Autistics, Autodidacts and Autonomy

Autistics, Autodidacts and Autonomy

So it’s done! I completed my MRes (masters in research degree) in September and should get my final result sometime next week. It has been HARD! The modules in research design and methodology, philosophy of science, mixed methods, interdisciplinary methods and public health all stretched me out of my comfort zone. But the individual research project I took on? Rewarding, emotional, validating, illuminating and EXHAUSTING! It’s no wonder that I have been ill since my hand-in week (oh the irony!) I am super proud of the result though and would like to tell you about it. Are you sitting comfortably?

Long term readers of this blog will know that I qualified in nutritional therapy ten years ago, have done a tonne of work on my own health and wellbeing over the years, discovered that I was autistic three years ago and am now a health and wellbeing coach over at Nourish, Align & Transform. So I have good first hand knowledge of how to support my own health and of how to keep challenges at bay that are common to many autistic people, such as chronic anxiety, insomnia and digestive problems.

But what I really wanted to know was, how do other women like me look after their own health and wellbeing? Women like me, who weren’t diagnosed with autism until they were adults. Women like me, who found that they couldn’t easily access support from relevant health services and so needed to take matters into their own hands. Women like me, who had a passion for learning about health and wellbeing but had to take their unique needs and requirements into account before applying information to themselves.

Over five months I read all the relevant academic papers I could get my hands on, designed my study, submitted a proposal, ran, transcribed and analysed interviews, and wrote over 12k words (abstract, introduction, literature review, theoretical framework, methods, findings, discussion etc.) in time for the deadline!

And, wow, the study findings were beautiful! The participants were dedicated and immersive researchers, who had found that discovering they were autistic transformed how effectively they were able to support their health and wellbeing. And yes, diet, supplements and exercise featured but, spending time alone, being in nature, creating and following routines, being creative and stimming* were just as important.

Without the means to use all of these strategies, the participants struggled more with high anxiety, insomnia, digestive problems, chronic pain, overwhelm and fatigue. But when they were able to use their strategies they were more likely to enjoy life, to be physically and mentally healthier, and able to celebrate their own autistic identities.

While I think that this requires further academic study (I’m on it!) I am passionate about making sure the autistic community has access to this kind of knowledge in a supportive environment as soon as possible. So, together with Rhi from AutistRhi I am setting up a resource website with article contributions from other autistic people who have found or developed strategies that positively impact their health and/or wellbeing.

These articles won’t be peppered with generalisations and references, or making any claims to cure or heal. Instead they will be talking about what helps that individual to thrive in what can be an incredibly challenging world. We are hoping to go live in the very near future and we shall be shouting about it on social media once it’s launched!

What else will you find on there? You’ll have access to the summary of my study findings, a list of autistic-led health and wellbeing workshops around the world and toolkit recommendations (such as noise reducing headphones and stim toys). In the meantime we are looking for other autistic contributors! If you feel you have a short (around 400-800 words) post in you and would like to be included then let me know in the comments and we can talk further offline. We aren’t able to pay, but we will include a 50 word bio with links to your social media and a photo.

I look forward to announcing our online launch soon! See you there with virtual champagne and gluten-free canapes…

* autistic people often employ repetitive movements or actions to soothe or focus, a process called stimming. Actions such as using stim toys, repetitive hand movements or rocking are generally considered to filter out sensory stimuli, relieve emotional distress and even amplify positive emotional feelings.


Learning to read (again)

Learning to read (again)

Years ago, when I explained to a friend that written words would vibrate and float around she told me that it was a common dyslexic issue. I was surprised as I’d been a fluent reader long before I started school, tested as having a reading age of 13 when I was 7, and was a voracious reader throughout my teens, often reading a book each night until doing an English Literature A level made me lose my love of books for a while. Writing was also easy. I looked into it. I’m not dyslexic.


I have always described my reading style as staring at a passage, catching the words like fish into a net, and then hoping my brain would process them and rearrange them into the right order. In some ways this is not as bad as it sounds. I can skim read a passage of writing fast and pick out the relevant information. This was great when I was at school and hadn’t read something for homework. I could easily skim a few pages and get the gist while everyone else was still getting their books out.

I was also a pretty good sight-reader which got me out of no end of trouble in instrumental lessons and orchestra rehearsals when I’d rarely done the required practice to learn the music beforehand. I could scan a passage of music while playing it and translate the notes, phrasing and chords etc to my fingers very easily. Considering playing and teaching viola and piano was my livelihood throughout my twenties this was a super useful skill!

So why was this a problem?

Headaches. Headaches from trying to slow down and read stuff properly. Headaches from trying to understand sentences that I’d made some sort of anagram with and come up with a new meaning for. Headaches from realising I’d missed some of the poetry and musicality of a phrase and having to read over again. Headaches from those words vibrating and jumping and disappearing altogether. Tricky little buggers.

But a few days ago, in reply to one of my tweets, somebody recommended coloured overlays. I bought a packet of wide bookmarks (designed for dyslexics) in a range of colours and, one at a time, put them over the book I was reading. Yellow, meh. Green, Meh. Purple, pfft. Pale blue…

Wait…   What?

The.   Words.   Stayed.   Still.

I could see every word. Each letter had a clean, clear edge. I could see the words one at a time and in the right order.

Mind.   Utterly.   Blown.

I’ve been reading for 43 years (I’m 46) and feel like I’m just learning how to do it properly!

It’s got its own quirks. I’m going to have to practice reading every word in the order it was meant to be read in. It’s strange. And to be honest, it feels a bit ploddy, a bit pedestrian. Less adrenaline fueled. But on the plus side, a deeper, more sensory experience. I keep reminding myself to slow down and appreciate the journey. To focus on the story. Or the journal article. Or the instructions.

I think it would be worth me looking into a bit more. Apparently it has something to do with visual tracking challenges, which could just be part of my being autistic, or might be to do with dyspraxia (which I think I fit the criteria for but haven’t yet sought a diagnosis for). But in the meantime it’s going to mean practising. Some bigger overlays could be useful. Maybe some computer software. But mostly practice. Lots and lots of reading. Yippee!

Recalibrating (a grumpy post)

Recalibrating (a grumpy post)

“Insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routines, or ritualised patterns or verbal non-verbal behaviour (e.g. extreme distress at small changes, difficulties with transitions, rigid thinking patterns, greeting rituals, need to take same route or eat food every day).” from the DSM-5 criteria for Autism Spectrum Disorder

So here’s a thing that I think not many people understand about the majority of autistic people (not all – we autistic folk are as individual as anyone else) and that’s how change can affect us.

Most people now recognise that new routines, changes of pace and transitioning from one activity to the next is difficult for autistic children but they might not realise that it’s the same for autistic adults. Because autistic adults often seem to deal just fine. No public meltdown no problem right? Well, um.. not-so-much!

I’ll give you an example:

Ok, so how about if you, one of my dearest friends, pops round because you were in the neighbourhood. Here’s what will happen. I will jump up and down, hug you (I am a hug freak) and run around wittering and making a pot of coffee because I am truly happy to see you. OK, my reaction might seem a little over-the-top but as you are my dear friend you will already know that I am pretty childlike when I get excited. You are entirely forgiven for thinking that this is the best thing that has happened to me this week and that I can manage this situation.

But here’s the thing. My adrenaline levels will rocket the second I see you walk up the garden path (hence the performing-monkey-on-speed routine), my head will be pounding and I will be worrying because I haven’t had time to script (plan) any conversations (this is totally a thing), clean the house (I have a major fear of being judged) or re-plan my day.

And then, once you leave I will be distraught because I didn’t get to enjoy it properly – sure I smiled and laughed the whole time but the adrenaline will have stopped me relaxing and truly enjoying your visit. And I will have missed the chance to tell you funny and interesting things, to ask you about stuff I know interests you, and to entertain you as you deserve to be entertained –  because I didn’t get time to script. The sheer frustration is overwhelming.

And then, after the disappointment of not being able to be spontaneous (for goodness sakes, you only popped round for a cup of coffee!) s**t really kicks in for the rest of the day. Without the plan and the routine I was expecting for the day I’ve used up brain processing memory that I need for other stuff. When one thing changes my brain can’t neatly compartmentalise it and get on with the next thing. My brain decides that everything is up for change:

  • I will struggle to figure out the time and the day all day
  • I will mis-plan the next family meal so that it will be late and I will forget to cook part of it completely
  • I will walk into my own walls, trip up or fall down the stairs because the layout of the house feels different (strange but true)
  • I will do odd things like put my phone in the washing machine (this happened last month and I am still struggling with the loss of my iPhone because I can’t afford to replace my 5SE model and am instead using an old one with a tiny memory and a tendency to drain power unexpectedly – oh the irony)
  • everything will feel a bit louder and brighter than usual and it will give me a headache

…and as easy as that, I will lose the rest of the day to a brain that’s been shaken up and tipped out, like a basket of wool that will need untangling before it’s all packed away again. To make it worse, the emergency conversational processing I will have had to do will mean that I will have trouble conversing even with my family for the rest of the day. All for the sake of a dear friend visiting unexpectedly!

What’s more, it’s not just unexpected visitors that sets me up in a flurry of confusion and exhaustion. Changes of routine, changes of venue, new places, unexpected faces, cancelled plans? All of these mess up my precariously balanced equilibrium. And it can take days to recalibrate.

And so, while it seems that I am being unreasonable in not being able to change plans at the last minute; or when I have to back out of a social engagement altogether because other people have been invited this is why. I love that you can be spontaneous, I truly admire that in you. But I can’t join you in your spontaneity. Not without a bit of planning.

I promise a non-grumpy post next time!

Not boredom

Not boredom

This afternoon is one of those afternoons. A cacophony of the oven, washing machine, lawnmowers, birds, someone’s TV, dogs barking, planes overhead, neighbours talking, shouting, swearing, belching hurt my ears but my headphones feel too hot and tight. The light is both too bright and too dim; if I try to read a book then the words jump around; if I close my eyes geometric patterns swirl menacingly across my eyelids. Even writing this is tricky – every word looks like it should have a red wriggly line underneath it. My joints feel cold and greasy. My skin hot and gritty. I am hungry, nauseous and full all at once. My head feels stuck on at the wrong angle and no amount of clicking my neck and shoulders can put it back on right. I can’t settle to anything. Everything seems unsurmountable, urgent and worthless. I am tired. I am restless.

I don’t know what this is and why this happens.

When I was little I was told that this feeling was boredom and that “only boring people get bored.” I didn’t understand why feeling this way made me a boring person but accepted that it was a major failing on my part.

At school and university these days could be torture. Teachers at the front of the class swung in and out of visual and audio focus. Words on the blackboard and page vibrated and floated away. My wrists resisted writing.

I guess that at least I get to look at it objectively as an adult. This day will pass. Maybe tomorrow I will know what it is that I want to eat, read, wear and do. Perhaps my bones will feel like they are in the right place, and my skin will fit. Hopefully sounds will make sense and I will be able to process the contrast in shapes, shades and hues. For now I will drink plenty of water, walk barefoot in the garden and appreciate that my husband and daughters understand that today I can’t make words come out right and that I am doing the best I can.

It’s definitely not boredom. Does anyone have a word or an explanation for it?


Educating Flojo

Educating Flojo

My undergraduate BA in music in the early 90s was a bit of a wash out. Learning life skills and social skills took precedence as I attempted to learn the rudiments of house sharing, balancing a post-rent-payment budget of £7 a week, and basic self-care skills such as cooking, using the launderette and not burning the house down (that’s a whole other story or two).

I worked hard in orchestral and chamber rehearsals but lacked the motivation to practice my own solo music; turned up to lectures but couldn’t focus on a word I was told; coordinated a record breaking rag-week, fought for institutional ethnic inclusivity and threw myself into voluntary work assisting on art, music and drama workshops for disabled people in connection with the City of London Sinfonia – but didn’t ever figure out how to use the library, references or a computer.

There were no grey areas in my grades. I either aced courses or failed them. Autistic burnout caused me to leave town for a few weeks while I decided whether or not to continue with my studies; and a breakdown in communication meant I ended up short of credits and had to return for a fourth year while forfeiting my honours. I repeatedly confused, irritated, offended, and upset friends, housemates and lecturers while battling chronic anxiety, depressive episodes and executive dysfunction. My essays, handed in late and illegibly handwritten, were a mess. My room was a mess. I looked a mess. Hell, I was a mess.

But, this return to academia twenty five years later, thanks to a place offered on a research masters (without the necessary prerequisites of a 2:1 in a relevant honours degree but taking into account extenuating circumstances and gained experience) has offered a whole new outlook, increased confidence and widening of comfort boundaries. And why? Because of people’s unquestioning generosity but also my own new understandings since my autism diagnosis in 2016.

My husband patiently demonstrated how to use the automated system to take library books out and also how to return them. Twice. I still don’t use automated check-outs at supermarkets but glow with pride when I check a book out.

A classmate showed me how to log onto the university computers, send articles to print and then log in again and print them off in the designated print rooms. Magic!

Another showed me how to format assignments and automate references within a document.

Another showed me how to buy my bus tickets from my phone; proof-read my first assignments and explained how to use more authoritative language. He also recognised the signs of me going into meltdown from sensory overload during a lecture, swiftly got me out of the lecture room to recover and then later collected my books and drove me back to Bristol rather than me having to navigate crowds and public transport.

It takes a village…

Yet another classmate rescued an assignment that my laptop dramatically lost just days before the deadline.

The IT folk cheerfully sort out my laptop, WiFi, passwords and software for me on a regular basis.

My course leader helped me to find my way around campus and checked that I could access quiet places without me ever having to ask or explain that I needed that support. Most days someone has to help me open a door (apparently most of them are automatic. Maybe they just don’t recognise me).

On two separate occasions strangers recognised impending meltdowns, calmly led me to quiet, outdoor spaces and patiently waited until I was ready to rejoin other people. (Once was in reaction to a fire alarm – it wasn’t fear of fire that made me cry and shake, it was the change of pace, the noise, the confusion.)

All this support may sound trivial but it has all been profoundly helpful. Until I knew I was autistic I didn’t know that it was ok to ask for or accept help for these things. Autistic people are recognised as having a spiky profile. My spiky profile comes with difficulties adapting to new environments and situations; overwhelm at noises, lights, smells, people and unexpected changes. It also comes with a high IQ, an ability to see patterns and links across disciplines such as health, philosophy, art and science; and skills in effectively disseminating information to a range of audiences.

I’d not considered blogging all this until I messaged a shortened version to a super intelligent and accomplished autistic friend this morning and she replied: All that stuff? I know how hard it is. I have tears. I sometimes forget how much the experiences I thought were embarrassingly pathetic are familiar to my autistic sisters.

Accepting generous offers of help in my areas of challenge have meant that I’m succeeding this time around. I have learned more in the last six months of study than I did in four years in my twenties. I start my assignments in good time, plan them, give myself time for multiple drafts and submit them hours, if not days before the deadlines. So far all my assignments have been marked at merit or distinction level. Time will tell if I can keep this pace up. I need a bit of help from you too – please keep your fingers crossed for me!

Walking in a straight line

Walking in a straight line

I’m not sure how its nearly eight months since I last posted. I started a Masters in Research in September and had to learn a whole new way of writing; everything meticulously referenced and using fancy words ending in “ology” like ontology, epistemology and qualitative methodologies. Turns out I’m actually pretty good at it but it is hard to swap back and forth between that and blogging which reflects my natural verbal speech patterns and tendency to make up words.

But I wanted to get down in writing a thing that happened and the effect it had on me. And I wanted to write in my usual way. With plenty of alliteration and creative phrasing. And a distinct lack of either Harvard referencing or correct punctuation.

Last month I fell over.

My overdramatic tip, skip n flip didn’t result from any kind of extreme sport; from a slip on ice or trip over an large obstacle. I was just walking along a busy pavement (happily pondering a health and wellbeing workshop I’d just given to some exhausted looking trainee teachers) when I did some kind of slow motion stumble, stagger and swoop towards the ground; spraining my ankle, creating large and bloody holes in my knee and elbow, jarring my wrist and shoulder and still managing to end up on my back with my feet in the air in the process.

So graceful.

I posted about this on Instagram and many of the (sympathetic) comments and DMs that came back included “that’s so you”, “you haven’t changed”, “only you!” And its true. People who have known me over the years have been there for me when I’ve been hit by cars (five times, luckily no serious incidents), knocked myself unconscious walking into walls; fallen off pavements and tripped over my own feet.

And why? Because I forgot to concentrate on walking in a straight line. Maybe I let my mind wander or something caught my eye; perhaps I misjudged a distance or the speed of an oncoming car. Probably I was listening to someone talk and that took away from the focus I needed to pick one foot up and put it in front of the other.

I’ve been told often that I have a characteristically determined walk and it has taken until recently to realise why. I am consciously reminding myself how to walk most of the time I am walking. Straight back, look ahead, swing my legs from the hips, keep it fluid, feet up… no not that much, look ahead, don’t swerve into that person… stick to the left left! Smile! FEET UP dammit they said hello, smile, say hello, straight back breathe…. it’s ok you can stop smiling now they’ve gone past, swing my legs from the hips, feet up, back straight…

If I’m walking or even running somewhere quiet, along paths that I know well, where there are no people and their sodding “it’s ok, he just wants to say hello” dogs then I’m fine. I can go all zen-like; or even go into a slow-mo Matrix mindset style, avoiding holes or rocks with ease and walking in a perfectly straight line. Or if I’m chatting with someone who knows to grab my arm every so often when I stumble and wait for me to recalibrate which way is up; that’s ok too. More than ok in fact. It feels really good to walk like this. Like I’ve activated some kinda cool superpower. Look at Flo, walking without constant instruction – how does even she do that?!

But I am wondering if other people get this too. If there are others using up valuable cognitive energy talking to themselves like they would to a child riding a bike for the first time. I’m not suggesting I’d be learning multiple foreign languages, composing symphonies or pondering complex equations (or indeed any equations) but I wonder what it might be like not to have to maintain that constant stream of instructions getting safely from A to B. What might that feel like?

p.s. the featured photo is not me. It’s a stock photo. But that’s kinda how it all went down…


Heatwaves, Hornets and Horses

Heatwaves, Hornets and Horses

I may have forgotten, but I don’t recall there being what Simon and I catchily refer to as one-of-those-weird-days when we lived in any of our other houses: from cities, to towns to just the other side of our village. Days when everything around us starts to feel a little frantic and out of control.

Either my memory has blanked it out or it is a phenomenon limited to the tiny ’60s council estate which we moved to ten years ago.

On one-of-these-weird-days there is a strange air. More shouting than usual, more fires lit to fill the air with black clouds of noxious smoke, more public drunkenness, more sirens announcing the emergency services driving onto the estate. It doesn’t fit with moon cycles, days of the week or the weather. I can see no pattern.

With the exception that heatwaves can trigger more of those days with not just the locals but the wildlife itself joining in. We had one of these recently, a couple of weeks into this long spell of oppressive heat that much of the UK is hoping will break soon.

A large hornet took up residence in my living room and refused to leave through the wide open windows. It bounced around hitting walls and windows, steadfastly resisting efforts to coax it back outside. After a time the loud, lazy droning became quite soporific.

Eventually it found its own route to freedom and nobody was hurt.

A neighbour kicked off inside their own home, screaming, shouting, destroying. It’s a regular occurrence and is already being monitored. We closed the windows and the curtains to the noise but on this occasion other neighbours poured out of their houses to witness.

We waited for the people to clear and the melting tarmac to cool so that we could walk the dog and we climbed over the stile just in time to see 6 horses stampede from their field, manes and tails flowing as they thundered along the footpath and onto the public green towards the A road.

We warned a man to keep his young children away from the horses and with that they all ran out of the kid’s gated enclosure and towards the horses yelling excitedly.

We called the police. Luckily the horses headed back and nobody was hurt.

And, by the evening, with stuffy nighttime temperatures requiring windows to be pushed as wide open as they can go, opposing sound systems kicked in, bass notes ricocheting around the backs of houses until they collided. Children shrieked in their gardens long after bedtime. Adults hollered conversations out of their windows across the street. Dogs added their staccato voices to the general cacophony.

And the next day, despite the heat still holding steady at 30C, all was quiet.

Mozart, Wine and Pizza

Mozart, Wine and Pizza

I figured it’s time I told you all another daft story. I have many. This one is a tad farcical and explains why I was teetotal for two whole years in my early twenties…

In the early 90s, while I was a music student, I busked with a string quintet in my summer holidays. Four highly talented and fairly laid back blokes and me, an anxious undiagnosed autistic woman with hennaed hair, nose ring and questionable dress sense (70’s waistcoat, striped PJ bottoms and ex-military boots anyone?)

We played the classics such as Mozart’s Eine Kleine Natchtmusik, Ravel’s Bolero,  Vivaldi’s Seasons, Pachelbel’s Canon and Hendrix’s Purple Haze (yes, really) in Bath outside the Pump Rooms or the Abbey to crowds ranging from 1 – 200. Some days dodging the raindrops and desperately hoping to make enough money to cover the bus back in the next day; others counting out up to £70 each in loose change after a few hours.

One Saturday though we’d been asked to play for a charity function at Longleat house. If we wanted to turn up and play lovely, cultured music in the formal gardens for the afternoon we’d get food, drink, any takings from busking and a lift home after the disco. No holes in that plan right?

We busked in Bath as usual for the morning as it was a gloriously warm and sunny Saturday – the takings were good. We celebrated with cider and headed for Longleat.

Over the next few hours we were plied with wine. Much wine. It was hot, we were thirsty.

The busking of fine classics happened. Food did not happen. More wine happened. Those are the main things that I remember.

Other things I remember include:

  • going to the disco and asking the 7th Marquess of Bath if he would like to dance (he declined, dodgy leg apparently – maybe from servicing his many, many wifelets)
  • getting very lost in the maze, which in case you are wondering is the longest maze in the world, and having to crawl my way out. I use the word crawl literally here. There was a little staggering but I kept crashing into the hedges so crawling made more sense
  • falling asleep on some grass using a pizza box as a pillow (I can only hope that somebody had already eaten the pizza)
  • the rest of the quintet waking me up to tell me that the driver had refused to drive us home because he was also drunk but that he would take us home in the morning. The morning?! Our bass player asked for beds, pillows and courtesy – except with several well placed expletives inserted in that sentence. The driver responded by punching him in the face. Nice.
  • being bundled into one of two taxis that would cost us our entire day’s earnings to get just half way back to Bristol. Then being bundled into a car that would take us to the bass player’s parents house where we were kindly all given beds, pillows and courtesy.
  • being violently ill and having to pretend I was ok. Because parents.
  • getting to my parents home and spending the next three days in bed with what I can only assume was alcohol poisoning. It was bad.
  • discovering a “please keep off the grass” sign in my bag. Apparently the others smuggled it in my bag while I was asleep. It was a lovely sign, I kept it for years.

Some other daft stories:

Guinness Punch and an Altercation with a Bus Driver

Lost in Paris

Face Hugger


Nourish, Align, Transform

Nourish, Align, Transform

I’ve been thinking about the reasons that more people might not sign up with a health and nutrition coach and talking to friends and colleagues about it. Turns out there’s quite a few! So I’ve decided to blog a short series of posts committing some of those thoughts and conversations to written words – I hope you find them interesting!

To start this series off I want to give you an idea of how I personally coach – I can’t talk for all health and nutrition coaches because we won’t all be coming from the same place in terms of training, experience and fields of expertise.

My belief is that the majority of health challenges come from a place of excessive stress and that the biggest stress of all is for anyone not to be person they were born to be.

I refer to my coaching practice as Nourish, Align, Transform. While every client programme is different (for the simple reason that every client is different!) if you were going to sign up with me the following should give you an idea of how our work together might look…


From the very first consultation I’ll be looking at helping you to increase time-honoured foods and practices that truly nourish you. We’ll be looking at what your ancestors thrived on in terms of nutrients, sunlight and sleep. We’ll look at what your health patterns since birth were trying to tell you in terms of what you actually needed in order to feel sustained, content and happy. And we’ll go through your current symptoms to figure what your unique physiology requires right now in order to feel energised and revitalised.

It is likely that I’ll be recommending abundant seasonal vegetables served with plenty of butter; an increase in delicious, traditionally-prepared and nutrient-dense real food; and a ban on margarine. You may be surprised to see an increase in salt, sunbathing and saturated fat. And I will be showing you how coffee, chocolate and cholesterol are not the demons the media makes them out to be.

You’ll also find out the difference between using targeted, quality supplements as therapeutic healing agents and taking generic multivitamins as a just-in-case measure. And I won’t ever ask you to count calories!


Everyone is, whether knowingly or not, affected by the seasons, the moon phases and their own twenty four hour circadian rhythms. Women are also particularly influenced by the phases of the menarche, of menstruation cycles, of motherhood and by the menopause. In my coaching practice I teach clients how these patterns cause hormone fluctuations which require adapted nutrient intakes and lifestyle changes in order to become truly balanced and in-the-flow.

The more we turn away from the nutrition, movement, sunlight, fresh air and sleep patterns that sustained our ancestors for thousands of years; and the more we rely on processed food, gym routines, artificial lighting, air-conditioning and disrupted sleep, then the more pressure we put on our health, and particularly our stress hormones.

Without taking a “hair-shirt” approach I make recommendations as to how to apply an ancestral approach to modern living in order to help our health become more aligned with that of our own life cycles, the seasons, and of the environment itself.


When you learn to eat and live in a way that honours your unique heritage, that allows your body to regain balance, and that clears your head from brain-fog, depression and constant anxiety you pave the way for profound changes to take place!

True healing means that you gain the strength to leave behind old expectations and unhealthy paradigms; and to live in a way that aligns with your beliefs, your passions and your hopes and dreams.

Good health isn’t simply the releasing of bad health.

It’s waking up with enthusiasm and vitality and getting a satisfyingly sound night’s sleep.

It’s getting to actually enjoy your meals rather than using food as a tool.

It’s enjoying your day, knowing that you can overcome whatever challenges get thrown at you.

It’s the sparkle in your eye, the smoulder in your smile, the strength in your constitution and the spring in your step.

It’s about thriving rather than just surviving.

I’d like to ask you a favour! Would you leave some of your thoughts in the comments as to why you personally would not seek out support from a health and nutrition coach?

However, if you would like to work with me to discover your unique path to nourishing, aligning and transforming yourself then please contact me here to arrange a consultation!

Eating Chicken Frugally, Ethically and Deliciously

Eating Chicken Frugally, Ethically and Deliciously

I’m typing with slightly numbed fingers because when it comes to hot, crispy, salty chicken skin I will burn myself over waiting for it to cool every single time. So. Damn. Good!

But here’s the deal. Organic, pasture raised chicken is not cheap. It takes time, space and patience to raise a bird in it’s more natural habitat, with access to dust baths, tasty (!) insects and wild grown herbs – which is why I spend approximately 3.5 times the £ for an organic Riverford bird rather than one from my local supermarket. You’ve seen footage of intensively farmed birds right? Compare that with the care taken over these:

Worth every penny. Apart from the issues of welfare, ethics, and the environment there’re also the bonuses of not routinely feeding my family a cocktail of hormones, antibiotics and pesticides; of the comparatively vastly improved nutritional status; and of getting a far superior taste.

But, I really don’t have the budget to do this regularly so what to do?

My friends, I’ll tell you how you get to save the world and your health all in one go!

Alongside my regular organic delivery from Riverford I add three chicken carcasses for £2.65 which I whack straight in a hot oven with a good sprinkling of salt. As soon as the house is full of the tantalising aroma of roast chicken I know it’s time to start picking. This is why I have burnt fingers! I eat the salty crispy skin and any spare meaty bits; and throw the really fatty scraps down for EllaTheDog and PoppyTheCat.

The bones go in the slow cooker with salt, veggies, herbs, ACV and water for several hours to make the most delicious and nutritious bone broth. This week half of that will go in a stew for tonight and the rest will get saved for a vegetable curry tomorrow. Sometimes we’ll just drink the broth straight. Once I’ve strained off the broth the bones will be soft enough to squish down (together with the broth veg and any remaining scraps of meat) for Ella and Poppy’s supper tonight.

And the fat still in the pan? I chuck a load of veggies in, combine them in that delicious and healthy fat and pop the pan in the oven for a bit. Roast veggies for lunch are heaven! If you want to mix it up a little I’ve got a couple of other serving ideas on my other site

£2.65! Breakfast, lunch, dinner and pet food. I mean *really*! What are you waiting for…?!