Becoming Bare Bones

Tearing down the walls that once held space for other women, possibly you.

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Five months ago, almost to the week, I was folding fresh linen for a Rest & Read Retreat. I remember carefully placing gifts in a goody bag for one of my guests, who’d be staying in the gorgeous master bedroom. And listening to the particular hush that falls over Cartrefle when a group of women arrive a little tired and leave days later refreshed and rejuvenated.

Now I stand in that same room, my favourite sea view room but there is no bed, no furnishings, not even a wall.

If you stayed here, if you sat in the bay window seat with your journal on your lap while the waves rolled in and clouds shifted on by, I don’t think you’d recognise her — Cartrefle — this beach house I call home (but will never own). The plaster is gone. The floorboards you tippy toed across in your cosy socks are pulled up and stacked in a shipping container a few miles down the lane, waiting for me to decide if they are worth saving. There are exposed joists where there used to be a ceiling. And there is dust in every particle of light.

And yet.

I keep coming back to the emotional whiplash of this year. I have gone from soft-voiced host, refilling glasses of cucumber flavoured water and gently asking “please take a seat, rest, dare to daydream, try and lose yourself in a good book,” to standing in timberland boots at 7am discussing the plans on site for the day with the builders. I have architectural drawings and designer elevations now ,instead of a guest list. I now know what “first fix” means, which i didn’t know a year ago.

Some days the grief catches me sideways, for the retreats that I’m no longer hosting, for the women I’m not sitting across from at the kitchen table, for the version of me who knew exactly what her job was. Other days I catch myself laughing out loud, alone, covered in cobwebs and dust, absurdly happy. Both are true versions of me. Slowly, but surely I’m learning that’s ok, and to lean into it all.

"Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another." Toni Morrison, Beloved

What I didn’t manifest, exactly, but what I somehow was called into being, is this: temporary living in a remote coastal village, far enough from anywhere that the noise in my head has quietened for the first time in a decade. Almost six months in, and I am — carefully, suspiciously, as though naming it might scare it off — thriving!

My nervous system, which spent years attuned to guest arrivals and departures, group dynamics, other women’s unravelling, has had to learn a new rhythm. Which is totally cool, but such an extreme change of circumstances, such as buying structural steels instead of stationery items. And somehow, in this unlikely swap, I have found more peace than I found in a decade of holding space for other women, so they could find their own peace of mind.

I don’t think this is a detour from the story. I think this — the mess, the exposed beams, the not knowing whether the joinery will arrive on time — this is the story. Cartrefle held space for so many of you to fall apart a little and put yourselves back together differently, allowing your creative ideas to ooze out of you, possibly a profound time you’ll never forget. Maybe it’s only fair that Cartrefle is asking the same of me now.

I’ll be honest with you: I’m not fully “living the dream” every hour of every day. Some hours I’m just living the reality, which is less glamorous, dustier and slower than any big dream I’ve dared to share. But there’s a version of this sentence I can say now, that I couldn’t say in February… that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. Not despite the up-heavel. But because of it.

Cartrefle - my dream beach house, the place I call home, yet will never own - is bare bones right now, so for the moment, so am I.

Until the next time

Take care and stay cool x

If you’ve ever stood inside your own version of a stripped-back house, a marriage, a career, a body, a sense of self, these journalling prompts might be worth sitting with:

1. What is being torn down in your life right now, and what have you discovered underneath it that surprises you?

2. Think of a place or role that once felt entirely finished, entirely you. What would it mean to let it go back to bare bones?

3. Where do you feel the whiplash between grief and joy right now — and can you let both be true without picking one?

4. Cartrefle’s spirit remained even as her walls came down. What in you stays constant, no matter how much is being rebuilt around it?

5. What have you manifested this year that looked nothing like what you pictured — and turned out to be exactly right anyway?

   

   What’s on your book stack this week? This is an interesting memoir I’m reading at the moment Rewilding by best selling author Jane Green. I’m curious whether you have read it yet, and if so, what are your thoughts on it? Have you had a rewilding experience?

   I wonder, do you have any memoirs to recommend? As many of my midlife subscribers are keen to read books about how to change up their life. A few wondering whether to leave an unhappy relationship or find a new career, others are keen to move to live in a different country or dare to try something extraordinary, just for themselves! Please do comment and share your latest memoir recommendations 🙏