and noticing - when you're doing anything, how present are you? I know I can rush onwards to the next thing, be planning the day out whilst I'm in the shower, thinking of getting back to people whilst I'm walking the dogs (and the list goes on). What if we slowed and noticed the water on our skin, how it feels on impact, as it moves down our body? Smelled the honeysuckle flower, noticed how a dog's fur ruffles in the gentle (or less than gentle!) breeze.

Feeling the rain on my scalp was one of my most incredible things of having shaved my head. It's amazing and 5 years on from then I still reflect back to how it felt. Now I'm not suggesting you go and shave your head, but what about noticing more how it is when we wash our hands, shower, wash our hair. Pausing, breathing.

My friend Ruth once shared her thought 'What would Lara Croft do?'. I played with that for a while and think it's epic. How would Lara Croft shower, clean her teeth... or any other personality. Choose whoever you like. If you like. Day 1 suggestion is slowing and noticing.

Appreciating - and how often we forget! Most of us have the gift of breathing, seeing, many of us have the gift of walking. Hearing Caroline Myss in Findhorn (with my friend Ann who no longer has those gifts earth-side since she passed away), say that entitlement is one of our big problems. We forget that we're not entitled to anything. Clean water, fresh air, nope. That hit home, hard, for me. And it brought in a lot of gratitude for those things we, I, can easily take for granted. Day 2 for me is around appreciating. Can we appreciate that sip of water, smell of essential oil, rose, dinner - or anything else around us - a little bit more mindfully today?

What would my most loving self do/think/be right now? - for me, this isn't always an arena I inhabit. I think we are conditioned to see the worst in a situation - it's an amazing survival instinct that will have saved us so many times. But probably not always brought us bucketloads of joy. So if we're seeing the worst about ourselves - is it any wonder we forgot to love ourselves?

My partner and I were chatting about the concept of marrying yourself the other day. I'm aware of others who've done it, and never been inspired to myself...but the idea of commiting to love, nurture, cherish til death do you part - for yourself? That's pretty awesome I reckon. His opinion wasn't quite as aligned with mine as it might have been on the self-marriage... But why would we make promises to another and not to ourselves. So whilst I'm not suggesting a mass marrying ourselves ceremony - although actually that sounds pretty fun ;) but making a commitment to honour, nourish and celebrate yourself feels a pretty great decision to me. This question (even if not 'popping the question' to yourself) is Day 3's focus.

What are your top 5 (or even 10) joys? Credit here needs to go to my friend Peter who asked me this question recently. And to him for being able to count to 10. I got somewhere beyond 27 (I estimate), gave up counting and my brain is still presenting me with things that bring me joy. They don't have to be big things. Sparkly things was on my list. And you don't need to count.

Sometimes there might not be 5, or 2. When I've had challenging times it's sometimes been harder to count the joys, and I remember reading a brilliant piece of writing from my friend Sandy suggesting gratitude practices hadn't always been helpful to her in challenging times. So as with any of these - if they don't resonate - scroll on by. But if it does,  and you'd like to, then dive in and explore.

I would question... if you have one or more things on your list - are you doing any of the things that bring you joy on a daily basis? Sometimes we forget - it's kinda crazy busy out there sometimes, and it's not always easy... but when we forget to nourish ourselves, love ourselves, is it any wonder we feel a little less nourished/loved. Maybe it's a little chicken or the egg perhaps - just dive in wherever you can.

Make friends with your body - even if just your little finger to start with…  In a world where you can be a valuable customer - what would the benefit be in helping you to be comfortable with who and what you are? You could have plumper, bee sting lips (thanks to the lovely Julia for sharing her lip gloss secrets years ago - that was a fun experience!), more eyelashes, longer eyelashes, more clothes, a shinier watch, bigger boobs, a smaller bum, smaller boobs, a bigger bum... so where on earth is the motivation to love us just the way we are?

I think I need to jump in and mention the North East Skinny Dip at this point. It's one of the most gloriously joyful events I've ever taken part in. I was there the first year with maybe 152 or so people  I don't recall who suggested it - Leslie, Vic or Amber... or myself, but we did it together. The whole thing was utterly magical. We drove up, arrived late and knew we were up super early, so used the tent as a groundsheet and slept under the stars. Cold. Beautiful. And a display of shooting stars - plus a massive meteor (that I missed as I was in the loos changing into pjs). I was mad at my friend Vic for a bit for borrowing my hat (I could have said no, but...) and wandering around all night in his budgie smugglers and my lovely beanie whilst I shivered in my sleeping bag. Vic passed away sadly - I'd do many things to lend him that beanie again!

But the point I want to make is none of that - sorry reader!! Getting changed, on Druiridge Bay, for the skinny dip is amusing. People are discreetly changing, hiding those bits we've learnt aren't socially acceptable, squriming under towels... and then the time is ready to run... a mass of exquisite human joy running towards the sea, historically on, or close to, the September equinox. Squealing, laughing, giggling - nervously, joyfully. It's one of the most divine sounds I'm grateful enough to have heard. Truly alive to life in that moment. And then you hit the North Sea. Cue more screams, giggles, celebrating. Then it all goes on in reverse. Except everything is different.

There is an appreciation in a different way of our glorious bodies. A feeling alive. A stripping away of inhibitions. A standing around chatting whilst wearing nothing. Yes nothing. Clearly I don't speak for everyone but I've seen this phenomena time and again over my separate visits... Or even if the cold has got to you, dressing is less squirmy, more casual. There's an acceptance that I sense. A celebration. Taking photos, honouring those bits we shun, aware of our 'muffin tops' no more, just a gorgeous being in whatever shape or form, not squeezed into those jeans that'll be OK if we just lose just a few kilos...

If the only bit you like is that spot to the left of your knee, then appreciate that. Appreciation is a little like flowers I think - feed it and it'll grow. You never know what might happen next.

A section of the North East Skinny Dip painting - painted as a present for me by Ann Devlin (from an image first published in The Guardian, 2012)

What if you did one thing that pushed your comfort zone a little today? Sophie Jones is a marvellous inspiration, introduced to me by my daughter, who has taught me some of my best and hardest lessons over the last 18 years. I kept sending Isla inspirational stuff (inspiration, I realise is so subjective...) that I thought would make her smile/be encouraged etc. She was unamused generally, but sent me Soph Jones in return. Sophie is advocating rejection therapy - pushing her comfort zone - in gentle, and more challenging ways.

Check out her instagram to see her getting a role in a West End musical, wandering Brighton pier dressed as a cow, ordering coffee via her sock puppet, appeared on This Morning talking about it all and more...  Or have a look at the link:

It's joyful, sometimes silly, often thought provoking. And I've heard from at least one person who has 'done a Sophie Jones'. I totally love it!!

Can you dance today - even if just a little bit inside? I often think of the Gabrielle Roth quote...

When did we stop? And then realise we didn't feel great. One of my very favourite things is an impromtu kitchen dance, especially with my daughter. We climb on the chairs... she used to dance on the table but has got taller (and we've a less stable table in there now), pop on some tunes and enjoy a time of almost dancing on the table, for 10 minutes, an hour or an evening. Last time it was prompted by her arriving home in a hoodie with 'Players only love you when they're playing' on it. We had a fab Fleetwood Mac night.

It'd be ace to hear what makes you want to dance, makes you smile... and even more ace for you to play it for yourself today. One of my favourite getting ready tunes is this... especially if I'm by myself in a hotel room or my bedroom at home. It could be worth saying that it totally celebrates the human form (i.e. the lovely Jen is naked in sections of the video, in a very beautifully natural way). It's one of my absolute favourites.

So there we go! That's the Seven Days suggestions :) I'd love to hear from you if you're diving in with these, or other ideas - and how it is all going for you. Thanks so much for reading,

With love and joy, Em xx

Lastly... the sheep paths to motorways idea. I'm intrigued by the idea of neuropossibility. Most people I guess call it neuroplasticity... but that sounds so science-y (which I love and for me resonates with my degree in Psychology/Neuroscience... but isn't for everyone). For me neuropossibility offers us hope. Our brains can be encouraged, supported, enhanced even. We take on board the idea we have to exercise, do weights to help support our bone health, eat well... and many of us leave our brains just to do their thing.

So the theory... that our neuronal networks are like sheep paths. I live in the Yorkshire Dales and sheep abound. If you're walking across moorland occasionally you lose the footpath, and sometimes end up on a sheep trail. Often you can get just one foot in front of another.

We don't all come out of childhood equal. Some of us have more difficult starts than others, so that's going to influence the size of the path, but when we start out, originally, my idea is that most of our pathways are sheep paths. And the paths we use more often - say in a difficult family environment, perhaps the fear or anxiety path - that gets wider. The more we take that path, the easier it is to see, the quicker it is to destination fear. Any path can get quicker, easier to go along. Joy, happiness, sadness, pain, regret, guilt... the more we focus on doing something, the better at it we get. It's a marvellous thing. And can be a challenging one when we're doing something without thinking about it.

Our sheep paths can grow to footpaths, bridleways (for non-outdoorsy folk, you can take a horse down there - the clue is in the name, or a mountain bike), B roads, A roads and motorways. It's what you use more often that grows. And you get quicker to that destination - whether it be love, joy, gratitude, fear, panic or whatever else.

When we start to realise we have a choice in how our brain operates, I think this is where freedom comes in, or at least begins to. Sometimes we need help and support - I love having a support network, and am also grateful my daughter has grown up with one. Now she knows when her osteopath would be helpful, when she'd benefit from a massage, seeing her homeopath, visiting the GP (which is fairly rare - but absolutely firmly on the team), when the dentist is great, or even the holistic dentist (if you're looking for one, we love Wonder of Wellness in Huddersfield).

So here's to the love motorway...

I'm seeing 8 year olds with anxiety about the state of our world, 80 year olds with the same. And I hear them. I do. And also I question the narrative. Not that humans aren't doing damage, over using resources etc - of course that seems to be very much the case. But to live in fear every day? At 8 years old. Or at 80.

I chat about this to others, and those older than me remember living in fear of nuclear attack, those older still can tell me the noise a bomb makes as it descends from the sky, and describe the sound of air raid warnings. And I wonder. What's the gain to be made by living in fear?

Or in love?

I guess we stay smaller, less expanded in a state of fear. And whilst I don't want to get into ponderings of a political nature - it's so not my arena of expertise - I do wonder that it's easier to control a fearful population.

I also wonder how much we attach to things if we've been told they're doomed anyway. I've heard stories of amazing, inspiring women being scared to hold their babies because they were told they might not make it. What if that is happening with our world?

I've long thought that if we fall in love with someone/something, we nurture them. We fall in love with a person; we often want the best for them, amongst other elements. I fall in love with people so often and am so grateful for that. One time, in June 2012 I fell in love with someone swimming in a lake - it was so beautiful watching his movement in the water, like they were one. It's rare I see anyone swim like that. I still remember it clearly now, 13 years on.

Living in a state of love brings many benefits - both physiological and psychological - to ourselves and those around us. I believe it's a much deeper state than gratitude (I think it's pretty much all there is if I'm honest - love and not love - we can call that fear if you like), though I do wonder that gratitude can be a way in. To marvel at the state of the world around us, may encourage us to fall in love with a field, a blade of grass, a flower.

I've recently done a spot of guerilla gardening, and created my affectionately named 'lady garden' which has wildflowers blooming. It's the second small addition to a large space that is wild, but regularly strimmed - unless there's really obvious flowers in it. Creating a garden is one way of bringing a little bit of joy. I also regularly forget to water my hanging baskets and have the least green fingers of anyone out there. So if I can do it...

Falling in love can be simple - with the sensation of water on our skin, a moment in the shower, the feel of a breeze across our face. It doesn't have to be big, glamorous, diamond encrusted. I think it's all the more precious if it's not.

I keep thinking about babies and their apparent joy when they discover their hands. How they seem to gaze in wonder. What if we had more wonder in our worlds? Would we care for it - and ergo, ourselves more?

When did we fall out of love with these glorious bodies that we were so amazingly gifted? When we were told our legs were too (fat/thin/curvy/bended...) or our nose too something else. Or maybe we forgot as the world around us is so filled with distractions. Vouching only for myself, I can share that falling back in love with ourselves is an entirely wonderful (and not without challenges) thing to play with doing.

My epiphany came from a moment with a neighbour - who isn't very - or at all - in love with me - who one time shouted 'there it is again, that fkn narcissist'. By this time our dramas together had gone on long enough, I could ignore and continue sitting doing my work reading on the bench outside our house. But I carried a question with me as I went into the house a bit later.

I forget plenty, but I think that's great for our learning - and re-learning and re-learning again. If we love something we take care of it. How could we love ourselves - and those around us, including this gorgeous planet we get to live with - a little bit more?

When we're in love, I think we expand - I'm sure those who can read energy fields would observe this - I'm not that clever. But I feel an expansion, a space, a joy, a look at the world through smiling eyes. Just to remember back to a time we felt all those and more must be a great thing for our bodies to feel nurtured by.

If you made it this far - thanks for reading! I'm going to play with Seven Days of Falling in Love in September. You're welcome to have a go too should you like. It's kinda spontaneous and there's no fixed plan - I'm going from the 1st to the 7th - the Virgo in me is happy about that. Of course continue for a day - or the rest of your life... whatever works. And let's play with wonder, joy, love - for ourselves, a leaf, a grain of sand, a stone, a person or animal in our lives, and focus on what that means to us... but most of all fall in love everyday in little or big ways.

With smiles, with smiling, laughter and love,

Em xx

Or perhaps both depending which angle we see it from?

I recently borrowed my dad's lovely Volvo XC70 to go away to teach for the weekend. My car is getting older, is slightly more battered, particularly after someone drove into me - then drove off - on another teaching weekend. And so when I got the 'we'd like you to borrow our car' text the morning that I left, what else was there to say but 'thank you, that sounds great'?

Last time I borrowed my dad's car - the one before this, the clutch went strange.. so for everyone around me saying (OK just my partner) about how reliable my dad's car was, I did have a moment - mine, though it may rattle (according to our garage, the Peugeot 308s were built to rattle), it has not yet let me down once.

Anyway, a wonderful weekend of teaching passed at The School of Homeopathy, then I was to drive to my friend Jen's concert in Glastonbury, staying there for two nights with a fab friend, then home.

Driving to Glastonbury the car felt a bit odd on a couple of occasions but I pondered that it was because I was tired so I pulled over and stopped for a rest. I would add that I come from the 'oooh the car sounds a bit strange... let's turn up the music' school of mechanicing; my knowledge around all things car is pretty woeful really.

And so back on the road, mostly it felt OK with a couple of moments of 'hmmm, what was that?' And then I was pretty sure that I realised. It was equipped with a great power. It's a manual gearbox, but this one, if I accelerated a bit harder in one gear, it would drop down and give the extra boost... a bit like an automatic would do.

I had a fabulous time in Glastonbury and was really grateful for amazing connections and magic unfolding there. And then drove home. And I knew it. The car had a superpower. If I needed extra power it did it. Without me needing to change gear, I just accelerated a bit more. I was impressed to tell my dad about this great feature he'd never known about.

After which he promptly got in touch with garages to book it in so that the slipping clutch could be fixed...

It's had me pondering. If I'd have driven it home thinking it was broken, kaput, unreliable, I'd have driven it with fear and concern, and would have worried thought the 250 miles to home. As it was I drove happily, excited to share my discovery - and listening away to the Telepathy Tapes. It was a long drive, which felt so much shorter thanks to 5 episodes of what has to be one of the most mindblowing podcasts I've encountered.

It fits, looking back on the time with the clutch fun, I think into the theme - the abilities that the kids and adults discussed on The Telepathy Tapes have are extraordinary. Remarkable, and I'm pretty sure we mere mortals could class them as superpowers. And yet, many of us could look upon the challenges some people have and dismiss them. It's not always easy to put ourselves in others' shoes.

30 years ago I volunteered with physically differently abled people at a respite centre for the first time and I saw first hand how someone could ask a question, for example with a spelling board, I could speak it for them, and say, a shop keeper could respond with the answer - addressed to me. I really didn't care mostly about the thimbles that were availble, I was merely happy to be a conduit for someone who did. Or how we might not even be able to get into that shop because there were two steps up to the front door, or once in how we might not be able to walk around it because the aisles were so close together.

Sometimes our challenges could be seen to override our superpowers because the world was set up differently - in this instance for walking people, or with an assumption of non comprehension in terms of speaking an answer to me. The number of times I've heard someone shout an answer louder at someone who was in a wheelchair... their legs may not have worked but their hearing was great.

Merlin Sheldrake talks in his book Entangled Life, about how the world is often seen from a plant centric point of view when discussing fungi for example. How we view the world from a human, neurotypical (though I'm seriously questioning the validity of that term - perhaps less diverse but within the realm of 'typical' there is so much diversity), able bodied perspective is so damning to so many fellow humans for starters, but also the amazing flora and fauna we get the privilege to co-exist with.

I believe we are living the most extraordinary existence, surrounded by daily magic and stopping for a moment to consider the superpowers we all can tap into - love, kindness, empathy for others - towards our fellow human and non-human beings along the way - are several that are high on my list.

So is something a superpower or challenge - and how would we approach anything if we could see the good in it? See the wonder? The everyday magic? The potential? I think it could be different, less fearful, with more curiosity. I think it's worth an experiment. I'll report back later... Love to know what you think.

With joy,

Em x

It's been a question I've asked at a few conferences this year where I've been lucky enough to have been asked to speak. Also at a graduation day, at a couple of webinars and lectures.

It's from my talk which is called The Joy of Homeopathy - which clearly jumps right off the book title. However it's really more a talk about joy, than about the book and includes a few things we might do when that joy seems a little less tangible. I may call it The Joy of Life and keep it going for audiences other than homeopaths. I've a good friend or two who thinks it should be shared wider.

So back to the question - and maybe I give you a minute to ponder. Is your glass half full or half empty? Or as I ask the homeopathy students, how full is your homeopathy mug? ;)

It's really a rhetorical question. I don't think our glass needs to be percieved as half full or half empty. Or at least not for us to identify with that all the time. Afterall, if we have the same amount of something in a glass for too long it's going to be pretty disgusting - I know, I did plenty of half full tea mug 'experiments' in my room as a teenager, and I see simlar from my teenager these days.

I recognise my glass is refillable, and as dynamic, changing, emptying, filling at different times, perhaps with different activities or even times of the day. Some days it may be half empty, others 3/4 full, others overflowing, and other times there may be nothing left in it. The idea of a static assessment of ourselves doesn't work for me anymore. Driving many miles perhaps empties my glass a bit (even though I love driving), hanging out with inspiring people at the end of my long drive - fills it up again.

What I've also come to recognise is it's important we learn what tops it up and what doesn't. I use the analogy of going to a bar and asking for a drink. It's not likely to get us very far. We need to know what we want to put in the glass.

I'm having conversations in clinic with just about every age group who are often telling me their worry about the state of the world. Totally valid concerns I believe. And yet at the same tme often there's not so much we can do about them. Often we can end up paralysed by the inability to effect enough change, to solve world crises or end other challenging scenarios. And there are plenty of challenging scenarios.

One thing that has struck me for many years, being a lover of neuropsychology, is that our brains aren't equipped for the amount of information we are exposed to every day. Most of us have a pretty strong relationship going with a smartphone these days, which, whilst I am firmly in that camp, I'm aware that it may not be the smartest relationship to nurture. Information at the tip of our fingers, from the other side of the world... is perhaps not what we're always ready to encounter, especially not on first waking! Our system can go into fight or flight, and our adrenals get ready to respond to this instant emergency - thousands of miles away.

Of course I'm not saying don't be aware, but be aware that we may not need to be aware of everything. All the time.

In 2016, at the height of the Syrian refugee crisis, I remember sitting in my kitchen sobbing at the state of the world. At how we as humans can do things they do to each other. At how I felt to be drowning in plastic. At how useless I felt to do anything about it. And a small, 9 year old voice over the next few days piped up...

Out of the mouths of babes. There's me feeling bleak, disheartened and despairing and my wise 9 year old suggesting that we take some action. So we did. We clearly solved it all. Not. The loss of our organic fruit and veg shop in town has driven me back to the supermarket but back then, filled with hope, we took action. And over 19,000 peope signed our petition. At one point Change.org phoned me to see what my plan was - I hadn't got as far as a plan, one step at a time... and by the time I spoke to them we had a family health situation going on so there was less energy for taking on the supermarkets - single parenting, working and helping family meant the focus had had to go elsewhere.

Other petitions, Greenpeace for example, have over 2.5 million signatures on their petition to halve supermarket plastic packaging - and this one on 38 degrees has 86,000+. Change is taking place and whilst I'm pretty sure ours didn't have an enormous impact, I'm very proud my 9 year old's little voice in the darkness reached so many folk. This morning I found this article:

Supermarkets face ban on fruit and veg plastic packaging

Maybe we contributed a drop in the ocean. Or maybe not. I guess it's that thing about planting seeds. We don't need to check on them all the time to see if they're growing. Plant the seeds where we can and let them take if they're going to. We don't always need to know the outcome.

When we can't see the wood for the trees, taking action feels important. One little step. It doesn't take much to set up a petition, but it can have an impact. Back in 2016, I didn't feel that I could head out to refugee camps in Calais (refer to single parenting above and being begged by my daughter not to leave) but I could make up packs of remedies and post them to those who were going. Taking action, however small, can have a huge ripple effect, or none - either is totally fine. Sitting with despair was a part of the process, it felt so important to feel and acknowledge it; whilst longer term, taking action felt a more dynamic way for me.

Can you flip it?

I really like the flip it concept, and the first time I did it without realising was when my parents had had a sh1tty note from a neighbour about parking in their space. I do ask in my talks about who else has parking wars where they live... it seems many of us do :) My rationale was that a note was one thing, a rude note uncessary.. however obviously not for him at that time I guess.

Flipping it involves some kind of alchemy I believe. We take the not so fun experience and decide we're actively going to do something kind - for ourselves or for others. That time I decided to invite neighbours round for tea and cake which was lovely. Another incident inspired me to buy flowers and put them in a bucket near a walkway with a note that 'it seemed like a day for a random act of kindness... please to help yourself if you'd like some'. That was a particularly favourite one - one negative experience turned into several bright bunches of flowers. No magicians hat in sight.

We may be in a dark time in our human history - we may be struggling with many enormous challenges globally... reading through history shows me there have been plenty of dark times before.  And my study of homeopathy encourages me that there is never dark without light. Polarities, or opposites, are everywhere and one can't exist without the other.

Our Kindness Book Club started out reading Rutger Bregman's Humankind. A fantastic read to remind us of the good of humanity - something the 'news' frequently forgets to mention. I've mentioned it before in the blog, well worth a second mention here.

We have an awareness that opposites exist together - and yet sometimes forget this I think. The yin and yang, the dark and the light, day and night. Many novels have the same battles - The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, even the Narnia series - the battle of evil over good. Perhaps we always need both sides. Perhaps our cup can be both half full and half empty. It's not necessarily one or the other. How are we filling it up feels more important to me. Taking action can be a part of that.

Remembering to rest is another relevant action - many of us are exhausted, burn out, overwhelmed - and still slogging onwards. I believe resting is an act of rebellion in our fast paced world. Stepping out of that stream for a while feels key to our mental and physical health.

Finding the support we need feels relevant to mention - whether that's a homeopath, other therapeutic approach, a night out with friends, a walk somewhere beautiful or inspiring. Just as important as figuring what could go in our glass, what can support us right now. Many of us are supporting others and I think it's time to remember to be self-ish... especially women, seem to keep doing for others - it's time to remember us too.

Making a joy list is worth doing - perhaps a blog for another day, but it's fairly obvious... however remembering the joys that we can weave through everyday life feels really important to note. We haven't all got time or the budget to head away on holiday, the ability to go to that uplifting motivational speaker, the transport to get to the sea, but there are usually simple things we can weave into our day. Joy weaving feels an important area to me at the moment. Where can we say thank you for simple things, where we can create rituals of gratitude - all can help wire our brain to see the light around us instead of just the dark.

I love to hear what's on other's joy lists - we have time for sharing in the talks I give... feel free to share here if you like, and if you haven't got a list of things you can weave into your day, perhaps you might like to create one.

Here's a few of mine for starters...

• Dancing in the kitchen is high on my list, alone or with my boyfriend or daughter.
  
• Walking barefoot outside.
• Looking at the stars.
• Sitting with a book - preferably outside but curled up with candles inside is great too.
• A good Netflix binge worthy series.
• My feet touching the rug I've known since I was a baby when I get out of bed, and last thing at night and saying 'thank you' each time.
• Laughter - hearing others laugh or laughing myself.
• Remembering to cleanse and moisturise my face - it takes a few moments and is so lovely to remember to do - twice a day if I can.
  

With love - and joy,

Em xx

It's not always easy. And perhaps one of our biggest and most important challenges of our time, of anytime.

Back in 2021, a group of four folk, some friends, some unknown to others, set up a small group to come together with an aim to help increase the amount of love energy in the world. Aware of the division going on, which, they felt, was perhaps driven by certain agendas, they wanted to step outside of this, accept all comers and just focus on love.

I'm one of the four and it's been an amazing experience to be a part of. We're still a small group, but we meet every Tuesday at 9am and 8pm and have done every week since our inception (even the session where I, responsible for the tech side of things, managed to forget, others hopped onto WhatsApp and still made it happen).

It strikes me that seeing division or separation may perhaps be a part of human nature - the other perhaps at times is regarded with suspicion. If that other is a sabre toothed tiger about to attack, perhaps rightly so. A shark, maybe, though I'm also fascinated about the disservice the film Jaws did to sharks, and intrigued by those hopping into the water to highlight the majesty of these ancient creatures.

I'm curious too because I love my work, and yet I see finger pointing going on around that. Dr Samuel Hahnemann, the (IMHO) genius who founded homeopathy as a system of medicine, was no stranger to dismissing the 'other' - the practitioners of orthodox medicine certainly didn't get glowing praise in his writings. These days homeopaths have been used to being dismissed at times from the 'other side' too.

On a personal level, my challenges with a neighbour continue, and she is currently appearing to be enjoying whacking our plants (which do slightly go above and outside our garden border but so too do others' in the street) as she walks past (though only if we're in the garden - if we're inside the plants remain unscathed) and loudly muttering things. It's been good training. How do you deal with active hostility on a daily basis? I don't have huge reams of advice, but for me the main ways I've come to terms with it is accepting it's not my business (thanks Byron Katie), and I love the Mel Robbins 'Let Them' theory for her. If it's making her day feel OK to have this response to me, I need to step out of my indignation about it. The plants will bounce back. As did I.

Some things are clearly not OK to allow and I've been loving the counter movement here in the UK. Flipping it is something else I love, which I've done several times with the aforementioned neighbour. When there's been acts done which I've percieved as being intentionally to irritate or annoy me, at times I've turned it on its head and gone forwards with a random act of kindness for someone else or even several folk. If we look at something like this - I wonder if we can outnumber the 'bad' to the lovely, loving acts carried out in the world. Sharing words of love, remembering so many people have it tough or are struggling and being kind where we can feels to be a gentle way to rebel in a world that is fast - and seems to be constantly telling us we have to choose a side.

If everyone does even just one act of something lovely for someone else each day - or - which I took a long time to learn - for themselves - I truly believe we can create a world of love. It took so long for me to recognise that whilst others may have said hateful things to me, I've said worse to myself plenty of times. It took me years to recognise Mother Theresa's 'peace starts at home' didn't have to mean in the home-home - but perhaps in the only home our body, our mind ever has, in ourselves. Stepping into love with ourselves feels so important right now. With ourselves, with one another wherever we can, and with this beautiful planet we live with.

I think fear creates division and a need to choose sides. Love creates unity.

I'm choosing love. Kindness. Compassion. Wherever I can. Which if I work at it, really is everywhere.

With love,

Em x

PS if you fancy coming along to hang out on a Tuesday 9am and 8pm UK time, you're very welcome. There's more info here.

PPS Well worth a read is Rutger Bregmen's HumanKind - full of fabulous examples of where perhaps the reported take on the situation wasn't quite the same as the kind reality.

I don’t think this is a book for homeopaths. You guys know it all. Maybe for students – for those starting out with this really rather marvellous medicine. Maybe for those stepping into it, in the early years. It could be that it’s worth investigating as a book to recommend to clients who may be interested in hearing more about the potential of homeopathy.

I've kind of thought of it as a book for those who say 'Oh I love homeopathy. What essential oils* do you use for that?'

* replace essential oils with herbs/massage/whatever suits. We've all been asked those questions, by those who are totally curious but know very little. It's a great question. So that's who I've often thought about it for. And as I say, perhaps students too as they start out.
 
However, Andrene Mills Principal of NWCH recently disagreed with me when I said it’s not for homeopaths in her graduation speech which followed my ‘The Joy of Homeopathy’ talk. She thinks it’s for all of us, an uplifting read if it’s been a tough day, a reminder of how epic this thing we do is.
 
Others suggest it may be useful too. Sue Asquith, Retired Homeopath says: ‘I wish I had had this book available to me when I was in practice.’
 
Dr David Lilley past-dean of the South African Faculty of Homeopathy said:
‘Em has crafted a homeopathic gem, which happily fills the gap between professional works and self-help books for the public. The book also gifts the practitioner an engaging and instructive text to be recommended to clients desiring to know more about the unique, individualising methodology of homeopathic prescribing.’
 
My lovely friend Josie who has used homeopathy for years said she would ‘thoroughly recommend this book both to those familiar with homeopathy and its uses, and to those who merely have a curiosity to learn.’
 
Outside of homeopathy, Naturopath, Nicola Corcoran said:
‘I will be recommending this book to my own clients to deepen their learning about this incredible holistic healing modality.’
 
On a similar note, Jen Armstrong, Professional Musician and Singer Songwriter, said: ‘Using real-life case studies, it is a beautiful and powerful aid for anyone interested in learning about homeopathy and the benefits it can have on our health and well-being.’
 
It does come with a warning though. Geoff Johnson VetMB MA MRCVS RSHom VetFFHOM PCH warns:
‘Read this book at your peril. You won't only want to use homeopathy, but become a homeopath.’