Tag: healing

After losing my parents there was a period of time when I felt overwhelmingly sad. Not sad every minute of every day perhaps, but empty. The life I had known for years had changed completely and there was a huge hole where my parents had been. I missed them both terribly and although I knew I was healing, I couldn’t honestly say I felt happy.

It got me thinking about happiness itself. What actually makes people happy? And perhaps more importantly, how do we find happiness again when life has dealt us a blow that feels impossible to recover from? As I started reading around the subject, I came across the concept of the happiness pie chart. The exact percentages vary depending on which study you read and some researchers question them altogether, but the overall message fascinated me. The theory suggests that around half of our happiness is influenced by our genetics, something we have little control over. Only a surprisingly small amount appears to be linked to our external circumstances such as wealth, status, possessions or where we live.

The rest comes from us. From our habits, our choices, our mindset and the way we choose to live our lives. That idea stayed with me. If happiness wasn’t determined primarily by what happened to us, perhaps there was something I could do to help myself heal. Perhaps happiness wasn’t something we simply found. Perhaps it was something we could create. And so began my road back.

The first thing I did was rest. Properly rest. For the first time in ages there was nowhere I needed to be and nobody needed anything from me. For years I had measured my days by what I achieved. Suddenly I found myself sitting with a book for an hour, spending an afternoon doing a puzzle or taking a long walk with the dog and my phone switched off. At first it felt uncomfortable. Then it felt liberating. I stopped feeling guilty for doing very little and started appreciating the space that doing very little created. Looking back now, I think many of us have forgotten how to rest. We fill every moment with activity, noise or distraction and then wonder why we feel exhausted.

What surprised me was that once I stopped rushing, I started noticing things again. Not big things necessarily, but the small things that had always been there and which I had somehow stopped seeing. The warmth of sunshine through the window, a conversation with one of my children, a walk with the dog or a cup of tea with a friend all seemed more significant than they had before. 

At the same time I found I had something else I hadn’t had for a while: time. Time to think, time to read and time to be curious

I became fascinated by understanding why some people seemed happier than others and whether happiness was something that could actually be learned. So I studied. I have always been interested in non-Western philosophy and ideas around mindfulness, spirituality and the way our thoughts influence our lives. What changed during this period wasn’t the interest itself but the amount of time I had to explore it.

For the first time in years I wasn’t rushing on to the next thing. I had the time to read more deeply, to listen, to reflect and to question things I had previously accepted without much thought. I read books, listened to podcasts, watched videos and disappeared down more rabbit holes than I care to admit. The more I learned, the more curious I became and before long I found myself spending hours exploring ideas I had only previously touched on. I was searching for answers and I was open to finding them.

One of the things that resonated with me was the idea that where we place our attention matters. If we spend our lives focusing on what is missing, we notice more absence. If we focus on what is good, however small, we begin to notice more of that too. That idea led me to a daily practice.

Every morning before I did anything else, I listened to a manifestation recording on YouTube. The focus was on raising your vibrational energy and being consciously grateful, bringing a positive emotional state of being into the day. I would consciously thank the universe for another day, for my existence, for my family, for my breath, for the trees, for all the small things that I took for granted. I would focus on what was present in my life rather than what was absent. It wasn’t something I did occasionally. I did it every day. Gradually it became part of who I was. The more I practised, the more positive I felt. The more positive I felt, the more hopeful I became. And the more hopeful I became, the easier it was to imagine a future that looked different from the life I had lost.

Manifestation became less about wishing for things and more about clarity. I became fascinated by the concept of identity shifting. Put simply, it is the idea of becoming clear about who your future self is and then making choices that move you in that direction.

I started asking myself what came next. Who did I want to become now? What did I want my life to look like? How did I want my days to feel? What sort of work did I want to do? Who did I want to spend my time with? The more I sat with those questions, the clearer the answers became. And once they became clear, opportunities started appearing that I might not even have noticed before. Perhaps they had always been there. Perhaps I was simply ready to see them Either way, one thing led to another.

Today I have a private GP clinic opposite the road where my old surgery once stood. I work with my son, my daughters help out too and most days work doesn’t feel like work.

Whether you call that manifestation, mindset or simply being clear about where you want to go in life doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it changed the direction of mine.

I became much more selective about relationships. That sounds harsh when I write it down but the last few years have taught me that time is precious. One of my daughters said something to me after Dad died that has stayed with me ever since.

“Mama, not everyone who comes into your life is meant to stay there forever. Even family.”

At the time I was sad about a relationship with a family member who had once been very important to me. Life had happened, we had drifted apart and there was no obvious way back.

We spend so much of our lives holding onto relationships because of history, obligation or guilt. Sometimes people grow in different directions. Sometimes relationships simply belong to a particular chapter of our lives. That doesn’t mean they weren’t important. It simply means that chapter has ended and it’s ok to let go of them. My daughter gave me the simple explanation for something I had been mulling over for so long and told me it was ok to let it go. And I instantly felt lighter. 

These days I spend my time with people I genuinely enjoy being with. People who make me laugh. People who bring energy into my life rather than draining it. I no longer feel guilty about saying no. If I have an empty weekend, that’s perfectly fine too. I like having empty days. I’ve stopped filling space for the sake of it and, ironically, having the space makes me feel happier and more content.

Perhaps because of that, I have come to appreciate even more the people I choose to spend my time with. Seeing them happy genuinely makes me happy and I think that has always been true of me. Perhaps that is why relationships have always mattered so much and why I have always enjoyed looking after people.

I love spending time with my family. I love creating memories together. I love celebrating things, however small. I love seeing people succeed, achieve something they have worked hard for or simply enjoy themselves.

And yes, I love buying gifts. Not expensive gifts necessarily, but thoughtful ones. The sort where you’ve listened to somebody mention something months ago and remembered. The sort that tells somebody they were heard.

There is something lovely about seeing somebody realise that you’ve paid attention. Perhaps that’s why giving has always brought me so much pleasure. There is something deeply satisfying about making somebody else’s day a little brighter, not because you expect anything back but simply because you can.

And if you can, why wouldn’t you?

I suspect that is one of the reasons I became a doctor in the first place. Looking after people, helping them, solving problems and making life a little easier where possible has always given me a sense of purpose. The older I get, the more convinced I am that happiness grows when it is shared.

Creating memories has always been important to me too. If I’m honest, I’m probably not the world’s greatest saver. I’m sure there are people my age who are much better prepared financially than I am. Some may already be retired. Some may have second homes and investment portfolios that would make a financial adviser very happy. I’ve never really been motivated by those things. Instead I have spent my money on experiences. Family holidays. Days out. Meals together. Theatre trips. Weekends away. Sometimes holidays I probably couldn’t really afford at the time. If there was a choice between buying something sensible and saving, or creating a memory, I almost always chose the memory. When I look back over my life, I don’t regret that for a second.

The things that make me smile aren’t possessions. They are memories. Family holidays that didn’t quite go to plan and somehow became funnier because they didn’t. Conversations that lasted long into the evening because nobody wanted them to end. Dancing with my children late into the night. Sitting around a table with people I love, laughing so much that nobody can finish a sentence. Or having deep conversations about whatever the topic was that day. When I lost my parents, it wasn’t possessions that brought me comfort afterwards. It was memories. Thousands of them. The conversations. The holidays. The family gatherings. The ordinary afternoons that didn’t seem particularly important at the time but became precious afterwards. Perhaps that’s why I still choose experiences over things whenever I can. The older I get, the more I realise that memories are one of the few things in life that become more valuable with time.

Looking back now, I don’t think happiness is a given for everyone. For the lucky few, possibly. But I think it is something we can cultivate. Something we can build slowly through our habits, our relationships, our choices and the way we choose to view the world around us.

One of the biggest things I have learned is that happiness and sadness can sit alongside each other. Losing my parents remains the hardest thing I have ever been through and there are still moments when I miss them terribly. There are still days that feel harder than others and I suspect there always will be.

I am not suggesting that I feel happy every day. That would be unrealistic. What I have learned, however, is that I can usually bring myself back to that place. Sometimes it takes effort. Sometimes it takes conscious thought. Sometimes it means returning to the very things that helped me heal in the first place; gratitude, connection, purpose, creating memories, helping others and reminding myself of all the good that still exists in my life. And accepting that I may not always feel happy is ok too. We all have bad days and that’s ok.

For me, happiness wasn’t something I found after losing my parents. It was something I slowly rebuilt after I lost them. And perhaps that is the real lesson. Not that life becomes easier. Not that difficult things stop happening. But that even in the midst of sadness, happiness remains available to us if we are prepared to nurture it.

So can we learn to be happy?

Yes. I think we can.