A stretch of coast between Saint-Guimond and la Pointe du Grouin, Brittany, France, 19 November 2023.

Searing 34°C heat. A 16km summer hike from Uzès in Provence through a river valley past the village of Sagriès, via the village of Sanilhac and up through a protected habitat of ‘garrigue’ (containing over 700 different species of plant) on the fringe of the enticing Gorges du Gardon, with no shade for the last three-quarters of the trail. Fatigue. Disorientation. Collapse. A call to the emergency services, which led to my Mum being whisked to hospital in Nîmes and her spending seven days in intensive care being treated for heatstroke!

Miraculously my Mum emerged from hospital unscathed, having received utterly outstanding medical treatment. Although four and a half months had passed, I needed to try and process these events. One of the nurses, Olivier, who looked after my Mum asked me (during one of my visits) how I was (in English) and I replied that I was ‘deeply traumatised’.  He then told my sister (who arrived in Provence two days after the hiking drama) that I should have counselling to ensure that I was properly dealing with the trauma of what had happened. Olivier was a dedicated and skilled healthcare professional (training to become a doctor). His advice was wise and understandable but I think it would have been better if, instead of offering advice, he had asked me ‘Do you have any previous experience of trauma? If so, please turn to whatever resources and techniques helped you to handle it’. I think that such a question/comment would have been more empowering than reminding me (unnecessarily) that, if not appropriately tackled, the consequences of trauma can be severely damaging long-term.

In mid-late November I travelled from Switzerland to Brittany, France, to spend a day by the sea. — I hadn’t seen the sea since I was in Vila Nova de Milfontes, Portugal, one year and one and a half months before, and I needed a dose of it! As soon as I approached the coastal path from the Maison de la Baie, Hillion, I felt immediately revived! Recalling the distressing events of Provence back in the summer, this was my opportunity for letting trauma wash away in Saint-Brieuc Bay. I walked all the way around the coast to Bon Abri before returning (overland) to Hillion. On this walk there was no rattling of trolleys in a corridor, just the comforting rumble of the Atlantic Ocean; no smell of antiseptic, just the scent of the salty, bracing sea air; no beeping of machines, just the sound of birds tweeting contentedly. There were no nasty needles or tubes, just dramatic rock formations and a pretty network of paths leading to various panoramic viewpoints; and no harsh, artificial lights — just sunshine darting behind clouds before reappearing majestically and lighting up the sea and sand in multiple shades of blue, grey and silver. As I delighted in feeling the sea breeze on my face, watching and listening to the roaring waves, and discovering a charming new view around every bend in the path, any traumatic flashbacks could come safely. Saint-Brieuc Bay has one of the largest tidal ranges in the world, so was vast enough to contain extremes of emotion and to even dissolve them!

Dr Chatterjee writes about ‘glimmers’ and describes these as being ‘tiny, feelgood moments that spark joy, calm and connection’ and how they are considered to be ‘the opposite of triggers, which remind us of trauma’. According to Dr Chatterjee, glimmers ‘stimulate our parasympathetic nervous system, which deals with rest and relaxation, for the opposite effect [to triggers]’. My walk along a section of the Saint-Brieuc Bay coast was thankfully overflowing with glimmers, which helped me to regain strength which I felt I had lost for a few months. I have often wrestled with the contradictory nature of mindfulness (focusing on being intensely aware of what you’re sensing and feeling in the moment, without interpretation or judgement), and cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT — focusing on how your thoughts, beliefs and attitudes affect your feelings and actions and how changing one’s thoughts/behaviour can generate more positive feelings or vice versa). One gifted psychologist explained to me that it’s OK to use a mixture of both mindfulness and CBT depending on the situation or problem being faced — I continue to apply this pragmatic insight, even if it sadly does not always bring about the results which I or others would like to see. Whatever, I think the fact I was able to describe to Olivier the nurse how I was feeling, and the fact that it has always felt natural to me to appreciate simple glimmers throughout every day/week, is very healthy.

The turmoil from the events of Provence wasn’t the only difficulty which I needed to confront on my walk in Saint-Brieuc Bay. Although the incalculably awful atrocities in Ukraine and the Middle East provide a daily reminder of the privileges and freedom which so many of us have in the West, and therefore put the challenges of one’s life into perspective, for me 2023 has been dominated by a feeling of overwhelm and ever-present sadness. Much of this melancholy has been caused by inexorably fluctuating hormones and an accumulation of the after-effects of the Covid-19 pandemic, as well as the continued repercussions of the painful rejection and exclusion suffered before and during the pandemic. All of this has been exacerbated by the poignant losses of my grandfather, godmother and other dear family friends (not shocking, but still deeply upsetting), in addition to a number of particularly friendly members of the Isles of Scilly community whose cheerfulness and kindness encouraged me hugely during my teenage years and early adulthood. Despite the sadness, walking in Saint-Brieuc Bay was thoroughly therapeutic and revitalizing and I was reminded of Kahlil Gibran’s words (in ‘The Prophet’) that ‘the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain’.

This has been a year of frustration and detachment, and one of survival rather than overachievement, which has really made me question how and why I often approach things in a certain way. However, there have been innumerable moments of happiness. In the summer I realised a long-held dream of studying filmmaking at the MetFilm School, Ealing, London (entirely self-funded, using holiday allowance from work accumulated during the Covid-19 pandemic), which was thrilling! My dreams of hiking in the Dolomites and seeing where ‘The Sound of Music’ was filmed in Salzburg have also been fulfilled.

When I called the emergency number in Provence I had an instinctive feeling that something was wrong with my Mum, after she struggled to stand up having flopped down onto the gravelly, sloping path leading down to the village of Collias, one kilometre before the end of our hike. It took one hour for the paramedics to reach us and, whilst waiting for them to arrive, my Mum vomited, had a seizure and fell into a coma and I had to put her in the recovery position. I will always maintain that it’s the doctors at Carémeau University Hospital, and their amazing team, who made my Mum better but my decisions and action arguably facilitated the access she had to life-saving treatment.

So, in spite of all the disconnection, disappointment and yearning of 2023 that’s three dreams come true and a life saved. I guess that’s not bad for one year!