I'd go so far to say, these days, that it angers me, hearing along the lines of "there's nothing else we can do, you've just got to get used to it."  Definitely frustration. Whether that's with headaches being told "you're just a person who gets headaches, you'll have to get used to it", or being offered therapy to get used to coping the intense pain (what happened to getting rid of the pain?), or the media dismissing Goop Goddess Gwyneth for stating that a clean diet, infrared saunas and supplements were helping her post-covid, and saying that she should be using evidence based scientific methods - of which they were able to offer no suggestions. Whatever you think of Gwyneth and her lifestyle, at least offer something in replacement if you're dismissing the things someone feels are helping them.

Anger aside, I'm just as grateful that someone often throws a question out there "Have you tried homeopathy?". And I'm grateful that this happened here and several people recommended me when the person asked for help finding a practitioner.

Navigating our way through these times can be challenging, but if we can help ourselves feel more 'us' in the space, we can do it easier. More and more, I'm seeing reference to the emotional effects that may be lingering  after experiencing Covid-19. Sadly though I'm not seeing many solutions offered, though I'm hopeful the question "have you tried homeopathy?" is being asked in more circles.

If you know someone who's struggling post covid with emotional or physical issues, it could be worth asking them that question. Someone asking "Have you tried homeopathy?" made a huge difference here.

Have a read:

With best wishes for a healthy, happy day ahead,

Em

There’s something about the North East Skinny Dip.
 
Maybe it’s any early morning event, but arriving in the dark feels significant. Running into the sun rises on the autumn equinox, seeing the sky gradually lighten as we turn into the dark season.
 
Hearing the chatter, for some their first time, nervous and apprehensive, others, seasoned skinny dippers anticipating what this year will be like. Will it compare to others? How will it compare to others? Then letting go of that and being gloriously in the moment. Letting go of what was, what will be and being here, right in the here and now. The cold will do that for you. Entering the North Sea at any time is liable to bring you right back into the here and now.
 
Last year I needed it, craved the biting cold, the pain of the cold water on my skin. I didn’t dip here but plenty in the river and it was an urge I’d not felt before. I grew to recognise the life saving, life changing effects of cold water immersion.
 
This year I’m coming from a different place, a far more present, far less painful place and this morning, it’s feeling like a place of curiosity. We were recognised on our way in by a chap who recalled our ‘lifeguard photo’, that was a fun, happy moment 3 years ago where we dashed up to a couple of coast guards and asked for our picture taken with them. There was something surreal about standing there with these burly men, fully clad in their dry suits, with rescue gear and us totally naked, vulnerable, free.
 
It’s that freedom many seek here. The dropping away of the old, the being a certain way, instead just being. There’s a deep joy in that and in about an hour it’ll be palpable as people do their sea bound dash, giggling and shrieking. There is nothing really that divides us, nothing that really makes us fundamentally different from the other. One thing I love is the alchemy that accompanies this event. The difference between the walk there and the walk back is huge. There, eyes are blurry from the 5am (or earlier) alarm calls, smiles are less wide, bodies feel tired perhaps but warm. Back, smiles will be wider, stretching to and into the eyes, the warmth may not be physical but there’ll be a glow that is beyond mere warmth from clothes or a heat source. People will have raised their energy, it’ll feel good, buzzing, vibrant.
 
The difference on the beach is a wonder to behold too. People, by and large, undress awkwardly, discreetly and after? Well after, my experience has been they stand around, chat and laugh and you’d not think anyone was dressed like one of the starring roles in The Emperor’s New Clothes.
 
This year, it turns out, is different for me. The sheer amazing spectacle of the whole thing overwhelms me with emotion. Gratitude? Perhaps. Awe? Maybe. Appreciation for the goodness of humanity? I think so. And, to be fair, that’s before I get to the beach, before I’ve rounded the small hill and have a view of what’s in front of me. That’s just from the stewards and the blazing torches leading us on the path towards our destination. The view doesn’t disappoint once we get there. People scattered along the beach, a fire artist, couple of gongs, drums, a pop up waste reusing cafe, a coffee van. A check in desk with merchandise; we purchased two 10 year commemorative badges and I treated myself to a free glow in the dark wristband.
 
So much more than that though, the sun was making its presence known, the red glow on the horizon reflecting in the sea, ever changing with the slight lull of the waves. The coast guards, gathered in groups, the torches ablaze adjacent to the numbered signs for people of change behind - a great system to be able to quicker locate your clothes on the return trip. The energy on the beach felt good, a calm, excited kind of feeling. An anticipation. And an awareness of the cold, what was to come.
 
Whilst checking out the mirror installation, we stumbled into Jax Higginson. Jax who’s brainchild the North East Skinny Dip was, is an absolute inspiration. Without her, the event today wouldn’t be happening. Pretty much singlehandedly organising the first, and possibly even several after, Jax is still firmly involved, brilliantly passionate and I was pleased to have a moment to express my gratitude. Once again that morning, we were ‘the ones with the coastguards’ as our identifying description.
 
Some, a small minority, are making the most of the photo opportunities already, stripped off at the water’s edge. Others stand around in pants or naked in their groups, chatting. These, I presume, are the experienced skinny dippers amongst us, naturists or just those who are immune to the 8° Northumberland morning. At least there isn’t a breeze, it’s still, probably one of the stillest times I’ve done this. We’ve got everything off and coats on with dry robes over them, ready for the countdown to begin.
 
“Watch out for the flare” said the folk that checked us in before the car park. I’d kept watching out and nothing had made sense from that cryptic comment so far. But, patience little grasshopper. Your time will come. There wasn’t what I’d got used to as a warm up, but a samba band with “We will rock you” beaten out on the drums worked well enough to do some of that. It was a little after 7 when a flare was released and – ah – that was it. The signal. We peeled our way out of the remaining clothes and set off. Most times we’ve run to the sea, giggling with excitement. This time Steve and I walked, taking it all in. It’s really difficult to describe what the whole thing is like to someone who’s never done it before. It’s a crazy sense of normal when you’re out there. Of joy. Or at least for me. We’d been chatting about the whole thing on the way up. Steve came up with the description of how normal naked feels when you’re in a crowd like that as that bodies are like pebbles on a beach. I really liked that.
 
Like pebbles on a beach, we’re all unique and different and fundamentally there’s more that unites us than there is that divides us. I don’t know if the sea is the necessary ingredient in the magic, or the time you’re out there just being, walking around. I don’t recall right now who recently said to me that friction, proximity and time were three keys to successful relationships. Perhaps the friction in the not knowing, in the nerves. You’re close to so many folk, and the longer you’re out there doing it perhaps the better it gets. Or maybe the sea is a part of the magic too. I certainly think it can be incredibly healing.
 
So we walked. Others ran. I cried. Again. It was so incredible, so beautiful, so humbling and so inspiring all in one. A complex mix of emotions. Of gratitude for the other thousand plus people who had gathered, driving a variety of distances, to be there that day, doing what millions of others would think was insanity. And yet it felt so right. It has done every time.
 
I was there the first year, with 3 friends. In total there were just 168 of us. And my bottom made it into The Guardian. There are plenty of other bottoms, not just mine in the picture! I love that picture so much that when a friend said they’d do a painting for me, you know what I asked for? I now have this incredible picture done in acrylics of the 2012 skinny dip beach scene. And the fame that my friend painted my bottom. So I’ve done 3 others before this time, the 2022 one. 2018 with my partner, who fair play to him, had only been dating me a matter of months and was up for the challenge. Incredibly nervous, somewhat quiet, but up for diving in and giving it a go. The next with a friend of ours in 2019, the three of us drove up together. Steve and I recalled how we argued most of the way back. Bless, her not the best return trip company. That said, it is great sharing this event with people and I love seeing the magic happen at it.
 
We walked, waded, and breathed was the waves got higher. I was lucky enough to have chanced upon a local friend earlier in the morning, and saw him again in the sea so whilst we chatted, Steve went to swim and I appreciated the scenes around me. I love to swim, though it does take me a long old acclimatising time, and others go in much faster than me, but here, at this event, I’ve never swum. Who knows what next year will bring, but there is something for me about taking in the beauty all around me, absorbing the joy that I hear echoed in every part of my being. Just being. Fanny deep in the water is enough for me here. The sun was stunning on the water. People went into the sea, out of the sea, laughing, chatting. Taking photos, celebrating the moment. Meeting new people, chatting away. Somehow, subtly, changed. Not forever, though maybe, but for now, the smiles were more smiley, the eyes more alive, the laughter easier, the sense of wonder perhaps closer than before the day had started.
 
Steve came back from his swim, glad that he’d swum, and I? I was glad that I hadn’t. It struck me again about perspective. He felt if he hadn’t he’d have missed out, and me? If I had I knew I’d have felt cold and wouldn’t have been as open to the joy around me, instead I’d have felt more of an urgency and a coldness I didn’t need today. Today was savouring all about the joy for me.
 
The joy of being alive. Fully feeling it. The pain, the good, the flipping awesome. Mostly this morning for me, a joy of being. The joy of having come through last year, grateful to the people who were there for me, and feeling a deep sense of wonder for them, for humanity, and for the thousand plus incredible souls who gathered on a beach, on a Sunday morning for the equinox in September.

You’d think 15 years in there might be no surprises.

Perhaps you’ve seen much of what there is to see? And yet, doing this role everyday is different. Every case is different. And it doesn’t matter how many people who get chronic headaches, the chances are many of the homeopathic medicines you prescribe will be different.
 
Because we are individuals, really it makes sense that we all do things differently. We all experience things differently. And yet our medicine of status quo says that we all get pretty much the same for the same named condition. Headache. Try paracetamol. Not enough? Try ibuprofen. Not working, here’s the next line of meds.
 
Of course I simplify, but as a chronic headache and migraine sufferer in the past that was largely my experience, and it’s been reported to me plenty of times by clients.
 
But what to do when those avenues aren’t working. Despite the medications headaches persist.
 
Fortunately they often don’t do so to the intensity of a recent client I’ve seen, but frequently it’s an issue that many have. Or they wait for the headaches then take the medications. Sensible on the surface, but what if there was something else?
 
For me homeopathy was that something else, albeit I have seen great results with other things such as probiotics in one case in particular, which massively reduced the frequency of migraines in one teenager.
 
I write this blog with permission to share insights into one client’s recent experience. Life changing is perhaps a term that is banded around too frequently, but I would wager it wouldn’t be too far to apply it here.
 
Joanne (not her real name) came to me after we’d met in a different (non homeopathy related) setting online. She was recommended to me by a mutual contact and got in touch to ask if I thought homeopathy may help her with her frequent, pretty much constant, headaches.
 
I am always excited to see what I can do to help for any client. Feeling unwell, run down or emotionally struggling is not a barrel of laughs and if homeopathy, and I can help in some way, it’s a real privilege. Headaches however were what drew me to homeopathy, and for some reason I have a bit of a thing about them. I’m amazed at how many pills I popped, how many packs of tablets I bought, how much I suffered. And suffer I did, with migraines and sickness as well as copeable with paracetamol and keep going headaches.
 
That said, my headaches were a breeze compared to what I heard about Joanne’s. Regularly the bad ones would last 3 weeks, frequently result in her having to take a week off work and stay in bed for much of that. She would have to lie incredibly still else the pain would be like thorns around her. When I first met her, she told me she always had a constant headache and that they were getting worse. She was on nortryptaline but didn’t seem to be making a difference. She went nowhere without painkillers and there was anxiety around them – the headaches were affecting so much, stopping her having normal family times. Her daughters might have to look after her if she was ill, and they couldn’t plan for things – there would be a ‘if we can get there’ feeling about things in the future.
 
It’s incredible really revisting the notes from our first consultation, and seeing the differences that have resulted in a relatively short space of time. We first met at the end of April 2022 and as I write it’s early September 2022. Joanne’s migraines started when she was 18. When I met her she was 51. 33 years of them. So to have made the changes we have in four and a half months, I’m excited to see how much further we can go.
 
We talked lots about life around the headaches, likes dislikes, mood, personality, work, family, hobbies, sleep, dreams and lots more; and of course about the headaches, when they began, what was happening around that time, what they felt like, what made them better or worse.
 
The two hours which I allow for my initial consultation, went by fast, as they often do. I worked on the case, and to give an insight into the process, I thought I’d share my final computer repertorisation.

 
Where it says Combined rubrics, that is two that are put together, that are relevant to the case, are confidential and am not sharing them here.
 
Generally I’m not a huge fan of small rubrics (the symptom description) but in the case of confirming a remedy, I’m very interested to see if they correlate and confirm the remedy choice. Here they did.
 
I prescribed Arnica. It’s probably our best known remedy, and circling back to what I said in the beginning, we are likely to give a different remedy for lots of people experiencing the same common dis-ease description. I have never prescribed Arnica for someone with headaches before. I have never given Arnica as a prescription for chronic health issues before. It’s been something I’ve suggested plenty of times – for bruising, for exhaustion, for jet lag, for tired mothers, for post surgery blends. But not ever before for headaches.
 
When we train, we talk a lot about becoming the unprejudiced observer. We talk about this mostly in terms of sitting with clients, in consultation. It’s something we need to use with a look to remedies too. I could easily have passed over Arnica with a ‘it’s just for bruising’ thought. And that would have been a shame.
 
We met next in June, and as often happens, Joanne said she’d not noticed a decrease in the headaches and had been feeling quite despondent that there weren’t improvements. I think now there are two types of nothing happened. There are the more common type, where the client returns and says nothing happened, you look at the notes from last time, talk more and realise that actually quite a lot has changed, and the second, less common type where nothing has happened.
 
Fortunately Joanne was one of the first type. On discussing how things were and now were…

The average headache duration had been decreased by a day. From 1.5 – 2 days to a day less now. Her nerve endings which previously felt raw and exposed, hadn’t had that anywhere near as much. She hadn’t had to take the nasal spray as frequently and the average pain levels which she would measure out of 10 were reduced quite a lot. The day we met it was a 5-5.5/10 and normally on the day after a bad headache (which she’d had the day before) she’d expect an 8. She also hadn’t had to go to bed as often as before, and had been able to function a bit more with the headaches. Nausea was no longer present.
 
So there were definitely still severe headaches, but the duration of them had reduced, the severity was somewhat down too, and whilst she was still having to go to bed, she noted that before she’d never be able to get back up and have dinner with the family, meet them after school, she’d previously have been doing well to get to the bathroom and back to bed.
 
What to do? To change remedy or continue or increase the potency of the Arnica?
 
I went with an increased potency of Arnica repeated at 2 weekly intervals.
 
We next met early September. Headache wise things were much more positive. She’d stopped thinking about it, she’d not had a day in bed recently.
 
She reported that the frequency was probably about the same but the severity very different. These were ones that would disappear by taking ibuprofen or a couple of paracetamol. And on frequency, now instead of a constant headache, there might be an average of 2-3 headaches a week. One week she didn’t have one at all. Unheard of for quite some time. She’d had a time where she couldn’t go out without painkillers in her bag, now she told me she’d even been out without a bag let alone the painkillers in there.
 
Her quality of life had changed massively. The girls’ language had changed from ‘if mum’s OK then we’ll meet you’ to ‘mum, I’m meeting ___ on Thursday’. There had been no sickness.
 
She described it as a ‘massive improvement that I’d never have thought would have been possible’. The nortryptaline was still being taken so I can’t put it all down to homeopathy, but it was being taken whilst she was having 3 week long, send you to bed for a week headaches too, and constantly had a headache, so I’d like to think that there’s some influence from this alternative angle.
 
Before she felt the headaches controlled her, now she was able to make plans.
 
When did she last feel this good I asked. ‘No idea, I really don’t know.’ A long time ago.
 
Like many sufferers of chronic conditions, she’d resigned herself to the fact that this was her life. She said ‘I never would have dreamt I’d be like I was this summer. I couldn’t see how it could happen. My life was controlled by headaches and just the fact I was able to book a holiday and enjoy every day of that holiday was so amazing.’
 
Of course we’re not done yet, we’re in the early days, but I’m hopeful it won’t be much longer before I’m telling Joanne that my door is always open should she need to return, and not seeing her for some time.

I've been musing over this for a few days, and hopefully if you're reading it, it's perfectly timed for you. I was sat with a group of my daughter's friends, teaching them to crochet, when my mum texted to say the Queen had died. I could have gone longer without knowing, with us not watching the news it may have taken longer to filter through, although once I'd gone onto the world of social media (which I've still not yet left, my plan to leave in summer being extended to autumn due to being asked to remain a little longer for one organisation), my feed would have been flooded with images and thoughts.

Queen Elizabeth II died on the 8th September, at her Scotish home in Balmoral. One time many years ago we were in the area, whilst on holiday in Scotland. I recall space, a beautiful region, but not much more. It was many years ago I suppose.

I can only imagine the place was a tonic, with a busy schedule and living in the centre of London, to retreat to there would have been food for the soul. At least for mine anyway.

The nation has come together, at a time of newspapers filled with doom over the winter, there are tributes and photos cherishing the long lived life of our monarch. There's also counter opinions, people feeling triggered and challenged by an outpouring of grief for one that others never knew.

There's a lot to feel and a lot to heal.

Allowing the feelings to be what they are is a great step towards healing them, and taking the time to sit with compassion, particularly self-compassion, is a wonderful way to learn more about ourselves and the world around us.

If you're struggling, it may be good to ask "What's the kindest thing I can do for myself right now?" Often I ask myself. Last night I went to bed early not feeling great, and today woke around 3am, then 3.30, then 4am. I asked myself that question, which is currently one of my very favourites (there are a couple of other great ones I'm loving too, perhaps more about that on another blog), and the answer for me, was as it often can be, to breathe. So I did 4-7-8 breaths (breathe in for 4, hold for 7, breathe out for 8) for a while. When I woke again, around 4.30am, I knew it was time to get up.

We can ask it for simple things, or more complex. It's a question I'm learning to ask myself (internally) in arguments - and has been of huge benefit to me. It calms me, I step out of the drama and it's hugely helpful not just for the easy times. It's a question that enables me to have some space. Sometimes you can't just stop, and now many will be experiencing wave after wave of emotions. It might not change anything out there, but if you can gain some space and clarity inside, it could shift much.

So that's one thing that might help.

Another is (of course!) homeopathic medicines.

It's perhaps of interest to know that Queen Elizabeth II, as with many of the Royal Family who have used homeopathy since Queen Adalaide made public her interest in this 'new medicine in 1835. New medicine indeed - Hahnemann had first published an essay mentioning homeopathy in 1796, so a mere 39 years later it was being used in Royal circles.

Prince Charles as was, King Charles III now, has been an active supporter of homeopathic medicines, using them on his farm with animals as well as himself.

And whilst the history may be of intriguing, I always find it even more to see it in action, to observe or to experience a well matched homeopathic medicine for myself. The shift can be utterly remarkable.

So I wanted to share a little about remedies that may help in times of grief, whether affected by the loss of the Queen, or by that of a well loved pet, family friend, loved one. All we have to do is match the symptoms experienced to the remedy needed.

I would like to say first that in cases of long term grief, that visiting a homeopath may be worth considering. The shifts that I've seen from acute remedies has been significant, but that from seeing a bigger picture and giving a remedy based on that? Totally life changing at times. I'm happy to answer questions about which is more appropriate for you if that's helpful.

Diving in...

Aconite, our first remedy to mention (since I'm going alphabetically at least!) is a great medicine to think of in times of shock. There can be acute fear seen, and it may be that colds or illness comes on (often with a high fever) after shocks. There may be a fear of death observed in the patient who needs Aconite. Mostly complaints come on suddenly and it's often healthy, strong people who may experience a state that needs Aconite. Could be useful in early times when learning of a loss.

Arnica, funnily enough, I would never have thought of mentioning in a blog on grief years ago. How times change. I've seen Arnica be so helpful for sleepless mothers, carers, jet lagged folk, and for women in labour. Arnica is often thought of as 'the bruising remedy' and yet its scope can be so much deeper. I've recently prescribed it in a case of a woman in her 40s who has had horrendous headaches since she was 18 and am seeing some great results (so much so, that's my next blog to come). If the grief is such that one is struggling to sleep and feeling battered, exhausted and worn out during the day, I'd think of Arnica and take it to help keep you going. Of course rest where needed, but this would be likely to help alongside.

Ignatia - and I'm sure for anyone out there who knows and loves homeopathy would have been waiting for this one to show up. It's probably our best known remedy for grief, and has a well deserved reputation. That said, a quick search in my repertory (our book, or computer program of symptoms) shows 247 remedies, including Ignatia, listed under 'Grief'. It's good to know if Ignatia isn't hitting the spot, there may be another remedy listed here that may help, or visiting a homeopath could also be a great way forwards. We've a few homeopathic medicines to choose from. Where Ignatia may help you're likely to see crying, sighing, sleeplessness and wanting to stay by themselves. The old texts describe 'hysterical women' being helped with Ignatia. Think of that beside yourself with grief, can't do anything state and Ignatia may help in that picture.

Natrum Mur or to be blunt about it, salt. This is particularly good in long held grief, that has often been suppressed and held in. The Nat Mur patient may want to be left by themselves, may be worse for consolation and may well dwell on past disagreeable events. It's generally not a remedy I'd think of in acute grief states, but where a new grief has triggered a chronic state, it may well be one to think of. They would often be alone, generally not seeking out, or feeling better from company.

Phosphoric Acid, the last remedy I want to mention in this week blog, is one to think of where there is grief with great weakness. Grief and sadness may be accompanied by extreme tiredness and there may be indifference to life in general seen here too. The person needing this may stay inside the house, may not wish to speak to others, and may just want to be quiet and undisturbed.


Of course, as mentioned, there are several hundred remedies that may be identified as being particularly helpful when grief is a part of the picture, these are just a few to think of in cases of acute grief.

Remembering to take things steadily is important too. Barefoot walking teaches me that sometimes you can charge on ahead, even run carefree and happy, and other times you need to slow for the harder, stonier paths. I believe many of us have an expectation that we continue at the same pace through whatever, that stopping is showing a weakness. Instead I think it's being human, and so important for each other to know we all struggle at times, sometimes we all need to take it slowly and have a bit more nurturing, from others or for ourselves.

With best wishes for whatever you need at this time,

Em

Whilst I'm here, I've a 2 evening Introduction to Homeopathy course coming up on the 22nd and 29th of September. Evening one is a session of inspiration and stories of homeopathy in action, accompanied by learning more about commonly used remedies. Evening two is more about practical details, as well as insights into where homeopathy evolved from, with more remedies covered.

Find out more here: