Wool you give this a try?

 

June 13th is International Knit in Public Day

Knitting is remarkably good for mental wellness because it combines rhythm, focus, creativity, and comfort in a way that soothes both mind and body. It’s one of those quiet, homely activities that turns out to be deeply therapeutic — and the research backs it up.

1. It calms the nervous system

The repetitive, steady movements of knitting act almost like a moving meditation.
They help slow breathing, lower heart rate, and reduce stress hormones.
Your brain shifts into a gentler rhythm, which is why people often describe knitting as “settling” or “soothing”.

2. It reduces anxiety and rumination

Knitting gives the mind something structured but not demanding to focus on.
This interrupts spirals of worry and creates a sense of groundedness.
Many people find that knitting helps them stay present, especially during difficult moments.

3. It boosts mood through creativity

Creating something — even a simple square — gives a small hit of dopamine, the brain’s reward chemical.
That sense of progress and purpose is powerful, especially on days when everything else feels stuck.

4. It improves cognitive focus

Knitting uses both hands, engages pattern recognition, and requires gentle concentration.
This combination strengthens attention, memory, and problem‑solving skills.
It’s one reason knitting is often used in dementia‑friendly groups.

5. It creates a sense of safety and comfort

The feel of yarn, the warmth of a growing piece, the familiar click of needles — all of this creates a sensory cocoon.
It’s grounding, especially for people who feel overwhelmed or unsettled.

6. It builds connection and community

Knitting circles, craft groups, and shared projects offer companionship without pressure.
People can talk, or not talk, while still feeling part of something.
This gentle social connection is incredibly protective for mental health.

7. It gives meaning and generosity

Knitting for others — baby hats, blankets, charity projects — creates a sense of purpose and contribution.
Acts of making become acts of care, which strengthens wellbeing for both giver and receiver.

8. It offers a healthy form of escape

Knitting gives the mind a break from screens, noise, and constant information.
It’s a quiet doorway into a calmer world, one stitch at a time.

Don’t exclude crochet from this. That works just as well.

Below are some short poems about knitting that might inspire you to have a go.

The Needles Know the Way

Click,
pause,
breathe.

The needles know the way
even when you don’t.

They gather the loose threads
of a day
that came apart,
and coax them
into something whole.

Row by row,
your hands remember
what your heart forgot —
that small movements
can mend big feelings.

Stitch by Quiet Stitch

You sit,
and the world
sits with you.

The yarn unwinds
like a long exhale,
softening the edges
of everything sharp.

Stitch by quiet stitch,
you build a place
where worry
cannot follow —
a small, warm country
made entirely
of patience.

Night Knitting

In the hush of evening
the yarn glows
like a tame moon.

Your hands move
without hurry,
as if they are speaking
a language
older than thought.

Each loop
is a lantern
lit against the dark.

By the time you bind off,
you’ve knitted yourself
back into the world.

Dropped Stitch

A stitch slips,
falls,
runs like a tear
down the fabric.

You breathe,
catch it gently,
lift it back
into place.

And something in you
loosens —
the quiet realisation
that mistakes
can be held,
mended,
and carried on with
beautifully.

The Scarf That Listens

Some days
you don’t knit the scarf —
the scarf knits you.

It listens
to the weight in your chest,
the ache in your thoughts,
the stories you don’t say aloud.

And as the rows grow,
so does the space
inside you
where peace
can settle.

 

 

 

Exploring Your Heritage: A Gentle Invitation to Remember

Sometimes when life feels heavy or uncertain, it can help to look back.
Not to dwell, but to understand.
Our memories — the joyful ones and the difficult ones — shape how we see the world and how we respond to it. By exploring where we come from, we often discover new ways to steady ourselves.

Heritage isn’t only about ancestry charts or distant relatives.
It’s about the people, places, habits, and stories that formed us.
Some of these we inherited from parents, grandparents, or have been influenced by friends, or neighbours. Some we absorbed without noticing. All of them have left traces.

Understanding these influences can help us make sense of our reactions, our strengths, and even our struggles. It can also bring comfort: a reminder that we are part of a much bigger story.

And this kind of exploration can be joyful.
Old photos, diaries, letters, conversations — they help us see our lives in a wider frame. They remind us of the humour, resilience, creativity, and quirks that run through our families and communities.

As you learn more about your heritage, consider recording your thoughts.
Write for yourself, or for future generations.
Capture the details that might otherwise fade.

A Writing Invitation: Begin Your Memory Notebook

Start a page with simple questions. Let them open doors.

• What did your grandparents or great‑grandparents do for work?
• Did your ancestors stay in one place, or did they travel, or move abroad?
• Are there traits you recognise in yourself — humour, stubbornness, creativity, musicality, kindness?
• Were there teachers, gardeners, engineers, carers, artists in your family line?
• What kinds of homes did they live in — cottages, terraces, flats, farms, workhouses, big houses, small rooms?
• What stories were told (or not told) when you were growing up?
• What objects, recipes, sayings, or traditions have been passed down?

Add old photographs if you have them.
Sketch a family tree if it helps.
Talk to relatives or friends who remember things you don’t.

Piece by piece, you build a picture — not just of who they were, but of how you came to be who you are.

A lovely starting point is the television programme Who Do You Think You Are?
It shows how even small clues can open up whole chapters of a family’s story.

 

A Closing Thought

Exploring heritage isn’t about nostalgia.
It’s about grounding.
It’s about recognising that you stand on many shoulders — and that your own story is worth recording too.

Here are a few short poems about how the past can influence the present.

1. Rooted

Our stories travel in our bones,
quiet as seeds beneath the frost.
Heritage is the map we carry —
not to hold us back,
but to show us we were never lost.

2. Threadwork

Culture is a thread passed hand to hand,
stitched through time with care.
When we add our piece to the pattern,
we honour every life
that is woven in us.

3. Echo

Tradition is an echo —
not a call to stay still,
but a reminder that every step forward
began with someone else’s courage.

4. Inheritance

We inherit more than names:
we inherit ways of seeing,
ways of gathering,
ways of tending the world.
To keep them alive
is to keep each other alive.

5. Homecoming

Culture is the place inside us
that always knows the way home.
Even when the world shifts,
it whispers:
You belong. You belong.

Importance of Words. Mental Health Awareness Week 2026

 

How Words Support Our Mental Health

Words can steady us in ways we often don’t notice. A kind sentence, a reassuring phrase, or even a few lines we write ourselves can slow the mind and soften anxious thoughts. When life feels tangled, words help us name what’s happening — and once something is named, it becomes easier to carry.

Writing, reading, or speaking gently to ourselves creates a small pause in the day, a moment where we can breathe and feel grounded again. Words don’t fix everything, but they remind us we’re not alone, we’re still thinking, still feeling, still finding our way. They give shape to our emotions and offer comfort when the world feels heavy.

Sometimes a single line is enough to help us keep going.

Writing ideas to support mental health

• The “one good thing” list
  Write one small thing that went well today — a colour you noticed, a kind word, a moment of calm. It trains the mind to look for steadiness.
• A letter you don’t send
  Write to someone (or to yourself) about what you’re carrying. No pressure to share it. The act of writing releases tension.
• Name the feeling
  Choose three words that describe how you feel right now. Naming emotions often softens them.
• Five-minute free write
  Set a timer and write without stopping. Don’t edit. Don’t judge. Let the mind empty itself onto the page.
• A conversation with your future self
  Write a few lines from “you in six months” offering reassurance or perspective. It builds hope and self-compassion.
• Describe a safe place
  Write about a place where you feel calm — real or imagined. Include sounds, textures, light. It becomes a mental refuge.
• Gratitude in small doses
  List three tiny things you’re grateful for — not big achievements, just everyday comforts.
• Rewrite the day kindly
  Take a difficult moment and rewrite it with gentler language. It helps shift how the mind holds the memory.
• A poem of noticing
  Write a short poem about something ordinary: steam from a kettle, a leaf, a shadow. Noticing anchors you in the present.
• A strengths reminder
  Write down three things you’ve survived, learned, or handled. Keep the list somewhere you can return to.

It's all in the mind

 

Mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to the present moment, on purpose, and without judging yourself for whatever you notice. It’s a simple idea, but a powerful one: instead of running on autopilot, you gently bring your mind back to what is happening right now.

What mindfulness really means

• Awareness – noticing your thoughts, feelings, and surroundings as they are.
• Non‑judgement – not labelling those thoughts or feelings as “good” or “bad”.
• Presence – bringing your attention back when your mind wanders (which it will).
• Kindness – treating yourself with the same patience you’d offer a friend.

Why mindfulness helps

Mindfulness can:

• reduce stress and anxiety
• improve sleep
• help you respond rather than react
• increase a sense of calm and steadiness
• make everyday moments feel richer and more grounded

It’s widely used in wellbeing groups, therapy, and everyday life because it helps people feel more anchored and less overwhelmed.

What mindfulness looks like in practice

It doesn’t have to be meditation (though it can be). It can be:

• noticing your breath for a few moments
• paying attention to the taste of your tea
• feeling your feet on the ground as you walk
• listening fully to birdsong, rain, or a familiar voice
• observing thoughts passing like clouds without getting pulled into them

These small pauses help the mind settle.

A simple mindfulness exercise

Sit comfortably and notice your breath.
Feel the air coming in… and going out.
When your mind wanders, gently bring it back.
No judgement. Just noticing.

Even one minute can make a difference.

Sit comfortably, soften your shoulders, and let your hands rest loosely.
Take a slow breath in through your nose… and a gentle breath out.

One‑minute guided mindfulness practice

• Notice the feeling of your feet on the floor.
• Notice the rise and fall of your breath, without trying to change it.
• If your mind wanders — which it will — just guide it back as kindly as you would guide a friend.
• Feel the air moving in… and out…
• Let your jaw loosen, your eyes soften, your hands unclench.
• For these few moments, there is nowhere else you need to be.

As you take one last slow breath, notice how your body feels now compared with a minute ago.

This is the month of Maying

 

A Gentle Digital Detox for the May Bank Holiday

It’s the first Bank Holiday weekend in May and, as I write, the sun is shining. We all feel a little brighter when the weather is kind, though who knows how long it will last.

If you’re reading this on a laptop, tablet or phone, you’re using the internet — something most of us rely on every day. Many of us would feel quite lost without access to emails, messages, the NHS App, and all the other interesting things we check without thinking. But every now and then, it can help to reset our habits and give Google a rest.

Keeping one eye on a screen is tiring. The world is going through a difficult time, and constantly checking the news or social media can quietly raise our stress levels. Some people choose to step away from it all for a while, and many find it surprisingly freeing. If you feel you look at your screen too often, try a small digital detox — a day, a weekend, or even a week without scrolling. You can still keep in touch with friends and family, and you can still answer calls. Putting your phone on silent for a while can feel wonderfully peaceful.

A break from screens can also be a chance to reconnect with the world around you. Take a walk, sit in the garden, or simply notice the fresh air when you open the door. Listen to music you enjoy. Try writing, crafting, or taking a few photos. Let yourself enjoy the moment, just as it is.

“The Quiet That Was Waiting”

I turned the screen face‑down
and the room exhaled.
There was a small hush
behind the ticking clock,
a space I’d forgotten
was mine.

In the stillness,
my thoughts arrived
without hurrying,
like birds returning
to a branch
I’d left empty.

 

“Blue Light Off”

When the blue light fades,
the world softens.
Shadows stretch into stories,
and the night remembers
how to speak.

My hands unclench.
My breath lengthens.
I meet myself again
in the quiet
I keep postponing.

“Unplugging”

I stepped away
from the endless scroll
and found the day
still waiting—
sun on the fence,
wind in the hedge,
a robin rehearsing
its one perfect note.

None of it needed
a password.

 

“Relearning Slow”

Without the buzz
and the blinking,
time widens.

Tea cools gently
instead of being forgotten.
Thoughts land softly
instead of scattering.

I remember
that my mind
was never meant
to sprint.

Haiku Set for Digital Rest

Screen sleeps on the desk—
my pulse finds its older rhythm,
quiet as morning.

Notifications fade;
a single raindrop tapping
becomes the headline.

Hands empty at last—
I hold the warm mug instead
and feel myself here.

 

Finding joy

 

Finding Joy in Small Things

For a long time, the word joy felt a bit old‑fashioned to me. But recently it has found its way back into everyday language — helped along by the wonderful animated film Inside Out and Marie Kondo’s book Spark Joy.

In Inside Out, each emotion becomes a character: joy, anger, fear, sadness and disgust. Their colours help us recognise them instantly. Many of us will relate to blue — thoughtful, anxious, often overwhelmed — while bright yellow Joy bounces through life looking for the positive.

Marie Kondo, meanwhile, is known for her approach to the Japanese art of decluttering. She suggests that we are weighed down by too many possessions, and that letting go of them can bring more joy into our lives.

But when we’re feeling low, the last thing we want to do is sort through years of belongings. Moving house can force us to declutter, but it’s painful when you’re holding an ornament your mum loved, a model your child made decades ago, or a souvenir from a holiday with someone no longer in your life.

So instead of focusing on things, try noticing small moments that spark joy without emotional weight. Use your senses. Pause. Pay attention. Almost all of us can get outside — and even a window can offer something uplifting.

Here are a few simple prompts to help you find tiny pockets of joy in your everyday surroundings:

• Open your curtains. What sky greets you? Blue with the promise of a bright day? Grey with the promise of rain? Are planes crossing overhead on mystery journeys with mystery people?
• Open the garden door and listen. What can you hear — silence, birdsong, a passing car?
• Stand on your doorstep and breathe in. What scents reach you — flowers, rain on the ground, someone cooking?
• Walk a little. Even 500 steps. Notice your feet, notice what you pass.
• Find a tree. You don’t have to hug it unless you want to. Look at its shape, its bark, its presence.
• Look closely at a flower or leaf. Notice the texture, the colour, the pattern.
• Pick up an unusual stone. Hold it in your palm. How does it feel? What shapes can you see in it?
• Taste a small piece of chocolate. Let it melt. Forget the calories.
• Study a piece of fruit. Look at its colour, smell its perfume, imagine its taste.

Even choosing one or two of these prompts may help you discover a tiny spark of joy. Keep going. Joy is there to be found — and those small moments can gently help us feel a little better.

And if you feel like it, you might write down what you notice. Writing often helps us see things more clearly.

Joy as a Small, Certain Thing

Joy arrives softly,
like a bird testing the morning air—
not asking to be noticed,
only to be welcomed.
It perches in the ordinary:
a warm mug,
a familiar path,
a hand reaching back for yours.
And when you pause long enough,
it sings.

Finding Joy Again

I thought joy had wandered off—
lost among the busy days
and the lists that never end.
But it waited, patient,
in the corner of a quiet hour,
in the kindness of a stranger,
in the laughter I nearly missed.
Joy doesn’t vanish.
It simply waits
for us to look up.

Joy in the Everyday

Joy is not a thunderclap—
it’s the hush before it.
Not the grand arrival,
but the steady presence
of something kind
and quietly true.
It grows in the cracks
of ordinary life,
blooming where we least expect
and most need.

My Word Dispensary Introduction

Sometimes, 

all you need is a listening ear, 

a hug of words, 

and a shared slice of cake.

As an English teacher — and someone who has lived with mental illness all my life — I’ve discovered how powerful words can be. The way they shape my mood has changed how I cope with the world.

My love of poetry began after hearing the Welsh poet Gillian Clarke read at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on the South Bank. Her gentle voice washed over me, and even forty years later I can still picture the moment. I remain grateful to the colleague who took me that day.

Perhaps teaching English Literature helped, but once I started playing with words, sounds and rhythms, I became absorbed in what I could create. Some pieces were forgettable, but some I’m proud of, and over the years I’ve gathered a small collection of my writing.

After moving to Hampshire, life brought some significant changes. My mother died. I was diagnosed with cancer — now thankfully in remission. I joined my local surgery’s patient group and began volunteering. Through this, I saw first-hand how worried people are about their health, especially with the changes happening in the NHS. I became a listening ear for many, and it struck me how often people simply needed someone to hear them.

I couldn’t offer long‑term solutions, but I began to wonder whether poetry might provide a moment of comfort or reassurance as well as some prose and so the idea of a Word Dispensary was born.