Margaretha Montagu - Dr Margaretha Montagu

07/06/202303/05/2026

Don’t walk through the world looking for evidence that you don’t belong, you’ll find it

You’ve built something meaningful. And yet, you’re scanning every meeting, every social gathering, every interaction for proof that you don’t belong. An imposter. Out of place. Here’s the uncomfortable truth: if you’re determined to find evidence you don’t belong, you’ll find it everywhere. Your brilliant, accomplished brain will turn every overlooked email, every awkward pause, every perceived slight into ammunition against yourself. This article isn’t about toxic positivity or pretending that belonging crises don’t exist. It’s about understanding why successful people are often the most skilled at prosecuting their own inadequacy—and what to do when you catch yourself building a case you were never meant to win.

Recommended TED talk of the month

This article is based on Bréné Brown’s The power of vulnerability – it is such a powerful message that I felt compelled to share part of it there.

So many of the things she says resonate strongly, in this video and in her book Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone :

“True belonging is not passive. It’s not the belonging that comes with just joining a group. It’s not fitting in or pretending or selling out because it’s safer. It’s a practice that requires us to be vulnerable, get uncomfortable, and learn how to be present with people without sacrificing who we are. We want true belonging, but it takes tremendous courage to knowingly walk into hard moments.”

“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

And here is a reminder of what Braving stands for: B boundaries R reliability A accountability V vault I integrity N non-judgement G generosity

5 Key Takeaways for the Time-Starved

Your brain’s negativity bias is a feature, not a bug—but when misdirected, it turns normal social dynamics into evidence of your inadequacy.
Belonging isn’t found; it’s created—and high-achievers have a unique opportunity to curate communities based on authenticity, not performance.
The stories you tell yourself become your reality—and you’re currently narrating a tragedy when you could be writing an adventure.
Vulnerability is the executive superpower no one taught you—admitting you’re struggling with belonging strengthens rather than weakens your authority.
Purpose doesn’t depend on external validation—it emerges when you stop auditioning for approval and start acting from your core values.

Introduction: The Search Party for Evidence of Your Own Irrelevance

You’ve spent decades building something magnificent. A career that matters. A reputation that precedes you. Relationships that enrich your life. And now, standing in a conference room, at a dinner party, or scrolling through LinkedIn at midnight, you’re conducting an investigation worthy of a forensic accountant—except you’re gathering evidence for your own insignificance.

Did your colleague forget to copy you on that email? Evidence.

Did the conversation shift when you entered the room? Evidence.

Did someone younger get the project you wanted? More evidence.

Welcome to the high-achiever’s paradox: you’ve built genuine success, yet somehow you’ve convinced yourself you’re auditioning for a role in your own life—and failing the screen test.

Here’s what nobody tells you about belonging: the crisis isn’t about whether you actually fit in. It’s about the stories you’re telling yourself whilst you’re there. And if those stories sound like a prosecutor building a case against your worth, it’s time we talked.

I’m Dr Margaretha Montagu—MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master practitioner, and medical hypnotherapist—and I’ve spent 20 years helping stressed executives and professionals navigate life’s crucibles, from unexpected illness to divorce to the peculiar loneliness that can accompany success. Over 15 years of hosting stress management retreats where guests walk the Camino de Santiago, and through 8 non-fiction books on coping with crises, I’ve observed a pattern: high-achievers are spectacularly good at finding evidence for whatever they’re looking for. When you’re looking for market opportunities, you find them. When you’re looking for operational inefficiencies, you spot them. And when you’re looking for proof you don’t belong? Well, you’ll find that too.

The question isn’t whether evidence exists. The question is: why have you hired yourself as prosecutor instead of defence counsel?

Amanda’s Story: The Woman Who Collected Proof

Amanda Stevens first noticed it at the quarterly board meeting.

She’d prepared meticulously, as always—the presentation polished, the financials watertight, her navy suit pressed with military precision. But as she clicked through her slides, she caught it: a micro-expression from James, the new CFO. Was that a smirk? Her throat tightened. She stumbled over a statistic she could usually recite in her sleep.

The meeting room suddenly felt vast. The recycled air tasted metallic, catching in her chest. She could hear the clock above the door ticking—or was that her heartbeat? The leather chair creaked as she shifted, and she was certain everyone noticed. The projector’s hum seemed accusatory. Her fingers, resting on the mahogany table, looked somehow exposed. Vulnerable.

She powered through, but the damage was done. In her mind, she’d filed it away: Evidence Item #1: They think I don’t belong here.

The pattern accelerated. At the industry conference, she introduced herself to a group discussing emerging markets. The conversation continued, but she felt it—that imperceptible shift in energy. Were they merely being polite? Evidence Item #2. At dinner with her husband’s colleagues, someone referenced a cultural moment she’d missed. She saw the glances. Evidence Item #3. Her assistant suggested a new project management system “that everyone’s using now.” The implication hung unspoken: You’re behind. Item #4.

Within three months, Amanda had compiled an impressive dossier. She’d become a barrister arguing for her own inadequacy, and she was winning every case.

The evidence manifested physically. Her shoulders hunched slightly when entering rooms. She second-guessed comments before making them, tasting the words for potential judgment before releasing them into the air. She touched her hair more, adjusted her clothes, checked her phone—physical tells of someone convinced they were being evaluated and found wanting.

At a client dinner, she ordered what the host ordered, rather than what she actually wanted. The Dover sole arrived, smelling of butter and lemon, but she barely tasted it. She was too busy monitoring—reading micro-expressions, tracking conversational flows, gathering more evidence. The restaurant’s ambient jazz felt too loud, too obvious. She was performing belonging rather than experiencing it.

Then came the evening that changed everything.

She was preparing for a keynote speech—a significant honour in her industry. She opened an old file on her laptop, searching for statistics. Instead, she found a folder of testimonials from people she’d mentored over the years. Emails. Cards. LinkedIn messages.

One stopped her cold. From Marcus, now a CEO himself: “Amanda, you taught me that leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about asking the right questions. You belonged in every room because you brought your whole self—doubts included. That authenticity changed my career.”

She read it again. The words on the screen blurred slightly. She could smell the coffee growing cold beside her laptop, feel the rough texture of the old cardigan she wore when working from home—the one she’d never wear to the office because it wasn’t “professional” enough.

You belonged in every room because you brought your whole self.

When had she stopped doing that?

She thought about the board meeting. The real issue wasn’t James’s expression—which she’d likely misread. It was that she’d been so busy monitoring for signs of rejection that she’d disconnected from her own expertise. She’d brought a performance of Amanda rather than Amanda herself.

The conference conversation. She’d interpreted politeness as dismissal because she’d entered the group already convinced she was an outsider. Her discomfort had created a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The pattern became clear. She wasn’t finding evidence that she didn’t belong. She was creating it—through her own disconnection, her own self-surveillance, her own refusal to show up authentically.

At her next board meeting, she tried something radical. She brought herself. When she didn’t know an answer, she said so. When someone referenced something unfamiliar, she asked about it with genuine curiosity rather than shame. She let her enthusiasm for a new initiative show, even though it made her voice pitch higher with excitement—something she’d trained herself to control years ago.

Afterwards, James approached her. “That was refreshing,” he said. “Most people here are so guarded. It’s nice to see someone actually engage.”

Amanda smiled. Not the professional smile she’d perfected. A real one, that reached her eyes and made the skin crinkle at the corners.

She’d spent months collecting evidence of her inadequacy. Now she was discovering something else: belonging isn’t something you find. It’s something you create, by choosing to stop prosecuting yourself and start showing up.

In my storytelling circles, I’ve witnessed this transformation dozens of times. When we invite participants to share authentic stories—not curated versions of themselves—the room shifts. Shoulders drop. Breath deepens. People stop performing and start connecting. That’s where true belonging lives: in the vulnerable spaces between perfectly constructed narratives.

The Belonging Crisis

The question “Don’t walk through the world looking for evidence that you don’t belong, you’ll find it” speaks to something profound about human psychology and, paradoxically, about success itself.

The Neuroscience of Not Belonging

Our brains evolved with a powerful negativity bias—a survival mechanism that prioritised spotting threats over appreciating safety. In ancestral environments, the person who noticed the rustling grass (potential predator) survived more often than the person who admired the sunset. This bias remains hardwired.

For high-achievers, this mechanism often misfires spectacularly. Your accomplished brain, trained to identify problems and solve them, turns that analytical prowess inward. You become extraordinarily skilled at pattern recognition—but the patterns you recognise confirm your fears rather than your strengths.

When you walk into a room believing you might not belong, your reticular activating system—the brain’s attention filter—begins scanning specifically for confirming evidence. Neutral expressions become judgmental. Normal conversational pauses become pointed silences. Typical professional distance becomes personal rejection.

This isn’t weakness. It’s your brain doing exactly what you’ve trained it to do: find what you’re looking for.

The Achievement Paradox

Successful professionals face a unique belonging challenge. You’ve often achieved success by being hyper-aware of gaps—in markets, in strategies, in your own knowledge. This skill, so valuable professionally, becomes toxic when applied to social belonging.

Moreover, success can create isolation. As you advance, peer groups shrink. The vulnerability that creates genuine connection feels increasingly risky when you’re supposed to project authority. You become skilled at professional persona-management—so skilled that you forget how to simply be yourself.

Through my 15 years hosting Camino de Santiago retreats, I’ve observed a consistent pattern: executives and professionals arrive wearing their accomplishments like armour. They introduce themselves with titles and achievements. They perform competence even when learning to navigate unfamiliar terrain.

Then, usually around day three, something shifts. Someone admits they’re struggling with a blister. Another confesses they’re terrified of what they’ll return to. Someone else shares a story about failure rather than success. The armour cracks. And in those cracks, belonging grows.

The Storytelling Connection

Humans are narrative creatures. We don’t experience reality directly; we experience the stories we tell ourselves about reality. When you narrate your life as a story of not belonging, you unconsciously seek plot points that confirm that narrative.

Consider Amanda’s story. The “evidence” she collected—a facial expression, a conversational shift, a suggestion about new technology—was narratively neutral. These moments became “evidence” only because she was writing a story called “I Don’t Belong.” Had she been writing a different story—”I’m Learning and Growing” or “I’m Navigating New Challenges”—the same events would have different meanings entirely.

This is why my storytelling circles prove so transformative. When participants hear others’ authentic stories, they recognise their own narrative patterns. They see how they’ve been curating their life story to prove a point—often a point that diminishes them.

The power of reframing isn’t about positive thinking. It’s about recognising you’re already writing fiction. The question is whether you’re writing tragedy or adventure.

The Social Architecture of Belonging

Belonging isn’t passive. It’s not something bestowed upon you by others’ acceptance. It’s actively created through three key practices:

Authentic self-presentation: Bringing your actual self—doubts, enthusiasms, quirks included—rather than a carefully curated version designed to pre-empt judgment.

Generous interpretation: Choosing to interpret ambiguous social cues through a lens of curiosity rather than fear. That colleague who didn’t greet you warmly might be distracted, tired, or dealing with their own insecurities—not judging you.

Contribution from core values: Belonging deepens when you contribute what matters to you, rather than what you think others expect. When you show up aligned with your values, you attract genuine connection rather than performing for approval.

With over 40 guest testimonials on my website from retreat participants and clients who’ve navigated these challenges, one theme recurs: belonging emerged when they stopped trying to deserve it and simply claimed it.

Why This Matters Beyond the Individual

The belonging crisis among successful professionals isn’t merely personal—it’s cultural and organisational. When leaders feel they must perform belonging rather than experience it, they create workplace cultures where everyone else must do the same. Authenticity becomes risk. Vulnerability becomes weakness. Connection becomes transactional.

This creates organisations where everyone is performing, no one is connecting, and innovation suffers. Because genuine innovation requires the psychological safety to propose ideas that might fail, to admit confusion, to ask “stupid” questions. When belonging feels conditional on flawless performance, creativity dies.

The professionals who break this pattern—who model authentic self-presentation despite insecurity—transform entire cultures. They give others permission to stop prosecuting themselves. They create spaces where belonging becomes about contribution rather than perfection.

This is why addressing your own belonging crisis isn’t self-indulgent. It’s leadership. It’s changing the story—not just yours, but everyone’s who watches how you show up.

A Powerful Writing Prompt

These prompts are designed to help you examine your own patterns of evidence-gathering and rewrite your belonging narrative:

Prompt The Evidence Dossier

Time needed: 20 minutes

Create two columns on a page. Label the left “Evidence I Don’t Belong” and the right “Alternative Interpretations.”

In the left column, list specific instances where you felt you didn’t belong. Be concrete: what happened, where, when, who was involved. Notice sensory details—what you saw, heard, felt.

Now, in the right column, write at least three alternative interpretations for each piece of “evidence.” Force yourself to imagine neutral or positive explanations. That colleague who didn’t make eye contact might have been preoccupied with a sick child. That awkward pause might have been thoughtful consideration, not judgment.

The goal isn’t to convince yourself the positive interpretations are “true”—it’s to recognise that your negative interpretations aren’t definitively true either. You’re always interpreting. The question is whether your interpretations serve you.

From the Camino

“I arrived at Dr Montagu’s Camino retreat having just been passed over for a partnership position I’d worked towards for eight years. I was convinced I’d been found wanting—too soft, too emotional, too something. I brought this story with me to France, wearing it like a hair shirt.

On day four, walking through autumn mist, Dr Montagu asked me a simple question: ‘Why are you looking for evidence?’ I realised I’d spent months collecting proof of my inadequacy, interpreting every interaction through that lens. That partnership decision had become the headline of a story I was writing about not belonging—in my firm, in my profession, in my own ambition.

The storytelling circles changed everything. Hearing other successful professionals share their belonging struggles, I recognised we were all prosecuting ourselves with the same fervour we brought to our work. Dr Montagu’s gentle questions helped me see I’d been asking the wrong thing. Not ‘How do I prove I belong?’ but ‘What would I contribute if I stopped auditioning?’

I returned home and resigned from that firm. I joined a smaller practice aligned with my values. I belong there—not because they accept me despite my flaws, but because I stopped looking for evidence I needed to hide them. The Camino didn’t fix me. It helped me stop breaking myself.”

— Jennifer K., Corporate Lawyer, London

From a Storytelling Circle

“Dr Montagu’s storytelling circles taught me something my MBA never did: authentic stories create belonging in ways polished presentations never can. I’d spent my career crafting the perfect professional narrative—achievements without struggles, confidence without doubt. It made me successful. It also made me profoundly lonely.

In the storytelling circle, I shared a story about failing spectacularly—a product launch disaster that nearly ended my career. I’d never told anyone the full, messy truth. As I spoke, I saw recognition in others’ faces. Not judgment. Recognition. Afterwards, a retired executive—someone I’d been slightly intimidated by—shared his own failure story. Then another participant. Then another.

We weren’t bonding over success. We were bonding over truth. Dr Montagu’s approach isn’t about forced vulnerability or artificial team-building. It’s about creating space where you can stop curating and start connecting. That’s where belonging actually lives—in the space between our polished stories and our true ones.”

— Michael T., Technology Executive, Manchester

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Isn’t looking for evidence I don’t belong just realistic self-assessment? Shouldn’t successful people stay alert to how they’re perceived?

There’s a crucial difference between genuine feedback and confirmatory bias. Realistic self-assessment involves seeking diverse input, considering context, and maintaining perspective. Looking for evidence you don’t belong is selective attention that ignores contradictory data. It’s the difference between “Let me understand how others experience me” and “Let me prove I’m inadequate.” One creates growth; the other creates suffering. Your brain can’t distinguish between them—you must consciously choose which investigation you’re conducting.

Q: What if the evidence is actually real? What if I genuinely don’t belong in certain spaces?

Sometimes you don’t belong—and that’s data, not verdict. Not belonging in a specific context doesn’t mean you don’t belong anywhere. A fish doesn’t belong in a tree, but that says nothing about the fish’s worth. The question isn’t “Do I belong here?” but “Is this where I want to belong?” Successful people often confuse achievement with alignment. You might not belong in that role, that culture, that relationship—not because you’re inadequate, but because it’s not your space. The crisis comes when you interpret contextual misalignment as global inadequacy.

Q: How do I stop this pattern when it feels so automatic? The evidence-gathering happens before I even notice I’m doing it.

This is where NLP and hypnotherapy principles prove invaluable. The pattern operates below conscious awareness, which is why intellectual understanding doesn’t stop it. You need to interrupt the pattern at a neurological level. Start by naming it when it happens: “I’m gathering evidence again.” This creates a split-second pause between stimulus and response. In that pause, ask: “What else could this mean?” You’re not trying to stop the pattern entirely—you’re inserting choice into what was previously automatic. Over time, this rewires the neural pathway. It’s the same principle I use in stress management: you can’t stop stress responses, but you can create space between trigger and reaction.

Q: Isn’t this just positive thinking? Are you suggesting I ignore real problems?

Absolutely not. Positive thinking tries to paste happy narratives over negative ones. This is about recognising you’re always interpreting, always creating narratives, and those narratives aren’t neutral observations—they’re creative acts. You’re not ignoring problems; you’re questioning your interpretation of what constitutes a problem. When you interpret a colleague’s distraction as evidence you’re boring, you’ve created a problem that didn’t exist. When you interpret the same distraction as… distraction, you’ve saved yourself unnecessary suffering. This isn’t optimism; it’s accuracy.

Q: What if changing this pattern makes me complacent? Doesn’t this insecurity drive my success?

This is the fear that keeps many high-achievers trapped in self-prosecution. But examine it: Has looking for evidence you don’t belong made you more successful, or just more anxious? There’s a difference between healthy striving and toxic self-monitoring. Healthy striving says: “I want to improve this skill.” Toxic self-monitoring says: “Everyone’s noticing I’m inadequate.” One creates growth; the other creates paralysis. Your achievements came despite this pattern, not because of it. Imagine your capabilities without the constant self-prosecution tax. That’s not complacency; that’s unleashing your actual potential.

Conclusion: Choosing Your Investigation

Here’s what I’ve learned from two decades of working with stressed, successful professionals, from guiding hundreds through the transformative walking meditation of the Camino, from facilitating storytelling circles where masks drop and truth emerges:

You will always find what you’re looking for.

Your brilliant, pattern-recognising, problem-solving brain is a magnificent instrument. When you direct it to find evidence of your inadequacy, it will deliver a comprehensive case file. When you direct it to find evidence of your capacity, contribution, and authentic connection, it will deliver that too.

The evidence doesn’t change. Your investigation does.

Belonging isn’t something you discover—it’s something you create through the stories you tell, the interpretations you choose, and the courage to bring your authentic self rather than your performed self.

Amanda Stevens—and the Jennifers and Michaels who’ve walked my Camino trails and shared their stories in circles lit by French sunset—didn’t find belonging. They stopped looking for evidence they didn’t deserve it. In that pause, in that radical act of stopping the prosecution, belonging emerged.

Not because the world changed. Because they stopped seeing themselves through the prosecution’s eyes and started seeing themselves through their own.

You belong. Not because I say so, but because belonging isn’t bestowed—it’s claimed. The question isn’t whether you belong. The question is whether you’ll stop gathering evidence against yourself long enough to notice you were always home.

Come and Walk the Camino: An Invitation

There’s something about walking that bypasses the mind’s usual defences. Something about ancient pilgrimage routes that strips away the performed self and reveals what lies beneath. Something about the rhythm of footsteps, the simplicity of the task—left foot, right foot, breathe—that quiets the prosecutorial voice long enough to hear something truer.

My Camino de Santiago stress relief hiking retreats in the south-west of France offer exactly this: a chance to walk yourself home to belonging, not through positive thinking or forced revelations, but through the embodied experience of moving through landscape whilst your internal landscape shifts.

These aren’t typical walking holidays. Yes, you walk sections of the ancient Camino route, through forests and vineyards, medieval villages and rolling hills. But we also practise mindfulness and meditation exercises specifically designed for stress management—techniques I’ve refined over 15 years of guiding executives and professionals through exactly the belonging crisis you’re experiencing.

We gather for storytelling circles where you’ll share and hear authentic narratives—not the polished versions we present professionally, but the true, messy, vulnerable stories where real connection lives. And yes, my Friesian horses (Twiss and Zorie) and Falabella ponies (Loki and Lito) join us, offering their unique form of present-moment awareness and non-judgmental companionship that often unlocks what words cannot.

These retreats aren’t about fixing you—you’re not broken. They’re about creating the conditions where you stop prosecuting yourself long enough to remember who you actually are beneath the accumulated evidence of inadequacy you’ve been carrying.

The Camino has been transforming pilgrims for over a thousand years. Not through dramatic revelations, but through the simple, profound act of walking whilst carrying less—literally and metaphorically.

Perhaps it’s time to put down the evidence dossier you’ve been compiling against yourself. Perhaps it’s time to walk toward belonging rather than away from imagined rejection.

Learn more

PS. I am working on an online retreat that will help people cope with the grief caused by the loss of a horse – it is similar to losing any loved one, but also different. The need to belong was intense as I tried to come to terms with the loss of my soulmare Belle, and this video helped me to get everything into perspective. As you may know, what I am best at is helping people through life transitions, and the loss of someone we love certainly falls in this category. Creating this online retreat is difficult, but I’m persevering, as I am learning so much by doing this. I find myself spending much more time just being with the herd, and I wrote this post about the comfort I received from the horses I have left:

The Compassionate Insight-giving Guide to Getting Over the Loss of Your Horse – an Online Course – find support, guidance, and practical tools to navigate the complex emotions and challenges associated with the loss of a heart horse. Get immediate access

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“I am an experienced medical doctor – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master pract cert, Transformational Life Coach (dip.) Life Story Coach (cert.) Stress Counselling (cert.) Med Hypnotherapy (dip.) and EAGALA (cert.) I may have an impressive number of letters after my name, and more than three decades of professional experience, but what qualifies me to excel at what I do is my intuitive understanding of my clients’ difficulties and my extensive personal experience of managing major life changes using strategies I developed over many years.” Dr M Montagu

25/05/202315/10/2025

Emotional Resilience: Finding Strength from the Herd During Life Transitions

When asked what I do, here in the deepest rural southwest of France, I usually reply that I host retreats, onsite but also online, for those who can’t escape to the south of France at the moment, to help my guests deal effectively with stress, specifically the stress that is caused by going through a life transition. My retreats are different from other similar retreats because I have two unique “aids:” a small herd of Friesian horses and the Camino de Santiago de Compostela on my doorstep.

Life transitions can be challenging and overwhelming, as they often involve significant change, uncertainty, insecurity and a range of complex emotions. Whether it’s starting a new job, getting married or divorced, becoming a parent for the first time or coping with an empty nest, moving to a new city or country, retiring from work or dealing with the loss of a loved one, managing a chronic illness, recovering from surgery, a significant inheritance or bankruptcy or starting a new business, navigating these transitions requires resilience and inner strength. In this blog post, we will explore the powerful role that interacting with horses can play in helping us find strength and build resilience during life transitions.

Emotionally, life transitions can have a profound impact on us. They often stir up a mixture of emotions, such as excitement, anticipation, joy, fear, anxiety, confusion, sadness, frustration, impatience, anger and even grief. The process of transitioning from one phase of life to another can be daunting, as it involves navigating unfamiliar territory, letting go of what we know and trust, and embracing (sometimes major) change. The inherent stress and uncertainty associated with these transitions can sometimes feel overwhelming, leaving us feeling vulnerable, uncertain, and lacking security and stability. It is during these times that horses can make an enormous difference.

Horses, as highly perceptive and sensitive prey animals, possess a remarkable ability to offer non-judgmental support that fosters deep emotional connection and trust. Their innate sensitivity allows them to sense and respond to subtle cues from us, offering us a soundboard to bounce our emotions off.

As always, my horses support me during my life transitions, but it was only when I realised that my most recent life change is a tremendous opportunity to become more emotionally resilient that I stopped feeling as if I was trying to ride a bucking horse.

What a liberating feeling! I got off the horse and got on with my life.

When my retreat guests interact with my Friesian horses during life transitions, they often experience a similar positive impact on their emotional well-being.

The bonding process with horses is a transformative journey in itself, much like walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Horses have an uncanny ability to tune into human emotions and reflect them back without prejudice. This creates a safe and supportive space for us to express and explore our feelings. Horses provide immediate feedback through body language and behaviour so that my guests can gain valuable insights into the complex emotions that arise during life transitions.

Horses offer a safe space for my guests to practice emotional regulation. When we are able to regulate our emotions, communicate calmly, and remain present in the moment, horses respond positively. This interaction provides a tangible experience of emotional regulation, helping my guests develop coping strategies to manage stress, anxiety, and other challenging emotions that arise during life transitions.

Additionally, horses can help us to develop coping strategies that also promote emotional resilience. As we engage in various activities with horses, we are challenged to adapt, problem-solve, and find effective ways to communicate with the herd. The process of overcoming challenges and establishing connections with horses instils a sense of accomplishment and builds confidence, strengthening clients’ ability to navigate emotional hurdles in life transitions.

Emotional resilience is not about suppressing emotions or denying the difficulties we may encounter. It is about acknowledging, understanding, and effectively managing emotions in order to navigate life’s challenges in a life-enhancing manner. By cultivating emotional resilience, we are better equipped to cope with the emotions life transitions generate, ultimately leading to greater well-being and a more impactful, rewarding, meaningful and fulfilling life.

This is why I do what I do, during both my online courses and onsite retreats, I empower my guests to become more emotionally resilient, so that they can live more impactful, meaningful and fulfilling lives.

Five Key Takeaways

Emotional resilience flourishes in connection, not isolation – The myth of the self-sufficient leader overlooks our fundamental need for a supportive herd during transitions.
Transitions are biologically designed to destabilise us – Understanding this removes shame and opens the door to authentic strength-building.
Nature’s herd animals model resilience strategies – From horses to elephants, collective wisdom offers profound insights for navigating uncertainty.
Vulnerability is an executive skill, not a weakness – The most resilient leaders know when to lower their guard and accept support.
Mindful presence transforms transition from threat to opportunity – Grounding practices borrowed from herd dynamics can recalibrate your nervous system during upheaval.

The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Leader

The view might be spectacular, but the company is often sparse.

Executives and entrepreneurs spend years cultivating an image of unshakeable confidence—someone who makes the tough calls, who doesn’t flinch when markets tumble or ventures fail. We’re conditioned to believe that emotional resilience means having a titanium exterior, bouncing back from setbacks with barely a dent to show for it.

But what happens when life’s transitions arrive—not the ones you planned for, but the ones that ambush you? The divorce you didn’t see coming. The business failure that questions your identity. The health diagnosis that rewrites your priorities. The sudden loss that cracks your carefully constructed world wide open.

That’s when you discover something remarkable: true emotional resilience has nothing to do with invincibility. It has everything to do with knowing when to stop pretending you’re fine and finding your herd.

This isn’t another article telling you to journal more or develop better coping mechanisms (though those have their place). This is about fundamentally rethinking what strength looks like during life’s seismic shifts—and why the wisdom might come from some unexpected, four-legged teachers.

Leo Martin’s Horse Story

Leo Martin had perfected the art of looking unshakeable.

At fifty-two, he’d built a software company from his garage into a multinational entity, navigated three recessions, and earned a reputation for being the steadiest hand in a volatile industry. His calendar was colour-coded perfection, his morning routine featured in productivity podcasts, his LinkedIn profile gleamed with endorsements about his “inspiring leadership.”

Then his wife of twenty-six years said she was leaving, his senior management team was poached by a competitor, and his GP found something concerning in his annual check-up—all within the same month.

Leo did what successful men do: he doubled down on control. Longer hours. More aggressive strategy. A new relationship with a woman half his age who required nothing from him emotionally. He white-knuckled his way through board meetings, his jaw perpetually clenched, his shoulders creeping towards his ears like they were attempting escape.

Nobody saw the cracks. Nobody was meant to.

The breaking point came during a quarterly review when he stood to present and simply… couldn’t. The words evaporated. His chest tightened. The boardroom’s air conditioning felt like it was pumping in anxiety instead of cool air. The smell of stale coffee and leather chairs turned his stomach. He excused himself, made it to his corner office, and sat there for two hours staring at the city below, tasting copper fear in his mouth, his hands trembling against the cool glass of the window.

His PA, Margaret—who’d known him since the garage days—knocked gently and said: “A friend runs walking retreats in France. Horse wisdom retreats, actually. I know it sounds barmy, but you need to do something.”

Three weeks later, Leo found himself on the Camino de Santiago, backpack heavy on his shoulders, surrounded by strangers and, bizarrely, horses. The facilitator—a woman whose presence felt both fierce and gentle—gathered the group in a field where several horses grazed peacefully, their tails swishing rhythmically in the warm breeze.

“Emotional resilience,” she began, “isn’t what you think it is.”

Leo almost laughed. Here he was, a man who’d built empires, about to take life advice from someone who worked with horses. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The field smelled of wild herbs and sun-warmed grass, so different from his sterile office tower.

Then she introduced a black mare called Twiss.

“Horses are prey animals,” the facilitator explained. “They’ve survived millions of years not by being the strongest or fastest alone, but by being part of a herd. Watch.”

She walked confidently towards Twiss, her energy purposeful but relaxed. The mare barely glanced up, continued grazing. Then the facilitator’s posture changed—shoulders tensed, breathing shortened, energy scattered—and Twiss immediately lifted her head, ears swivelling, muscles coiled for flight.

“She feels everything,” the facilitator said. “Horses survive by being honest about threat, and by staying connected to their herd.”

Over the next hour, Leo learned something extraordinary. When he approached Twiss wearing his CEO armour—chest puffed, energy projecting control—she walked away. Every time. But when he stood there, simply breathing, acknowledging the tight knot of fear in his chest, the exhaustion pressing on his bones, the grief he’d been swallowing for months—Twiss walked straight to him. Pressed her warm, velvet nose against his chest. Exhaled a long, slow breath that vibrated through his ribcage.

He felt the tears then. Hot, unexpected, rolling down his face onto Twiss’s black coat. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge. Just stood there, solid and present, one ear cocked back towards him as if to say: I’ve got you.

During our storytelling circles that evening—sitting in a rustic stone barn, candles flickering, the smell of wood smoke and red wine mingling—Leo finally spoke. His voice cracked as he described feeling like he was drowning whilst everyone watched him swim laps. A woman named Patricia, going through a similar corporate collapse, reached over and squeezed his hand. A man named James, whose son had died two years prior, nodded with the particular understanding that only comes from shared suffering.

This was Leo’s herd. Not people he’d hired or impressed. People who’d simply shown up to the same field, carrying their own backpacks of transition and loss.

By the end of the week, something fundamental had shifted. Not fixed—shifted. Leo still had the same problems waiting at home. But he’d discovered that emotional resilience wasn’t about returning to his old self. It was about allowing himself to be transformed by being truly seen, truly felt, by both humans and horses who refused to let him hide.

The morning we gathered for our final storytelling circle, Leo shared this: “I spent my whole life thinking resilience meant bouncing back to the same shape. Luna taught me it means allowing yourself to be reshaped. And you can’t do that alone.”

Understanding Emotional Resilience: Beyond the Bounce-Back Myth

The traditional narrative around emotional resilience is fundamentally flawed. We’ve been sold a story that resilience means returning to baseline after stress—like a rubber band snapping back to its original form. But anyone who’s lived through genuine transition knows this: you don’t return to who you were. You can’t. The question isn’t how to bounce back; it’s how to grow forward.

Neuroscience reveals something fascinating about transitions: they’re meant to destabilise us. When life’s certainties crumble, our brains enter a state of heightened neuroplasticity—we become more malleable, more capable of forming new neural pathways, but also more vulnerable. It’s simultaneously our greatest opportunity for growth and our most precarious state.

This is where the herd model becomes revolutionary.

Research into herd animals—horses, elephants, even dolphins—shows they navigate transition through what scientists call “collective emotional regulation.” When a herd member experiences threat or stress, the group responds by creating a container of calm. They position themselves physically close. They synchronise their breathing. They offer touch, presence, and the biological reassurance that says: you’re not alone in this.

For humans, particularly those in leadership positions, this represents a radical shift. We’ve been trained to isolate during difficulty, to “handle it” privately, to emerge only when we’ve regained composure. But isolation is where emotional resilience goes to die.

Dr. Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory explains why: our nervous systems are fundamentally social. We co-regulate. A calm, present person can literally change another person’s physiological state through proximity, eye contact, and authentic connection. This isn’t metaphorical—it’s measurable in heart rate variability, cortisol levels, and neural activity.

Mindfulness practices become exponentially more powerful when we understand them through this lens. It’s not just about individual meditation—though that has value. It’s about cultivating what I call “herd awareness”: the ability to sense both your own internal state and the collective emotional field around you.

In my work facilitating walking retreats on the Camino de Santiago, I’ve witnessed this transformation repeatedly. Executives arrive armoured, operating from what psychologists call the “false self”—the persona they’ve constructed to navigate professional demands. Then they walk. Day after day. Bodies tired. Defences lowered. And in that vulnerability, surrounded by others in transition, something ancient and wise emerges: the knowledge that we were never meant to carry our burdens alone.

The horses simply make this visible. They won’t engage with your performance. They respond only to your authentic state. It’s wonderfully humiliating for high-achievers—and absolutely necessary.

True emotional resilience during life transitions requires three essential elements:

First, acknowledgment: You must stop pretending the transition isn’t affecting you. The body keeps the score, as Bessel van der Kolk famously noted. Unacknowledged stress doesn’t disappear—it lodges in your tissues, manifests in your relationships, sabotages your decisions.

Second, connection: You must find your herd. Not your board, not your networking group, not your social media followers. Your real herd—people who’ve earned the right to hear your story, who show up without agenda, who can hold space for your unravelling without trying to fix you.

Third, presence: You must develop the capacity to stay with discomfort rather than immediately problem-solving your way out of it. This is where mindfulness and meditation become invaluable. Not as escape mechanisms, but as practices that build your tolerance for transition’s inherent uncertainty.

The gift of major life transitions is this: they force authenticity. You simply don’t have the energy to maintain the façade anymore. And when the façade crumbles, you discover something remarkable—you’re more likeable, more effective, more genuinely powerful without it.

Guest Testimonial

“I arrived at the Camino walking retreat certain I could think my way through my company’s collapse. I’d built elaborate plans, consulted experts, maintained the appearance that I had everything under control. Then I spent an afternoon with a chestnut gelding who simply walked away every time I approached with that energy. The facilitator asked: ‘What would happen if you stopped managing this moment and just let yourself be in it?’ I broke. Properly broke. And my walking companions—strangers three days prior—simply sat with me. No fixing. No advice. Just presence. That’s when I understood: emotional resilience isn’t about being strong enough to handle things alone. It’s about being brave enough to let others in. My business still failed, but I didn’t. And that distinction saved my life.”

— Patricia M., Former Technology CEO, London

Five Razor-Sharp FAQs

Q: Isn’t emotional resilience about being mentally tough and pushing through difficulties?

A: That’s emotional endurance, not resilience. Endurance gets you through; resilience allows you to grow through. Pushing through without processing creates emotional debt that compounds with interest. True resilience involves the courage to pause, feel, connect, and recalibrate—which is far more demanding than simply muscling through.

Q: I’m responsible for hundreds of employees. Don’t I need to project strength during transitions?

A: Your team doesn’t need your performance of strength—they need your authentic leadership. Research consistently shows that leaders who acknowledge challenges whilst maintaining genuine confidence (not false positivity) create more resilient organisations. Vulnerability isn’t weakness; performing invincibility whilst crumbling internally is.

Q: How can horses possibly help with executive-level life transitions?

A: Horses are biofeedback mechanisms with legs. They respond to your nervous system state, not your words or professional status. When you’re operating from stress whilst pretending you’re fine, they’ll disengage. When you’re authentically present, even if you’re struggling, they’ll connect. This immediate, honest feedback bypasses your cognitive defences and creates genuine shifts in how you regulate emotion.

Q: I don’t have time for retreats or lengthy programmes. Can I build emotional resilience quickly?

A: You can develop practices quickly; transformation takes time. Start with ten minutes daily of mindful breathing, schedule regular connection with your “herd” (people who know the real you), and commit to one somatic practice—walking, yoga, or conscious movement. But understand: building genuine resilience is like strengthening a muscle. Consistency matters more than intensity.

Q: What if acknowledging my struggles during transition makes things worse?

A: Acknowledgement doesn’t create vulnerability; it reveals what’s already there. You’re not making things worse—you’re making them conscious, which is the only way they can transform. Unacknowledged struggle leaks out in irritability, poor decisions, health problems, and damaged relationships. Acknowledged struggle can be worked with, shared, and ultimately integrated.

Conclusion: Find Your Herd

Here’s the truth we don’t say often enough in professional circles: life’s transitions will humble you. The question isn’t whether you’ll face moments where your carefully constructed identity crumbles—you will. The question is whether you’ll face them alone or surrounded by your herd.

Emotional resilience isn’t a personal achievement; it’s a relational practice. It’s built in the moments when you let someone see you struggling and they don’t look away. It’s strengthened when you offer that same steady presence to another. It’s forged in the recognition that our greatest strength lies not in our independence, but in our willingness to be interdependent.

The executives and entrepreneurs I work with often arrive believing they need to learn better stress management techniques. What they discover instead is that they need to fundamentally reimagine what strength looks like. They need to learn what Luna and her herd have always known: true resilience is collective.

Your next transition—whether it’s in front of you or behind you—contains an invitation. Not to become harder, but to become more permeable. Not to build higher walls, but to find your herd and lower your guard.

The field is waiting. The herd is gathering. And somewhere, there’s a wise horse who’ll refuse to engage with your performance and instead invite you into something more real, more raw, and infinitely more resilient than anything you could construct alone.

Ready to Discover Your Herd?

If Leo’s story resonates, if you’re navigating transition and tired of doing it alone, explore my Horse-Inspired Stress Relief Online Courses. These programmes combine guided mindfulness practices, meditation exercises for stress management, and the collective wisdom of the herd to help you build genuine emotional resilience. No performance required—just show up as you are.

Reconnect with Nature: A Guided Journaling Course Inspired by Horses for anyone interested in increasing their emotional, physical and social resilience by starting a journal, but does not have much time to invest and is looking for a simple, easy-to-implement strategy that gives tangible and lasting results. Get immediate access

The Harness the Healing Power of Your Horses – Become a Mindfulness Meditation Teacher and Create Substantial and Sustainable Income with Your Horses- an Online Teacher Training and Create a Closer Connection to Your Horse Get immediate access

Conclusion

Life transitions may present formidable challenges, but they also offer the opportunity to increase your emotional resilience. Interacting with horses can enable you to find strength, build resilience, and embark on a journey of personal empowerment during a life transition.

13/05/202315/10/2025

10 FAQs About Online Courses Inspired by Horses: Everything You Need to Know

Since the pandemic, I have been working on making my retreats available online. I thought onlining the Camino de Santiago hikes would be the most difficult part, but it turned out to be the easiest. There already exists virtual Camino de Santiago Challenges and my favourite is the Conqueror Series of Virtual Challenges (https://www.theconqueror.events/camino/) The app maps your progress virtually along the Camino de Santiago. Great motivation to walk every day! Every time you go for a walk, you advance on the map. You can also explore your virtual surroundings on StreetView as if you are actually walking the Camino de Santiago.

The horse activities were more difficult to move online, but I persevered and now the “Teach Mindfulness and Meditation with Horses Training” course is available both onsite and online.

You may be thinking: “How does that work?” Below, I answer the 11 most frequently asked questions (FAQ) about my online courses facilitated by horses:

What is an online course? An online retreat is a type of retreat that is accessed online. Designed by Dr Margaretha Montagu, they cover a wide variety of topics ranging from Hoofbeats to the Heart: Creating Your Life Purpose Guided by Horses to Teaching Mindfulness and Meditation with Horses, and more.
How do I participate in an online course? To participate in an online course, you need to register, choose the level of support you would like and then pay the associated fee. You will also need access to a computer or mobile device with a stable internet connection.
Do I need to have prior experience with horses to participate in an online course inspired by horses? No, prior experience with horses is not required. The courses are designed for individuals of all experience levels, including those who have never interacted with horses before.
What type of activities can I expect to participate in during an online course with horses? Activities may include guided meditations, mindfulness practices, insight-giving assignments, and audio/video recordings.
Can I participate in one of these online courses if I don’t have a horse? Yes, absolutely, you do not need to have access to a horse in order to participate in these online courses, except for the Teaching Mindfulness and Meditation with Horses Training.
What are the benefits of an online course? The benefits of an online course include its convenience, cost savings, easy access to high-quality teachers and teachings, and the ability to connect with like-minded individuals from around the world.
Are online courses with horses as effective as in-person retreats? While online courses may not offer the same level of physical interaction with horses as in-person retreats, they can still be highly effective in promoting personal growth. You can get an idea by accessing the open sections of each course.
What if I have technical difficulties during an online course? Most online courses provide technical support to help participants resolve any issues they may encounter during the course. Just send an email to espritmeraki@gmail.com if you get stuck.
Are these online courses suitable for beginners? Yes, these online courses are designed for beginners, as well as intermediate and advanced students and especially offer a supportive environment for those who are new to online courses.
Is there a way I can gift this course to a friend or family member? Yes! What a thoughtful idea! You would just need to input their email address on the retreat registration form. Once you have paid the fee, the email you have submitted on the form will receive the retreat link.

Teach Mindfulness and Meditation with Your Horse(s) – based on equine-facilitated mindfulness and meditation, you’ll discover how to help your friends, family and clients to minimise the detrimental effects of stress , by connecting with your horses in an enriching, compelling, and transformational way (5 or 7 days)

I would love to hear from you and I would love to stay in contact! I publish a newsletter from time to time, with news from my life here in the south of France, as well as last-minute/early-bird special offers on my online courses and onsite retreats. When you subscribe, I’ll send you my newsletter, when I get round to writing it (life with horses, you know…unpredictable) as well as my Turning Point Quiz.

Author Bio: Dr Margaretha Montagu – described as a “game changer”, “gifted healer”, “guiding light” and “life-enriching author” – is an experienced medical doctor, a certified NLP practitioner, a medical hypnotherapist, an equine-assisted psychotherapist (EAGALAcertified) and a transformational retreat leader who guides her clients through life transitions – virtually, or with the assistance of her Friesian and Falabella horses, at their home in the southwest of France.

© MargarethaMontagu – I spend many hours each week happily writing these articles, although less since the advent of AI, hoping that someone will discover one at the exact right moment to make their life a bit easier. If that person is you, please consider donating to my charity Sauvetage et Sérénité, and make someone else’s life a bit easier in turn.

15/04/202315/10/2025

What Are Your Strengths and Why You Need To Know

My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.” —Jane Austen.

What Are Your Strengths?

I have just launched a new online course called “The Life Purpose Pursuit Protocol ” – the content is largely based on what my horses have taught me. It’s a DIY, available-on-demand, in-your-own-time, where-you-are 2-hour long course designed to help you clearly identify your current life purpose.

Most find-your-life-purpose experts recommend finding out what are your strengths, as an essential step, towards identifying your life purpose. Since I test-drive all my retreats myself, before I launch them, I could not skip this step.

The horses are still subdued, none of their usual spring exuberance on display, nothing since we lost Belle de la Babinière, Aurore’s mother and Tess’ half-sister, in January.

I am doing my best to be strong, for all of us. Belle was my soulmare, the light of my life for more than 20 years, my strength and shield against the storms that so frequently came our way.

To be honest, I feel a bit lost. Vulnerable. Insecure. Overwhelmed. Emotionally exhausted.

I was struggling to name even a single one of my strengths.

Until this Easter weekend.

On Instagram, Pinterest and LinkedIn, I have just posted these 16 words:

Sometimes you don’t realise your own strengths until someone tries to take advantage of your weaknesses.

When I read these words, I froze on the spot. I had a light bulb moment, because this Easter weekend, outside forces were trying to take advantage of my weaknesses to threaten the wellbeing of my remaining two mares.

Nothing like a threat from the outside to remind us of our inner strengths.

If you have difficulty identifying your strengths, just ask yourself this question: What will you do if something or someone threatens those you love?

More questions to ask yourself that will help you identify your strengths:

What have I achieved so far? Reflect on moments in your life when you have felt proud of your accomplishments. Think about the skills, talents, abilities and attributes that you used to help you succeed.
What do my friends, family and colleagues think? Ask people who know you well what they think are your strengths. Think about times when others have praised you or you received recognition for your contribution.
What skills, qualifications, knowledge and experience do I have? These may include communication skills, problem-solving abilities, leadership, organisational or technical expertise.
Are there any assessments I can take to help me identify my strengths? There are various assessments available, such as personality assessments, skills assessments, and strengths assessments, that can provide insights into your strengths. Examples include the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), StrengthsFinder, and VIA Character Strengths.
Do I have any strengths that I have not discovered yet? You may well have, so experiment, try new activities, learn something new, challenges yourself, take calculated risks, and move out of your comfort zone.

Remember that strengths can evolve over time. You may no longer be much good at what you excelled in 10 years ago (I can name several skills that I no longer use or need) and you may need to develop new strengths to cope with the challenges that come your way in future. Embrace your strengths, past, present and future, as they can be valuable assets in both your personal and professional life.

Why Do You Need To Know?

Ever been in a job interview when someone leans forward with that practiced smile and asks, “So, what are your strengths?” Your mind goes blank. Or worse, you launch into some rehearsed nonsense about being a “team player with excellent time management skills” while your soul dies a little inside. Here’s the uncomfortable truth: most successful people haven’t got a clue what their actual strengths are. They’re too busy using them. This article explores why knowing your genuine strengths isn’t just helpful—it’s transformational. And why getting it wrong might be costing you more than you think.

Five Key Takeaways

Your strengths are invisible to you – The things you do brilliantly feel effortless, so you assume everyone can do them
Fake strengths are exhausting – Playing to perceived strengths rather than real ones is like running in shoes two sizes too small
Self-knowledge is a competitive advantage – Executives who know their authentic strengths make better decisions, faster
Strengths aren’t fixed – They evolve with you, which is why regular reflection matters
Discovery requires stillness – You can’t hear your own truth in the noise of constant doing

Introduction

There’s a peculiar blindness that afflicts the capable. The more naturally gifted you are at something, the less remarkable it seems. You assume everyone can do it. Meanwhile, you’re probably working overtime to improve at things you’ll only ever be mediocre at, because those feel important, difficult, worthy of effort.

I’ve spent two decades hosting people, and I’ve watched this paradox play out hundreds of times. Brilliant entrepreneurs who can read a room like a book but think their real strength is spreadsheets. CEOs with extraordinary strategic vision who believe their value lies in their ability to micromanage details. It’s like watching someone try to hammer nails with a precision screwdriver—technically possible, but utterly backwards.

The question “what are your strengths?” isn’t about crafting the perfect LinkedIn profile. It’s about understanding the specific way you’re wired to contribute to the world. And here’s what nobody tells you: you can’t figure this out from inside your own head. You need space, reflection, and often, a good story to wake you up to what you’ve been missing.

Let me tell you about Tom Parker.

The Man Who Built His Life on Someone Else’s Strengths

Tom Parker had the corner office, the executive title, and the stress-induced insomnia to prove it. When I met him on my Camino retreat three years ago, he arrived in the French countryside looking like a man who’d been holding his breath for a decade.

“I need a break,” he’d said when he booked. What he actually needed was permission to stop pretending.

On our first evening, sitting in the old stone farmhouse with golden light pouring through the windows and the scent of lavender drifting in from the fields, I asked each person in the storytelling circle to share why they’d come. When Tom’s turn arrived, he adjusted his posture—that boardroom straightening—and said, “I’m here to reset. Get some clarity on strategic direction.”

His voice was steady, professional. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white.

The next morning, I drop my guests off on the Camino. The earth was still damp from overnight rain, releasing that ancient petrichor smell that makes you feel connected to every human who’s ever walked this route. Tom strode ahead initially, attacking the walk like it was a quarterly target, but by the second hour, something shifted. His pace softened. His shoulders dropped.

At a rest point overlooking a valley, he sat heavily on a sun-warmed stone wall and asked Linda, “Can I tell you something?” he asked. “I hate strategy meetings. I’ve built my entire career on being ‘the strategy guy,’ and I bloody well hate them.”

The confession hung in the air, vulnerable and true.

Over the following days, as we talked, as we sat in evening circles sharing stories around the wooden table, Tom’s real story emerged. As a junior analyst twenty years ago, he’d delivered one impressive strategic presentation. His boss had been delighted. “This is your strength,” she’d declared. “You’re our strategy expert.” And Tom, ambitious and eager to please, had built an entire identity around it.

But here’s what he’d never told anyone: that first presentation had been created in a panic-fueled all-nighter. He’d hated every minute of it. What he’d actually enjoyed was what came after—the conversation with his team, helping them understand what it meant, translating complex ideas into stories they could connect with, making people feel excited rather than overwhelmed.

“I’m good at strategy,” he said one evening, running his finger around the rim of his wine glass, the sound a soft hum in the quiet room, “but I’m brilliant at helping people understand things. At making them feel capable rather than confused. I’ve spent twenty years doing the thing I’m merely good at, and ignoring the thing I’m exceptional at.”

In our storytelling circles, Tom began to experiment. He’d listen to someone share their experience, then reflect it back in a way that illuminated patterns they hadn’t seen. He could take a tangled mess of thoughts and find the thread that made it all make sense. He didn’t analyse—he translated. He didn’t strategise—he clarified.

One evening, after he’d helped a fellow traveller understand a difficult work situation through the lens of a Japanese folktale, the room went quiet. “That,” said another guest, “is real wisdom.”

Tom’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve never felt more myself than I do here,” he whispered.

On the final day, weas we were having brunch, the warmth of the morning sun on our faces. Tom stopped suddenly. “I know what I need to do,” he said. “Not quit my job—that’s running away. But restructure my role. I need to stop being the person who creates strategy and become the person who helps everyone understand why it matters. That’s where I come alive.”

Six months later, Tom emailed me. He’d restructured his role, brought in someone who genuinely loved strategic planning, and moved himself into a position focused on internal communication and culture. “For the first time in my career,” he wrote, “I finish the day energised rather than depleted. I had no idea work could feel like this.”

Tom’s story isn’t unusual. It’s the story of almost every accomplished person I’ve met. We’re all walking around doing impressive things that drain us, while our real gifts sit unused in the corner, gathering dust.

Why Knowing Your Strengths Actually Matters

The question “what are your strengths?” feels like corporate-speak, the sort of thing HR departments put on professional development forms. But beneath the jargon lies something profound: the alignment between who you are and what you do.

The Energy Equation

Your genuine strengths are energising. Not easy, necessarily, but enlivening. When you’re operating from your true strengths, you finish a hard day’s work tired but satisfied, not depleted and resentful. False strengths—the things you’ve learned to do well but that don’t come naturally—drain you. They require constant willpower, like maintaining a muscle flex all day.

Most executives I meet are running on empty because they’re spending their days in the wrong strengths. They’ve built careers on what they can do rather than what they’re genuinely brilliant at.

The Authenticity Advantage

People can sense when you’re operating from your core. There’s a quality of presence, of ease, that emerges when someone is doing what they’re genuinely good at. It’s magnetic. It builds trust. And in leadership, trust is everything.

When you’re faking your strengths, you’re essentially asking people to follow a performance rather than a person. It’s exhausting for everyone involved.

The Decision-Making Clarity

Knowing your real strengths transforms decision-making. Should you take that promotion? Expand in that direction? Hire that person? The answer becomes clearer when you understand what you genuinely bring to the table. You can architect your life and work around your authentic capabilities rather than constantly trying to become someone you’re not.

The Gift of Letting Go

Perhaps most importantly, knowing your strengths gives you permission to stop pretending you’re good at everything. You can delegate, collaborate, and admit limitation without shame. This isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.

Why It’s So Difficult to See Your Own Strengths

The cruel irony is that your genuine strengths are almost invisible to you. They feel so natural, so effortless, that you assume everyone can do them. “Doesn’t everyone see patterns in complex data?” “Can’t most people defuse tense situations with humour?” “Surely anyone can remember faces and names?”

No, they can’t. But you can’t see that because, to you, it doesn’t feel special.

We notice the things we struggle with. The presentation that took hours to prepare gets our attention. The difficult conversation we rehearsed feels significant. The spreadsheet we finally mastered seems like an achievement. Meanwhile, the things we do brilliantly—the impromptu talk that captivated the room, the crisis we navigated instinctively, the connection we made without thinking—barely register.

This is why self-awareness requires external input. We need other people to mirror back to us what they see. We need space and stillness to notice what energises versus depletes us. We need reflection practices that help us step outside our own perspective.

This is exactly what happens on the Camino. Day after day of walking, of sitting in storytelling circles, of being present without agenda—it creates the conditions for self-recognition. People start to see themselves clearly, often for the first time in years.

A Word from St James’ Way

“I came to Margaretha’s Camino retreat thinking I needed to figure out my next career move. What I actually discovered was that I’d been asking the wrong question for twenty years. The daily walks, the mindfulness practices, the storytelling circles—they created space for me to hear my own truth. By the third day, I broke down crying because I realised I’d been living someone else’s version of success. The woman I became on that path is the woman I’d forgotten I could be. I’m not exaggerating when I say it changed my life.” — Sally J., Tech Entrepreneur, London

Five Razor-Sharp FAQs

Q: What if my strengths aren’t commercially valuable?

The question itself reveals the problem. You’re already judging your strengths through the lens of market value rather than personal truth. Every genuine strength has value—the question is whether you’re willing to structure your life around it. Often, what seems uncommercial is actually just uncommon, and uncommon capabilities command premium value.

Q: Can’t I just develop new strengths through hard work?

You can become competent at almost anything through effort. But competence isn’t the same as strength. Real strengths energise you. Developed competencies often drain you. The question isn’t “Can I do it?” but “Do I come alive doing it?”

Q: What if I discover my strengths too late in my career?

It’s never too late, and this thinking reveals a scarcity mindset. You’re not behind. You’re exactly where you need to be. Tom Parker was 52 when he restructured his role. Some of the most fulfilled people I know made their biggest transitions after 60. Age is irrelevant. Honesty is everything.

Q: How do I know if I’m operating from real or false strengths?

Ask yourself: At the end of a day doing this work, am I tired but satisfied, or depleted and resentful? Do I look forward to it or dread it? If I didn’t need money, would I still choose to do this? Your body knows the answer even when your mind is confused.

Q: What if discovering my real strengths means admitting I’ve wasted years?

This is grief talking, and it’s valid. But you haven’t wasted anything—you’ve learned exactly what doesn’t work, which is valuable information. The only waste would be continuing on a path you now know is wrong. Courage isn’t never being afraid. It’s doing the scary thing anyway.

Conclusion: The Strength to Be Yourself

The question “what are your strengths?” isn’t really about strengths at all. It’s about permission. Permission to stop performing. Permission to acknowledge that the thing that feels easy to you is genuinely valuable. Permission to structure your life around what brings you alive rather than what looks impressive.

You already know your strengths. That’s the frustrating truth. They’re the things you do without thinking, the capabilities people thank you for that you barely notice, the moments when you’re so absorbed you lose track of time. You know them. You’re just scared to bet your life on them.

But here’s what I’ve learned from years of walking the Camino with people just like you: the moment you stop pretending and start living from your genuine strengths, everything shifts. Not easily. Not without fear. But definitively.

You don’t need more qualifications, more validation, more proof. You need the courage to trust what you already know. And sometimes, you need to step away from the noise long enough to hear it clearly.

That’s when the real journey begins.

Walk Your Own Path: A Personal Invitation

Imagine this: You’re walking through the soft morning light of south-west France, the Camino path stretching ahead, ancient and patient. The weight of your everyday life—the meetings, the expectations, the constant performance—begins to slip away with each step. For seven days, you’re not an executive or entrepreneur. You’re simply yourself, rediscovering what that actually means.

My Camino de Santiago walking retreats in southwest France border aren’t luxury holidays or team-building exercises. They’re something rarer: dedicated space for the kind of deep reflection that changes everything. Each day you walk through stunning countryside—manageable distances that create contemplation rather than exhaustion. The landscape itself becomes your teacher: rolling hills, medieval villages, vineyards heavy with grapes, the play of light on stone walls that have stood for centuries.

We do meditation practices specifically designed for stress management—gentle, accessible techniques you can carry home with you. The daily walking becomes a moving meditation, creating the mental spaciousness where insight emerges naturally. And in the evenings, we gather for storytelling circles around worn wooden tables, sharing our experiences, listening deeply, discovering ourselves in each other’s stories.

This isn’t about finding answers. It’s about creating conditions where your own wisdom can surface. The kind of wisdom that whispers your real strengths, your genuine calling, the next true step.

Space is intentionally limited to preserve the intimate, transformational quality of the experience. If something in this article stirred recognition—that sense of “I’ve been pretending too”—perhaps it’s time to listen to that voice.

Learn more and reserve your room

“We need women who are so strong they can be gentle, so educated they can be humble, so fierce they can be compassionate, so passionate they can be rational, and so disciplined they can be free.” —Kavita Ramdas.

Stress destroys Lives. To find out what you can do to safeguard your sanity by taking my insight-giving quiz, subscribe to my mailing list.

The Purpose Pursuit Challenge – if you want to discover your life purpose, this course will provide you with the clarity, motivation and direction you need to manifest your next chapter – in both your personal and professional life. Get immediate access

The Purpose Pivot Challenge – drawing inspiration from the Camino de Santiago, this transformative course guides you through a proven framework to recalibrate your authentic purpose and create a meaningful and fulfilling next act. Get immediate access

01/04/202315/10/2025

How to figure out your purpose in life in 5 minutes

This post was inspired by this “How to figure out your purpose in life” TED talk by Adam Leipzig that has 232 000 likes on Youtube, and for very good reason too – it is literally life-changing (watch below).

I have spent the last week creating a DIY course about identifying one’s life purpose.

Why? Because I clearly do not have enough to do, leading online protocols, hosting onsite Camino de Santiago walking retreats here in the southwest of France, feeding my cats and horses at relatively regular hours, keeping the house standing, the garden accessible and the paddocks securely fenced, and writing articles, newsletters and blog posts in the minutes during the one or two waking hours that are left.

Actually, I created this online course about identifying your life purpose because, since the pandemic, my retreat guests seem to be obsessed with it.

As in, “I have been searching for my life’s purpose my whole life long! I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve read all the books, attended all the seminars, completed all the online courses (Really? You completed all the courses?) had counselling, had coaching, had my palm read…and I still don’t know!”

Why do you want to know what your life purpose is?

Because it significantly and dramatically lowers your stress levels.

What This Article Is About (In 30 Seconds)

Picture this: you’re standing at life’s most overwhelming junction—bills unpaid, emails unanswered, dreams deferred—wondering if you’ve accidentally enrolled in someone else’s existence. Now imagine having an internal compass so reliable that even when chaos reigns, you know exactly which direction matters. That’s what understanding your life purpose does for stress. This isn’t about finding some mystical calling written in the stars (though if yours is, brilliant). It’s about discovering the “why” that makes the “what” bearable—and discovering it might be simpler, funnier, and more transformative than you’d think.

Five Key Takeaways about How to figure out your Purpose in Life

Life purpose acts as a natural stress filter, helping you distinguish between what genuinely matters and what’s merely masquerading as urgent
Purpose doesn’t eliminate stress; it transforms your relationship with it, turning anxiety into meaningful tension rather than paralysing fear
Your life purpose needn’t be grandiose—it can be beautifully ordinary, like creating spaces where people feel seen and heard
Clarity around purpose dramatically reduces decision fatigue, that exhausting mental state where choosing between almond milk varieties feels like a philosophical crisis
Purpose-driven living increases resilience, giving you something larger than temporary setbacks to anchor your identity and energy

Introduction: The Antidote Hiding in Plain Sight

We’ve been taught that stress is the enemy—something to be managed, medicated, or mindfully breathed away during expensive yoga retreats. We buy journals with inspirational quotes, download meditation apps, and promise ourselves we’ll finally learn to say no. Yet stress persists, shape-shifting into new forms, always one step ahead of our coping strategies.

But what if we’ve been approaching this backwards? What if the most powerful stress-reduction tool isn’t about managing symptoms but about addressing the fundamental question underneath all that anxiety: What am I actually doing here?

When you don’t know your life purpose, every decision carries equal weight. Should you take that job? Attend that event? Answer that message? Without a guiding principle, your nervous system treats each choice as potentially life-altering, flooding your body with stress hormones designed for actual emergencies, not LinkedIn connection requests.

Knowing your life purpose doesn’t magically eliminate challenges. What it does—and this is rather marvellous—is give you a measuring stick. Suddenly, some stresses reveal themselves as irrelevant noise, whilst others transform into meaningful obstacles worth navigating. You’re not less busy; you’re busy with intention. And that distinction? That changes everything.

Sam’s Shrinking Story

Sam Addison stood in her kitchen at 6:47 on a Tuesday morning, surrounded by evidence of a life spiralling brilliantly out of control. Three different breakfast cereals lay open on the counter—she’d been too frazzled to choose one, so she’d sampled all three. The bitter dregs of yesterday’s coffee sat congealing in a mug beside the sink, releasing that particular smell of defeat that only abandoned caffeine can muster. Her phone buzzed with its seventeenth notification of the morning, each one a tiny electric shock to her already jangling nerves.

She’d been promoted six months earlier—senior marketing director, corner office, salary that finally matched her student loan payments—and she’d never been more miserable. Or more stressed. Her doctor had used the phrase “chronic stress response” during her last visit, which sounded both serious and vaguely science-fiction, like something that might require medication with seventeen syllables.

The panic attacks had started three weeks ago. The first one ambushed her in Waitrose, of all places, standing in the organic tomato section. Her heart had suddenly decided to audition for a thrash metal band whilst her lungs forgot their primary function. A kind woman with a Yorkshire accent had helped her to a bench, pressing a cold bottle of water into her trembling hands. “Been there, love,” the woman had said. “Feels like dying, but you’re not. Promise.”

Now, staring at her three-cereal chaos, Sam felt the familiar tightness beginning in her chest. She pressed her palm against her sternum, feeling her heart’s frantic morse code. Not again, she thought. Please, not again.

Her phone rang—her mother. Sam almost didn’t answer, but old guilt won out.

“Darling, I’ve been thinking,” her mother began without preamble. “Remember when you were eight and you made that ‘feelings club’ in the garden shed? You’d invite all the neighbourhood children to sit in a circle and everyone would share something that had made them happy or sad that week. You kept it going for two years.”

Sam did remember, actually. The musty smell of that shed, the mismatched cushions she’d collected, the way Tommy Fletcher had cried when his hamster died and everyone had sat in respectful silence, holding space for his grief. She’d felt—what was the word? Important. No, not important. Purposeful. Like she was doing something that mattered.

“Why are you bringing this up?” Sam asked, her voice sharper than intended.

“Because you sounded dead in your voice last week, darling. I haven’t heard you sound alive since you started that job.”

After they rang off, Sam stood very still. Around her, the kitchen hummed with modern life—the fridge’s subtle drone, the dishwasher’s rhythmic swish, the central heating clicking on. But inside her head, something had gone suddenly, beautifully quiet.

She thought about her job: endless PowerPoint presentations to people who’d already decided what they wanted, budget meetings that stretched like taffy, the peculiar corporate theatre of pretending everyone’s ideas had equal merit when they clearly didn’t. She earned well. She had status. She could afford decent wine and wasn’t panicking about her pension.

But when was the last time she’d felt purposeful?

That evening, instead of her usual stress ritual (wine, Netflix, the hollow feeling of time passing), Sam did something different. She grabbed a notebook—an old one from university with coffee stains on the cover—and wrote at the top: What makes me feel purposeful?

The answers came slowly at first, then faster: Creating spaces where people feel safe to be vulnerable. Facilitating conversations that matter. Helping people find their own voices. Listening—really listening—to what’s underneath the words.

She sat back, staring at her own handwriting. These weren’t things she was doing at work. These were things she used to do. Things she’d abandoned in her sprint toward supposed success.

Over the following weeks, Sam started small. She couldn’t quit her job (mortgage, reality, etc.), but she could adjust her trajectory. She volunteered to facilitate the company’s mental health support group—something everyone else avoided because it wasn’t “career-enhancing.” She started hosting monthly storytelling circles in her flat, inviting friends and friends-of-friends to share meaningful experiences over soup and bread.

The panic attacks didn’t vanish overnight. But something shifted. When work stress hit—and it still hit—she had a framework for understanding it. This presentation that had her up at midnight? Not aligned with her purpose, therefore deserving of less emotional energy. That difficult conversation with her team member who was struggling? Absolutely aligned with her purpose, therefore worth the discomfort.

Six months later, at one of my storytelling circles (she’d found us through a friend who’d walked the Camino), Sam shared how knowing her life purpose hadn’t made her less busy. “I’m actually doing more,” she said, laughing. “But I’m stressed about different things now. Better things. Things that feel like they’re worth the anxiety.”

The room hummed with recognition. That’s the thing about purpose—it doesn’t eliminate stress. It recontextualises it. And in that recontextualisation, something remarkable happens: stress stops being the enemy and becomes, occasionally, a compass pointing toward what matters most.

The Science and Soul of Purpose-Driven Calm

Let’s explore why Sam’s experience isn’t unique. When you understand your life purpose, your brain does something rather clever: it begins to categorise stressors differently. Neuroscience research shows that our prefrontal cortex—the brain’s executive function centre—becomes more active when we engage in purpose-driven activities, even stressful ones. This increased activation helps regulate the amygdala, your brain’s alarm system.

In practical terms? When you’re stressed about something aligned with your purpose, your body still releases cortisol and adrenaline, but your brain interprets these chemicals differently. Instead of signalling danger, they signal challenge. This is called eustress—positive stress that energises rather than depletes.

Without a clear life purpose, every stressor triggers the same alarm bells. Your nervous system can’t distinguish between a meaningful deadline and a meaningless one, between a conflict worth having and one that’s simply draining. You’re like a smoke detector going off for both house fires and burnt toast—exhausting for everyone involved, especially you.

The Decision Fatigue Factor

Modern life presents us with approximately 35,000 decisions daily, according to some estimates. Most are trivial (which socks, which route to work, whether to respond to that text now or later), but they all consume cognitive energy. This is why successful people often wear the same outfit daily—they’re not fashion-challenged; they’re conserving decision-making capacity.

Life purpose acts as a decision-making algorithm. When you know your “why,” countless decisions become automatic. Should you take that committee position? Does it align with your purpose? No? Decision made, energy conserved, stress averted.

The Resilience Revolution

Perhaps most importantly, life purpose builds resilience—not the grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it variety, but genuine psychological flexibility. When your identity is anchored in purpose rather than outcomes, setbacks become less existentially threatening.

Lost your job? Devastating, yes—but if your purpose is “creating spaces for authentic connection,” that purpose survives the job loss. It might even flourish in unexpected ways. This isn’t toxic positivity; it’s the recognition that you are not your circumstances, and your purpose transcends your current situation.

Studies show that people with a strong sense of purpose recover from stress more quickly, experience fewer stress-related health problems, and report higher life satisfaction even during challenging periods. They’re not experiencing less stress; they’re experiencing less meaningless stress.

Purpose as Permission

Here’s something rarely discussed: knowing your life purpose gives you permission to disappoint people. Revolutionary, isn’t it? When you’re clear about your purpose, you can say no to good opportunities because they’re not the right opportunities. You can let people down (kindly, compassionately) because you’re saying yes to something more aligned with your deeper calling.

This is enormously stress-relieving. Much of our anxiety stems from trying to be all things to all people, from the exhausting performance of meeting everyone’s expectations. Purpose gives you a legitimate reason to disappoint people—not from selfishness, but from self-knowledge. There’s a freedom in that which is almost giddying.

A Word from St James’ Way

“I arrived at Margaretha’s Camino retreat believing my purpose needed to be something impressive—running a charity, perhaps, or writing a life-changing book. The stress of not knowing my ‘big purpose’ was eating me alive. Through the walking, the storytelling circles, and Margaretha’s gentle questions, I discovered my purpose was much simpler: I’m here to bear witness. To really see people and let them know they’ve been seen. That’s it. That’s enough. I still work in accounts, still do my spreadsheets, but now I approach it all differently. I see the person behind the numbers. I notice when someone’s struggling. My stress hasn’t disappeared, but it’s no longer existential—it’s just… stress. Manageable. Human. And sometimes, when I’m really living my purpose, it transforms into something that almost feels like joy.” — Emma T., First-Time Camino Walker, March 2024

Five Razor-Sharp FAQs about How to figure out your Purpose in Life

Q: What if I discover my life purpose but can’t afford to pursue it full-time?

A: Purpose isn’t a career requirement; it’s a lens through which you view your life. You can be a purpose-driven accountant, teacher, or parent. The question isn’t “Can I make money doing my purpose?” but “How can I infuse my current life with my purpose?” Sam didn’t quit her job; she adjusted how she showed up in it and created space for purpose outside it. Start where you are, with what you have.

Q: Does everyone have a singular life purpose, or can it change?

A: Thank goodness it can change—imagine being locked into your eight-year-old self’s purpose forever. (Mine was “eat sweets and own a pony,” which would have been limiting.) Your purpose often has a core theme that remains consistent whilst its expression evolves. Someone whose purpose is “creating beauty” might be a gardener in their twenties, a designer in their forties, and a hospice volunteer bringing flowers to patients in their seventies. Same purpose, different manifestations.

Q: I’ve tried journaling and reflecting, but I still feel unclear about my purpose. What now?

A: Stop thinking and start noticing. Purpose often reveals itself through action, not contemplation. Pay attention to when you feel most alive, when time disappears, when you’re simultaneously challenged and fulfilled. Notice what makes you righteously angry—injustice often points toward purpose. Try new things. Take the creative writing class, volunteer at the food bank, join the choir. Purpose is discovered, not decided.

Q: Can knowing my purpose actually increase stress if I’m not living it?

A: Temporarily, yes—there’s often a gap between discovering your purpose and fully embodying it. This gap can feel frustrating. But this is eustress, not distress. It’s the productive tension of growth, like the burn of muscles getting stronger. The alternative—remaining unconscious about your purpose whilst drowning in meaningless stress—is far worse. At least now you know what you’re working toward.

Q: What if my life purpose feels embarrassingly simple or small?

A: Brilliant. The world has quite enough people chasing grandiose purposes they don’t actually care about. Your purpose doesn’t need to impress anyone. If your purpose is “making people laugh during difficult times,” that’s extraordinary—ask anyone who’s been comforted by humour in their darkest moment. If it’s “creating order from chaos,” every organised person I know is a bloody hero. Simple doesn’t mean insignificant; it means clear. And clarity is what reduces stress.

Conclusion: The Path Forward Is Personal

Here’s what I’ve learned from years of facilitating storytelling circles and walking alongside people on their Camino journeys: your life purpose is already whispering to you. You’ve been hearing it in those moments when you feel most yourself, most alive, most connected to something larger than your to-do list.

Knowing your life purpose doesn’t eliminate stress because you’re human, and being human means encountering friction between what is and what could be. But it transforms that stress from a chaotic whirlwind into a focused wind at your back, pushing you toward what matters most.

Your purpose doesn’t need to be world-changing. It needs to be true. It doesn’t need to impress others. It needs to resonate with you. And it doesn’t need to eliminate all stress—it just needs to help you distinguish between the stress that’s draining your life force and the stress that’s shaping you into who you’re meant to become.

The question isn’t whether you’ll experience stress. The question is whether that stress will have meaning. And that answer begins with knowing why you’re here.

Walk Your Purpose Into Being: A Camino Invitation

There’s something about walking that bypasses the mind’s defences and speaks directly to the soul. Perhaps it’s the rhythm—left, right, breath, step—that quiets our internal chatter enough to hear that quieter voice underneath. Or maybe it’s the simplicity: when your immediate concern is putting one foot in front of the other, the pretentious barriers between you and your truth start crumbling.

My Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat in the sun-drenched hills of south-west France is designed for exactly this unravelling and rediscovering. We walk sections of this ancient pilgrimage route—not the full 800 kilometres (let’s be reasonable), but enough that your body remembers how to move with intention, enough that the landscape works its particular magic on your worried heart.

Between the walking, we gather for storytelling circles. These aren’t performative sharing sessions where everyone’s trying to sound profound. They’re authentic, often funny, occasionally tear-filled conversations where people discover they’re not alone in their confusion, their stress, their secret hope that there’s more to life than getting through each day.

We practise mindfulness and meditation—not the Instagram-aesthetic variety with perfect posture and designer cushions, but the real, sometimes fidgety practice of paying attention to what’s actually happening in this moment. And through guided exercises specifically designed for stress management, we explore that tender territory between who you’ve been told to be and who you actually are.

The French countryside won’t intimidate you. The ancient stones of the Camino path don’t care about your job title or your bank balance. And the other walkers? They’re too busy with their own unravelling to judge yours. This creates a rare space: permission to stop performing and start discovering.

Bring your questions, your stress, your confusion about what you’re meant to be doing with this one precious life. You’ll walk, share stories, sit in companionable silence, watching the sun set over hills that have witnessed countless other seekers. And somewhere between the walking and the talking and the quiet, you might just discover that your purpose has been hiding in plain sight, ready to transform your stress into something that feels remarkably like coming home.

No time to escape to the southwest of France?

I have created two controversial and counterintuitive online courses:

Spoiler alert: If you watch this month’s recommended TED talk, you’ll get an idea of where I’m going with this.

25/03/202303/05/2026

How to Detect Burnout At Work

In Yourself and In Others

Burnout:
A psychological bonfire where your passion, patience, and sense of purpose all roast marshmallows together until nothing’s left but crispy sarcasm

Introduction

“I just need a break.”

Often, when people write to me to make enquiries about my stress management retreats, either online or onsite here in the south of France, this sentence features prominently in their email, most often in the last paragraph. I have learned to sit up and take notice when I come across this sentence, as it is often said by people who are either burnt out already or on the verge of burning out.

Have you said that to yourself or to others recently? Did someone else say this to you?

Take notice, especially if you are an employer and you heard one of your employees say this.

People who are suffering from burnout at work, sometimes without realising it, often make statements that give away their state of mind. Depending on their individual experience and circumstances, they may say:

“I just can’t keep going anymore.” – Burnout can leave people feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, making it difficult to cope with their personal and professional responsibilities.

“I feel like I’m just going through the motions.” – Burnout can make people feel disconnected from their work, and from the people around them, causing them to feel as if what they do has no purpose or meaning.

“I don’t care anymore.” – Burnout can lead to a sense of apathy or detachment, causing people to lose interest in things that used to be important to them.

“I feel completely overwhelmed.” – Burnout can cause people to feel incapable of completing even small tasks, making it difficult to do what they are getting paid to do.

“I can’t handle this anymore.” – Burnout can make people feel like they’ve reached their breaking point, causing them to feel like they can’t deal with stress or any additional pressure.

“I don’t feel like myself anymore.” – Burnout can cause people to lose their sense of identity and which can result in a significant loss of self-esteem.

“I’m so frustrated.” – Burnout can lead to an intense sense of frustration, especially if people feel like they’re not making progress or reaching their targets.

“I feel like I’m stuck in a rut.” – Burnout can cause people to feel trapped, making it difficult to move forward or make changes in their personal or professional lives.

“I’m uber-stressed, all the time.” – Burnout can cause chronic stress, which can cause serious physical and psychological diseases.

“I can’t sleep. I either lay awake for hours before I fall asleep or I wake up early. Or I wake up twenty times during the night.” – Burnout can cause insomnia, which increases exhaustion and decreases performance.

Statements that allow us to detect burnout at work early are not always made using these exact words, everyone expresses themselves differently and everyone’s experience of burnout is unique. People may also make any of the above statements without having burnout.

If you have been reading my posts for a while, you are probably thinking: Where’s the story?

Well, here it is:

The Great Burnout Bake-Off

By the time Clara’s smartwatch told her to “stand up and breathe,” she’d already done both — twice, aggressively. It was 10:07 a.m., and she’d hit her burnout peak for the third time that week.

Her company, Zenyth Synergy Solutions, had recently launched a “Wellness Initiative” to “combat burnout with mindful productivity.” This translated to more meetings about burnout, which burned everyone out faster.

Last Tuesday’s meeting had been a PowerPoint titled “The Power of Powering Down.” The irony was so thick you could spread it on toast.

But Clara wasn’t alone. Across the country, employees everywhere were losing it. The world had become a giant pressure cooker powered by caffeine and “urgent” Slack notifications.

So when HR announced the Great Burnout Bake-Off, the internet collectively sighed, “Oh no.”

According to the company email — which began with “Hey Team!” and ended with “Stay grateful!” — everyone was encouraged to “channel your stress into baking!”

Clara hadn’t baked since the banana bread era of 2020, but she was desperate. Maybe, just maybe, flour therapy would save her sanity.

The day of the competition arrived. Clara, surrounded by chaos in her kitchen, decided to make a “Burnout Cake” — three layers: exhaustion, existential dread, and frosting made of tears. She even wrote “I’m Fine :)” on top in icing that determinedly kept melting off.

Meanwhile, her coworker Brad went all out. He made a gluten-free, sugar-free, joy-free “Corporate Carrot Cake” decorated with an inspirational quote like “Hustle Harder!”

When everyone logged onto Zoom for the judging, HR’s Becky appeared in a sunlit room holding a kale smoothie. “Welcome, team!” she chirped. “Remember, this is about fun and community!”

Clara, who hadn’t slept since Wednesday, smiled like a malfunctioning robot.

Each person presented their cake. Karen from accounting revealed a tiramisu shaped like a resignation letter. Dave from IT’s cheesecake simply read: “404: Motivation Not Found.”

Then came Clara’s turn.

“This,” she said, gesturing to the half-collapsed tower of frosting, “is my burnout cake. It represents the modern worker’s spiritual decay under late-stage capitalism.”

There was silence. Then Becky clapped. “Oh my gosh, that’s so relatable! You’re so authentic, Clara.”

Clara won first place. Her prize? A mindfulness journal and an unpaid afternoon off “to rest and recharge.”

She used it to take a nap. It lasted 11 hours.

When she woke up, her inbox had 247 new emails. One was from Becky.

Subject: “Following up on your rest day — hope you’re feeling reenergised!”
Body: “Quick reminder that we have a meeting tomorrow to discuss burnout prevention. Mandatory attendance. 😊”

Clara stared at the screen for a long moment, closed her laptop, and went back to bed.

Unpacking Burnout

Burnout (n.):
A modern affliction where enthusiasm goes to die quietly behind a glowing screen.

It starts innocently enough. You’re motivated. You’re driven. You say things like “I’ll just finish this one last thing.” Then “one last thing” multiplies like rabbits hopped up on espresso, and before you know it, you’ve forgotten what weekends are for and why your shoulders feel like they’re made of bricks.

Burnout isn’t just tiredness — tiredness can be cured with a nap and a burrito. Burnout is existential fatigue. It’s when your brain says, “I literally cannot,” and your body says, “Same.” It’s the point where you start fantasising about quitting society to raise goats somewhere with poor Wi-Fi.

Corporate America loves to talk about “preventing burnout,” usually by adding more meetings about burnout. You’ll hear phrases like self-care, work-life balance, and resilience — all wonderful words that mean nothing when your boss emails you at 10:43 p.m. asking for “just a quick update.”

The burned-out person becomes a paradox: hyperproductive yet barely functional, overconnected yet emotionally unplugged. They sip iced coffee like medicine and say things like “living the dream” with the dead eyes of someone who hasn’t seen daylight since Q2.

Burnout is not laziness; it’s the bill your body sends after years of overdrafting your energy account.

The cure? Maybe it’s boundaries. Maybe it’s therapy. Maybe it’s throwing your laptop into the sea and walking away in slow motion. Whatever it is, burnout is your body-mind’s polite way of saying: “You can’t keep doing this, champ.”

And deep down, you know it’s right.

Seriously though, how do you detect bunrout at work?

FAQ: Detecting Burnout at Work

1. What’s the difference between regular tiredness and actual burnout?

Regular tiredness improves with rest—a good night’s sleep or a weekend off helps you recharge. Burnout, however, is a state of chronic exhaustion that doesn’t improve with typical rest periods. You’ll notice it persists even after vacations, affects multiple areas of your life, and comes with emotional detachment or cynicism about your work. If you find yourself dreading work constantly, feeling emotionally numb, or thinking “what’s the point?” even about tasks you once enjoyed, that’s a red flag for burnout rather than simple fatigue.

2. What are the early warning signs I might miss while they’re developing?

The earliest signs are often subtle shifts in behavior: needing an extra coffee to get through the morning, procrastinating on tasks that used to be routine, or feeling irritable with colleagues over minor issues. You might notice yourself working longer hours but accomplishing less, or withdrawing from workplace social interactions you previously enjoyed. Physical symptoms like tension headaches, digestive issues, or disrupted sleep patterns can appear before you consciously recognize burnout. Many people also experience a creeping sense of detachment—going through the motions without feeling connected to their work’s purpose or impact.

3. How can I tell if it’s burnout or just a bad project/period at work?

A bad project creates temporary stress with a clear endpoint—once it’s done, you feel relief and can bounce back. Burnout feels pervasive and doesn’t lift when specific stressors end. Ask yourself: Does this feeling extend beyond one project to color how I view my entire job? Am I still finding satisfaction in any aspect of my work? Have I lost my sense of accomplishment even when completing tasks successfully? If negative feelings persist across multiple projects, affect your attitude toward work in general, and don’t improve during easier periods, you’re likely experiencing burnout rather than situational stress.

4. Can burnout affect my physical health, and what symptoms should I watch for?

Yes, burnout significantly impacts physical health because chronic stress keeps your body in a prolonged state of alert. Watch for persistent fatigue that doesn’t improve with sleep, frequent headaches or muscle tension (especially in the neck and shoulders), weakened immune function (catching every cold that goes around), digestive problems, changes in appetite, and disrupted sleep patterns including insomnia or sleeping too much. Some people experience heart palpitations, chest tightness, or increased blood pressure. These physical symptoms often appear alongside emotional exhaustion and shouldn’t be ignored—they’re your body’s way of signaling that stress levels have become unsustainable.

5. What’s the “Sunday Scaries” test, and why is it useful for detecting burnout?

The “Sunday Scaries” test refers to examining your emotional response as the weekend ends and the workweek approaches. Occasional mild anxiety about Monday is normal, but if you experience intense dread, physical symptoms like nausea or insomnia every Sunday night, or find your entire weekend overshadowed by thoughts about returning to work, this suggests burnout. The test is useful because it reveals whether your work stress has become chronic rather than episodic. When work anxiety colonizes your personal time and you can’t mentally disconnect even during days off, it indicates your relationship with work has become unsustainable—a hallmark of burnout that requires intervention.

Possible Burnout at Work Solutions

It is my life’s mission, first as a medical doctor and now as a retreat host, to help people manage stress, so they can avoid the permanent damage stress can cause.

Journaling Prompt to help you determine if you suffer from burnout: The “Past You” Conversation

Set aside 15 minutes in a comfortable spot. Imagine you could have a conversation with yourself from one year ago—before things felt this heavy.

Write a letter to the person you were a year ago, starting with:
“Hey, it’s me from the future. Here’s what I need you to know about where we are now…”
Tell them honestly: What’s different about how you feel at work? What have you lost along the way—maybe it’s enthusiasm, creativity, patience, or the ability to leave work at work? What would surprise them about who you’ve become in your job?
Now, flip the perspective. Let that past version of you respond:
What would they ask you? What would concern them? What advice would they give you, knowing what mattered to you back then?
The powerful question:
If your past self could see you now, would they recognize you? Or have you compromised so much of what made work meaningful that you’ve become someone you didn’t set out to be?
Here’s your permission slip:
The person you were a year ago had wisdom. They had boundaries, dreams, and standards for how they deserved to be treated. You don’t have to abandon who you’ve become, but you can reclaim what you’ve lost. Write one thing you want to bring back from who you used to be.

This isn’t about regret—it’s about remembering who you are beneath the exhaustion.

The Burnout to Breakthrough – a Roadmap to Resilience Protocol

The burnout epidemic has motivated me to create a 2-day online course called the Burnout to Breakthrough – a Roadmap to Resilience course. It is designed so that you can burnout-proof yourself during a weekend, by devoting four hours a day to the course two in the morning and two in the afternoon. It has gotten excellent reviews so far, so I am hoping that it will serve as my contribution to reducing burnout worldwide.

Worldwide.

Isn’t that awe-inspiring? That I can now reach hundreds or even thousands of people online, instead of just the few that come to my Camino de Santiago Walking retreats. Reaching people is so much easier since the pandemic.

The Camino de Santiago Crossroeds Retreats

My retreats focus on helping people who are going through life transitions, or who have to make important decisions, by walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.

More often than not, my onsite retreat guests arrive burnt out by the stress they had to endure trying to cope with the life transition they are stuck in, whether it is an empty nest, retirement, redundancy, losing a loved one, changing careers, starting a business etc.

The Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat

Conclusion

We can detect burnout at work early, merely by paying attention to what others are saying, and to what we are saying to ourselves.

The warning signs whisper before they shout—in the colleague who suddenly goes quiet in meetings, in our own internal dialogue that shifts from “I can handle this” to “I can’t do this anymore.” When we notice the cynicism creeping into conversations, the exhaustion that no longer lifts with rest, or the growing disconnection from work that once mattered to us, we’re receiving vital information. This awareness isn’t weakness; it’s wisdom. By listening closely to these signals—both in ourselves and in those around us—we give ourselves the chance to course-correct before burnout takes root. Early detection means early intervention, and early intervention means we can reclaim our energy, our boundaries, and our sense of purpose before they’re completely depleted. The power to prevent burnout begins with the simple, courageous act of paying attention.

“Just because you take breaks doesn’t mean you’re broken.”
― Curtis T. Jones

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, or on the edge of burnout, you need immediate support. The Road Map to Resilience: Burnout to Brilliance online course (with the option of adding coaching sessions) is designed for exactly that: a practical, step-by-step course to help you regain control, rebuild your energy, and find clarity in the chaos. This isn’t a quick fix—it’s about proven strategies to calm your nervous system, shift your mindset, and create sustainable resilience. No need to cope with this on your own—let’s get you back on track.

10/03/202315/10/2025

Body language affects how others see us, but it may also change how we see ourselves

The Secret Conversation You’re Having With Yourself

Ever notice how crossing your arms makes you feel more defensive, not just look it? Or how standing tall actually makes you braver? Turns out, body language isn’t just about signalling to others—it’s a direct hotline to your own brain. This article explores the fascinating two-way street between your posture and your psychology, complete with a cringe-worthy (then triumphant) story about a woman who discovered that changing how she stood literally changed her life. If you’ve ever wondered whether “fake it till you make it” has scientific backing, keep reading.

Five Key Takeaways

Your body language doesn’t just communicate outwardly—it fundamentally shapes your internal emotional state and self-perception.
Power poses and open postures can biochemically reduce stress hormones and increase confidence within minutes.
Closed, defensive body language creates a feedback loop that reinforces anxiety and self-doubt.
Conscious body language shifts during challenging moments can create immediate psychological transformation.
Practising intentional posture in safe environments (like storytelling circles or walking retreats) builds lasting confidence for real-world situations.

Introduction: The Body Knows Before the Mind Admits

Here’s something peculiar: your body is having a conversation with your brain, and you’re not invited.

Well, you are invited—you’re just not consciously listening. Whilst you’re busy thinking thoughts and making decisions and wondering whether you remembered to lock the door, your shoulders are hunched forward whispering to your amygdala, “Danger, danger, make yourself small.” Your clenched jaw is texting your nervous system: “Stay alert, trust nothing.” Your crossed arms are sending a memo to your confidence: “We’re not ready for this.”

And here’s the truly extraordinary bit: your brain believes every word.

We’ve long understood that body language affects how others perceive us—that standing tall communicates confidence, that eye contact builds trust, that open gestures invite connection. But the revelation that’s transforming how we understand human psychology is this: body language doesn’t just change how the world sees us; it fundamentally rewrites how we see ourselves.

Your posture isn’t merely a reflection of your emotional state. It’s an active participant in creating it.

This isn’t mystical thinking or positive-psychology fluff. It’s neuroscience. When you adopt a confident posture, your body produces less cortisol (the stress hormone) and more testosterone (associated with confidence and risk-taking). When you make yourself small, the opposite occurs. Your body language is literally changing your brain chemistry, which changes your thoughts, which changes your behaviour, which changes your life.

The question isn’t whether this happens. The question is: are you going to use this knowledge intentionally, or let your body continue having conversations behind your back?

Nadia’s Story: The Woman Who Couldn’t Look Up

The first time I met Nadia Lewis, she was apologising.

Not for anything specific—just a general, ambient apology that seemed to hover around her like midges on a summer evening. “Sorry, is this seat taken?” “Sorry, could I just squeeze past?” “Sorry, I’m probably in the wrong place.”

She’d joined our Camino de Santiago walking retreat near Eauze, and within the first hour, I’d counted seventeen unnecessary sorries. Her shoulders curved forward as though protecting something fragile. Her gaze rarely lifted above chest height. When she spoke, her voice emerged quietly, almost as if hoping not to be heard.

During our opening circle that evening, when I invited each guest to share what brought them to the Camino, Nadia’s hands twisted in her lap like wrung-out dishcloths. “I’m Nadia,” she said to the ground. “I’m here because I’m tired of being invisible.”

The irony, of course, was that her body language was a masterclass in making herself disappear.

On our first morning’s walk, I positioned myself beside her. The path stretched before us, golden with late sunlight, the air thick with the scent of wild thyme and warm earth. Other walkers chatted easily, their voices carrying across the fields, but Nadia walked as though treading on ice—careful, contracted, every muscle held tight.

“What do you notice about how you’re walking?” I asked.

She glanced at me, startled. “I… I don’t know. Normal?”

“Look at your hands.”

She did. They were clenched into fists, white-knuckled, as though preparing for impact.

“Now look at Sarah up ahead.”

Sarah, one of our returners, strode along with her arms swinging loosely, head up, practically conducting an orchestra with her enthusiasm for the landscape.

“I could never walk like that,” Nadia said immediately. “That’s just not who I am.”

“Or it’s not who you’ve been practising being,” I suggested.

Over the next few days, I watched Nadia wrestle with this idea. During our morning meditation sessions, I’d catch her peeking at how others sat—spines straight but relaxed, chins level, hands open on their knees. She’d try to mirror the posture, then within minutes fold back into her habitual hunch.

The breakthrough came on day four, during our storytelling circle.

For those unfamiliar with how we work, our storytelling circles are simple but profound: we sit in a circle (revolutionary, I know), and each person shares a story from their life—no workshopping, no critique, just witnessing and being witnessed. The only rule is that you must stand to tell your story.

When Nadia’s turn came, she stood reluctantly, eyes fixed on her feet. She began speaking about her mother, and how she’d learned early that taking up space was dangerous, that being noticed meant being criticised. Her voice was barely audible, her body curled inward like a fern frond.

Then something shifted.

Perhaps it was the safety of being truly heard without judgment. Perhaps it was the fourth day’s accumulated courage. Perhaps it was simply that her story demanded more breath than her constricted chest could provide. Whatever the catalyst, I watched her spine slowly lengthen. Her shoulders rolled back. Her chin lifted.

And her voice changed.

It wasn’t dramatic—she didn’t suddenly boom like a Shakespearean actor. But there was a clarity, a resonance that hadn’t been there before. She made eye contact with someone across the circle. Then another person. Her hands, which had been clutched together, opened and began to gesture, sketching her story in the air.

When she finished, there was a moment of profound silence—the kind that holds respect and recognition. Then the circle erupted in appreciation, and I saw Nadia’s face transform. Not with pride, exactly, but with a dawning wonder, as though she’d discovered she could fly and had simply never tried before.

Later that evening, she found me watching the sunset from the garden. “I felt different,” she said, sitting beside me. “When I stood up straighter, I felt… I felt like my story mattered more. Like I mattered more. Does that sound ridiculous?”

“Not remotely,” I said. “Your body was telling your brain a different story about who you are.”

She sat with that for a moment, then laughed—a real laugh, unguarded. “So I’ve been lying to my brain for forty-three years?”

“Not lying. Just telling it a very old, very outdated story.”

By the final day of the retreat, Nadia walked differently. Not with false bravado or forced confidence, but with something quieter and more sustainable: a sense of rightful presence. Her gaze met the horizon. Her stride had lengthened. When she spoke, there was no ambient apology, no preemptive shrinking.

At our closing circle, she stood to speak—really stood, grounded and open—and said simply: “I came here invisible. I’m leaving visible. Not to everyone else. To myself.”

I’ve stayed in touch with Nadia since that retreat. She tells me she now teaches an art class at her local community centre, something she’d dreamed about for years but never dared try. “I practise the posture every morning,” she wrote in a recent email. “I stand the way I stood when I told my story in your circle. And then I go teach. It sounds simple, but it’s changed everything.”

It does sound simple. That’s because it is.

And that’s precisely why it’s so powerful.

The Science Behind the Stance: Why Body Language Rewires Your Brain

The relationship between body language and self-perception isn’t metaphorical—it’s measurable, observable, and rooted in how our nervous system processes information.

Consider the work of social psychologist Amy Cuddy, whose research on “power posing” sparked both enthusiasm and controversy in the scientific community. While some aspects of her original findings have been debated, the core insight remains robust: adopting expansive, open postures—even for brief periods—correlates with reduced stress and increased feelings of power.

But why? How can simply changing your physical configuration change your mental state?

The answer lies in something called “proprioceptive feedback”—the constant stream of information your body sends to your brain about its position in space. Your brain uses this information not just to coordinate movement, but to assess your emotional state and your relationship to your environment.

When you adopt a closed, protective posture—shoulders hunched, arms crossed, gaze down—your brain interprets these signals as: “I’m in a threatening situation. I need to protect myself. I’m not safe.” It responds by triggering your stress response: cortisol rises, your thinking becomes more rigid and defensive, your perception narrows to focus on threats.

Conversely, when you adopt an open, expansive posture—shoulders back, chest open, head up—your brain receives different information: “I’m safe. I have space. I can engage with my environment.” The stress response diminishes, cognitive flexibility increases, and your perception broadens to notice opportunities rather than just threats.

This isn’t about positive thinking or visualisation. This is about your body literally telling your brain what to feel, and your brain listening.

The implications are profound, particularly for women. We’re often socialised from girlhood to make ourselves smaller—to sit with knees together, to not take up too much space, to soften our presence. These learned behaviours aren’t just social performance; they’re shaping our internal sense of self-worth and capability.

In my storytelling circles, I’ve watched this pattern play out many times. Women arrive practised in self-minimisation—crossing their legs tightly, tucking their elbows in, tilting their heads in perpetual listening mode. When invited to stand and share their stories, they initially maintain these protective patterns. But storytelling demands breath, and breath demands space, and space demands a body that’s open rather than closed.

As they speak—particularly when they speak about moments of strength or joy or righteous anger—their bodies naturally expand. Shoulders drop and widen. Chests lift. Gestures become broader. And you can see, in real-time, their relationship to their own narrative changing. The story they’re telling shifts from something that happened to them to something they survived, chose, or created.

This is embodied cognition at work: the recognition that our thinking doesn’t happen in isolation in our brains, but emerges from the dynamic interaction between our minds, bodies, and environments.

Your body isn’t a vehicle for your mind to get around in. Your body is part of your mind. And when you change one, you inevitably change the other.

Practical Applications: Rewiring Through Intentional Posture

Understanding the theory is one thing. Applying it in your daily life is where the magic happens—and where most people stumble.

The challenge isn’t complexity; it’s consistency. Changing habitual body language requires the same patient attention as changing any deeply ingrained pattern. Here’s how to begin:

Start with awareness, not correction. For one week, simply notice your default postures throughout the day. How do you sit at your desk? Stand in queues? Position yourself in meetings? Hold your body during difficult conversations? Notice without judgment—you’re gathering data, not criticising yourself.

Identify your “stress signature.” Everyone has characteristic ways their body responds to stress. Some people clench their jaws. Others raise their shoulders. Some collapse their chests or cross their arms. What’s your pattern? Once you can recognise it, you have the power to interrupt it.

Create “posture anchors.” Choose specific moments in your day to consciously check in with your body language. Perhaps every time you walk through a doorway, or before you send an email, or when you first wake up. These anchors help build new neural pathways without requiring constant vigilance.

Practise power postures in private. Before challenging situations—a difficult conversation, a presentation, a social event that intimidates you—spend two minutes in a private space adopting an expansive posture. Stand with your feet hip-width apart, hands on hips or raised in a V shape, chest open, chin level. It feels absurd. It also works.

Use breath as a bridge. Your breath is intimately connected to your posture. Shallow breathing reinforces stress; full breathing requires an open chest and relaxed shoulders. When you notice closed body language, don’t try to force your posture to change—simply take three deep breaths. Your body will naturally reorganise around the breath.

Seek environments that support openness. This is why walking retreats and storytelling circles are so powerful: they create safe containers where practising new ways of being doesn’t feel risky. You need spaces where you can experiment with confidence without fear of judgment or consequence.

The goal isn’t to maintain perfect posture every moment. The goal is to develop flexibility—to have access to open, confident body language when you need it, rather than being trapped in habitual patterns of self-protection that no longer serve you.

What Others Have Discovered

“I’d spent so long making myself small that I didn’t realise how much energy it took. On Dr Montagu’s retreat, during one of the meditation sessions, she invited us to simply sit with an open chest and relaxed shoulders. I felt this wave of emotion—almost grief—for all the years I’d held myself so tightly. By the end of the week, walking those beautiful Camino paths, I noticed I was taking up space without apologising for it. It sounds small, but it’s changed how I move through the world. I’m not invisible anymore, and that’s both terrifying and liberating.”
— Claire Thompson, Camino de Santiago Walking Retreat

“Joining the storytelling circle was the first time I’d travelled alone, and I was convinced everyone would see right through me—see how nervous I was, how I didn’t belong. But something about standing to tell my story, seeing other women’s faces really listening, not judging—it shifted something. Dr Montagu creates this space where you can be vulnerable without feeling weak. I went home and booked a solo trip to Iceland. My friends were shocked, but I wasn’t. I’d practised being brave in that circle, and my body remembered how.”
— Amara Singh, Storytelling Circle Member

Five Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Isn’t changing my body language just another form of “fake it till you make it,” which feels inauthentic?

Not quite. “Fake it till you make it” suggests pretending to be something you’re not. Shifting your body language is more like removing the costume you’ve been wearing—the protective slouch, the apologetic hunch—that was never really you in the first place. You’re not faking confidence; you’re removing the physical barriers to the confidence that’s already there. Authenticity isn’t about maintaining patterns that feel familiar. It’s about aligning your outer expression with your true capacity.

Q: I’ve had anxiety for years. Can simply standing differently really make a meaningful difference?

Body language work isn’t a replacement for therapy, medication, or other treatments for clinical anxiety. But it can be a powerful complementary tool. Anxiety often manifests in protective postures—hunched shoulders, shallow breathing, closed-off stances—that then signal danger back to your brain, creating a feedback loop. Interrupting that loop through intentional posture can help break the cycle. Think of it as one tool in your wellbeing toolkit, not a miracle cure.

Q: What if adopting confident body language makes me seem arrogant or aggressive?

This is a particular concern for women, who are often punished socially for displaying confidence. But there’s a vast territory between shrinking yourself and being overbearing. Confident body language doesn’t mean puffing yourself up or dominating space aggressively. It means standing with dignity, making appropriate eye contact, and allowing your body to occupy the space it naturally requires. If others perceive your basic self-respect as arrogance, that says more about their expectations than your behaviour.

Q: How long does it take to change ingrained body language patterns?

There’s no fixed timeline—some people notice shifts within days; others need months of consistent practice. The key is approaching it as a practice rather than a project with an end date. You’re not trying to achieve perfect posture and then maintain it forever. You’re developing awareness and flexibility, so you can choose how you hold yourself depending on the situation. The changes compound over time, and one day you’ll realise the open posture that once required conscious effort has become your new default.

Q: Can I practise this on my own, or do I need a group setting?

Both are valuable. Solo practice—checking in with your posture throughout the day, doing power poses before challenging moments—builds personal awareness and capability. But group settings like storytelling circles or walking retreats offer something irreplaceable: the experience of being witnessed in your new posture by others, and the safety of practising vulnerability in a supportive community. If possible, combine both: daily personal practice supplemented by periodic immersion in a group that supports your growth.

Conclusion: Stand In Your Story

Here’s the truth that no one tells you: the person you’re becoming has been waiting patiently inside the person you’ve been pretending to be.

Your body has been trying to tell you this for years, but you’ve been too busy apologising, shrinking, and making yourself smaller to hear it. Every time you hunched your shoulders, you were having a conversation with your brain: “I’m not important enough to take up space.” Every time you avoided eye contact, you were confirming: “I’m not worthy of being seen.”

And your brain, bless it, believed every word.

But here’s the equally important truth: you can start a different conversation. Right now. This moment.

Not by becoming someone else. Not by pretending or performing or achieving some impossible standard of confidence. Simply by standing as though you have the right to exist fully in your own skin—because you do.

The path to becoming yourself isn’t complicated. It doesn’t require years of therapy or radical life changes or waiting until you feel ready. It requires standing up straight and telling your brain a truer story about who you are.

Your body and your mind aren’t separate entities. They’re in constant dialogue, shaping each other, creating each other. When you change the conversation your body is having with your brain, you change everything.

So stand. Breathe. Take up the space you’ve been given. Not aggressively, not apologetically, but with the quiet certainty that you deserve to be here, fully present and fully yourself.

Your body has been waiting for permission. Consider this it.

Walk Your Way to Confidence: Camino de Santiago Retreat

Imagine walking ancient pilgrimage paths through the sun-soaked landscapes of south-west France, each step loosening the tension you’ve carried for years. Imagine sitting in circle with others who understand the exhaustion of making yourself small, sharing stories that matter in voices that grow stronger with each telling. Imagine discovering that confidence isn’t something you achieve—it’s something you already have, waiting to be uncovered beneath layers of learned self-protection.

My Camino de Santiago walking retreats near Eauze offer exactly this: a week of gentle walking, mindfulness meditation, and storytelling circles designed specifically for women ready to reconnect with their bodies and reclaim their presence. This isn’t boot camp or therapy or performance. It’s simply creating space—physical, emotional, and spiritual—for you to remember who you are when you’re not trying to be smaller.

Each day includes morning meditation to ground you in your body, walks through stunning countryside that invite you to breathe deeply and move freely, and evening storytelling circles where you practise being witnessed without judgment. The meditation and mindfulness exercises specifically target stress management, helping you recognise and release the physical patterns of anxiety and self-protection you’ve been carrying.

The retreat is limited to small groups, ensuring everyone receives personal attention and the intimacy necessary for real transformation. You’ll stay in comfortable accommodations, enjoy nourishing meals, and spend a week doing something radical: inhabiting your body as though you have the right to exist fully.

If you’re tired of apologising for taking up space, if you’re ready to stand in your own story, if you’re curious about what might emerge when you finally let your shoulders drop and your chest open, come walk with us.

Learn more and make a reservation

The Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat

Recommended TED talk – lasts 20 minutes

I got the idea for this post from this TED talk.

Wednesday was International Women’s Day – a celebration of the social, economic, cultural, and political achievements of women. The day also marks a call to action for accelerating women’s equality – and also, March is Women’s History Month.

In this month’s recommended TED talk, social psychologist Amy Cuddy argues that using body language, ex “power posing” -standing in a posture of confidence, even when we don’t feel confident – can make us feel more confident.

In the comments on Youtube, Maggie says “I watched this for one of my classes and sometimes, I admit, I only half pay attention to required videos but this one completely captivated me. When she told her personal story I literally started to cry because I used to be that girl she was describing.”

During myretreats, I show my guests how horses communicate with remarkable accuracy using posture, gesture and breath to express their needs, wishes and emotions to each other. By discovering how effectively horses can communicate using body language, we can become more aware of how we communicate using body language ourselves. This TED talk, with practical examples, will help you adjust your body language so that you can communicate more confidently, intensionally and accurately. Especially if you are a woman.

This TED talk is one of the most powerful that I have ever watched. Incidentally, it reflects the subject I address in my latest LinkedIn article: Fight/Flight or Connect/Encourage?

My Burnout to Breakthrough – A Road Map to Resilience Online Course is now accessible. Please go and have a look and tell anyone you may know who already suffers from burnout already or teetering on the edge, about it. I want to help as many people as possible with this, my first ever online course, while earning enough to keep the Friesian mares in the style they have come to expect!

I wanted to reach out and let you know how impressed I am with the Burnout to Breakthrough course you’ve created. It’s such an important topic, and I think the way you’ve approached it is really insightful and helpful. In particular, I appreciate how you’ve focused not just on the emotional and mental aspects of burnout, but also on the physical symptoms that can come along with it. I also wanted to tell you that I’ve learned so much from the course already. Your explanations of what burnout is and how it can happen were really eye-opening for me, and I’ve already started to recognise some of the signs of burnout in my own life. The strategies you’ve shared for preventing and managing burnout are also really practical and useful. I found the guided meditation particularly engaging. Overall, I just wanted to say a huge thank you for creating this course. I think it has the potential to help so many people, and I’m really excited to continue learning from it. Keep up the great work! D.S. 2023

17/02/202315/10/2025

Why Would You Go on a Wellness Retreat?

A Comprehensive Guide

People go on a wellness retreat to step away from their daily routines and create space for growth, healing, rest, or connection. In our constantly connected, fast-paced world, retreats offer a sanctuary where you can focus on specific aspects of your wellbeing, development, or interests without the usual distractions and demands of everyday life.

A Variety of Reasons

Yoga and Mindfulness Retreats

Yogis and those interested in deepening their yoga practice often choose yoga retreats as a way to immerse themselves fully in the discipline. These retreats typically feature daily yoga classes at various levels, guided meditation sessions, pranayama (breathing exercises), and workshops on yoga philosophy. Participants enjoy healthy, often vegetarian or plant-based meals that support their practice, along with ample time for relaxation and personal reflection. Many modern yoga retreats incorporate specialised practices like Yoga Nidra—a form of guided meditation that promotes deep relaxation. Yoga Nidra can be particularly transformative, helping clients achieve restful sleep from the very first night, which sets a foundation for deeper healing and practice throughout your stay.

Spiritual and Faith-Based Retreats

People of various faiths attend spiritual retreats to deepen their relationship with their beliefs and connect with a community of like-minded individuals. These retreats might be held at monasteries, convents, ashrams, or retreat centres affiliated with specific religious traditions. Activities typically include communal prayer or worship, scripture study, silent contemplation, and conversations with spiritual directors or teachers. Participants often seek clarity, renewal of their faith, or answers to spiritual questions they’re grappling with. The intentional separation from worldly concerns allows for a more profound focus on the sacred and transcendent aspects of life.

Transformational and Life-Transition Retreats

When people find themselves at crossroads—whether facing career changes, relationship transitions, midlife questions, or simply feeling stuck—transformational retreats offer a supportive container for change. These experiences are specifically designed to facilitate personal growth through a combination of self-reflection exercises, coaching or therapy sessions, group sharing, and sometimes challenging physical activities that push participants beyond their comfort zones. The retreat environment provides both the safety and the catalyst needed for you to examine your lives honestly, identify what needs to change, and develop concrete plans for moving forward. Many participants leave these retreats with renewed clarity about their purpose and direction.

Health and Wellness Retreats

Those seeking to improve their physical, mental, or emotional health often turn to wellness retreats. These comprehensive programs address wellbeing from multiple angles, incorporating activities such as meditation and mindfulness training, therapeutic massage and bodywork, nutritious meals designed to nourish and heal, various forms of exercise from gentle movement to more vigorous activities, and educational workshops on topics like stress management, sleep hygiene, or emotional regulation. Some wellness retreats specialise in specific areas such as weight loss, addiction recovery, or managing chronic conditions. The retreat setting removes participants from environments and habits that may be contributing to their health challenges, while providing new tools and perspectives they can bring home.

Creative and Artistic Retreats

Artists, writers, musicians, and other creative individuals often seek out creative retreats when they need dedicated time and space to focus on their work. These retreats provide a distraction-free environment, often in inspiring natural settings, where creatives can fully immerse themselves in their craft. Whether it’s a writing retreat where authors work on their novels, a painting retreat in a scenic location, or a music composition retreat, the key element is uninterrupted time for creative work. Many creative retreats also include workshops, critiques from peers or mentors, and opportunities to share work in progress. The combination of solitude for deep work and community for feedback and inspiration makes these retreats particularly valuable for artists looking to complete projects or breakthrough creative blocks.

Corporate and Team-Building Retreats

Companies send their employees on corporate retreats with the goal of strengthening team dynamics, developing leadership capabilities, and boosting overall productivity. Unlike typical work days, these retreats take employees out of the office environment and into settings that encourage fresh thinking and genuine connection. Activities might include team-building exercises and challenges, leadership development workshops, strategic planning sessions, outdoor adventures that require collaboration, and social activities that help colleagues see each other as whole people rather than just coworkers. When well-designed, corporate retreats can break down silos between departments, improve communication, address workplace conflicts, and reignite employees’ enthusiasm for their work and company mission.

Regardless of the specific type, all retreats share certain core elements: they provide a break from routine, create space for focused attention on what matters, offer a supportive or inspiring environment, and facilitate connection—whether with oneself, others, nature, creativity, or the divine. In essence, people go on retreats because they recognise the need to pause, reset, and intentionally invest in some aspect of their lives that deserves more attention than daily life typically allows.

The Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat

What Do Walking Retreats Have That Other Retreats May Lack?

My guests want to find solutions to their problems, and walking the Camino empowers them to do so, by offering an undisturbed and uninterrupted opportunity for:

Contemplation, Reflection, and Introspection in Motion

There’s something profoundly transformative about walking that sets it apart from sitting still. The rhythmic, repetitive nature of walking creates a meditative state that allows thoughts to flow more freely and insights to emerge organically. Walking retreats, like Camino experiences, encourage participants to become more self-aware and connect with their authentic selves as they move through the landscape. The physical act of walking forward becomes a powerful metaphor for moving forward in life, helping people gain clarity about their life direction and identify areas where they would like to grow and change.

Unlike the sometimes overwhelming intensity of sitting meditation, walking provides a gentle container for introspection. The body is occupied with movement, which paradoxically allows the mind to relax its usual grip and defences. Many participants find that answers to questions they’ve been struggling with simply arise during a walk, without the forced effort that often characterises our usual problem-solving attempts. The changing scenery provides fresh perspectives, both literally and metaphorically, helping people see their lives from new angles.

Community and Connection on the Path

Walking retreats offer a unique form of community building. There’s something about walking alongside others—sometimes in conversation, sometimes in companionable silence—that creates bonds difficult to forge in other settings. The shared experience of covering distance together, facing physical challenges, witnessing beautiful or difficult moments side by side, creates a deep sense of camaraderie.

Walking wellness retreats provide non-judgmental support from retreat leaders who walk with participants, available for guidance without the formality of scheduled sessions. This organic accessibility allows for conversations to unfold naturally when participants are ready. Additionally, participants gain access to a supportive community of like-minded individuals who are on similar journeys of personal growth and transformation. This creates a safe and nurturing environment where individuals can share their experiences, receive feedback, and gain support during evening gatherings or meals after the day’s walk.

Many people who meet during walking retreats form friendships that endure long after the retreat ends. Having walked through both literal and metaphorical terrain together creates a bond that transcends typical retreat connections. These ongoing relationships can lead to increased confidence, more supportive relationships, and a greater sense of purpose and direction in life, as friends continue to support each other’s growth journeys.

Mind-Body Reconnection Through Movement

Modern life often creates a disconnect between our minds and bodies—we spend hours at desks, in cars, or on screens, essentially living from the neck up. Walking retreats specifically address this disconnection by making the body an active participant in the transformational process. The simple act of walking—feeling your feet on the ground, your breath moving in and out, your muscles working—brings awareness back into the body in a way that seated practices alone cannot.

Transformational walking retreats often incorporate complementary practices that deepen this mind-body connection. For instance, equine-guided mindfulness exercises combine the awareness cultivated during walking with the powerful presence of horses, who are extraordinarily sensitive to human emotional states. These mindfulness practices have been shown to reduce stress, improve mood, and promote overall wellbeing. The physical demands of walking—while manageable for most fitness levels—also ensure that participants are truly embodied throughout their experience, not just intellectually engaged.

Processing Through Movement

Walking has a unique capacity to help people process difficult emotions and experiences. Trauma therapists have long recognised that bilateral movement (the alternating left-right pattern of walking) can help the brain process and integrate challenging material. People dealing with grief, major life transitions, or past trauma often find that walking retreats allow them to metabolise these experiences in a way that purely verbal or seated practices don’t facilitate. The forward momentum of walking can help people feel less stuck in their emotional patterns.

Digital Detox and Sensory Reawakening

Walking retreats, particularly those in nature, provide a much-needed break from screens and digital overwhelm. Without the constant ping of notifications, participants report that their senses become more acute—they notice the quality of light, hear birds they wouldn’t normally attend to, smell the earth after rain, feel the sun or wind on their skin. This sensory reawakening is both grounding and enlivening, reminding people of the rich, textured reality that exists beyond their devices. Many participants discover they’ve been living in a kind of sensory deprivation without realising it.

Pilgrimage and Sacred Purpose

For some, walking retreats connect to ancient traditions of pilgrimage—the idea of journeying to a sacred place or journeying for sacred purposes. Even for those without specific religious beliefs, there’s something inherently meaningful about undertaking a journey on foot. It feels significant in a way that arriving by car or plane doesn’t. The effort required, the time invested, and the embodied nature of the journey all contribute to a sense that this is more than just tourism—it’s a quest for something deeper. The Camino de Santiago and similar pilgrimage routes attract people from all spiritual backgrounds who are seeking meaning, answers, or transformation.

Simplification and Perspective

Walking retreats strip life down to essentials. You carry what you need, you walk, you eat, you rest, you repeat. This simplification helps participants recognise what truly matters and what’s merely noise in their regular lives. When your daily concerns are reduced to finding the next marker, staying hydrated, and taking care of your feet, the problems that seemed overwhelming at home often shrink to a manageable size. People frequently return from walking retreats with a clearer sense of priorities and a determination to simplify their lives.

Achievement and Empowerment

There’s profound satisfaction in completing a walking retreat, particularly one covering significant distance. Many participants choose walking retreats specifically because they want to prove something to themselves—that they’re capable of more than they believed, that they can persevere through difficulty, that their bodies are stronger than they realised. This sense of achievement often catalyses change in other areas of life. If you can walk the Camino, what else might you be capable of?

Natural Rhythms and Slower Living

Walking retreats operate at the pace of the human body, not the speed of technology or modern transportation. This enforced slowing down helps participants recalibrate their internal rhythms. They begin to notice when they’re truly hungry versus eating from habit, when they’re genuinely tired versus just bored, when they need solitude versus companionship. This attunement to natural rhythms and bodily wisdom is something many people have lost in their busy lives, and walking retreats provide an opportunity to recover it.

Integration and Lasting Change

The extended nature of most walking retreats—often a week or more—provides time for insights to deepen and integrate. Unlike a weekend workshop where revelations might fade by Tuesday, the daily practice of walking, reflecting, and connecting over an extended period allows new patterns to begin taking root. The physical memory of the journey—the ache in your muscles, the feeling of arrival each day—becomes anchored to the psychological and spiritual insights, making them more durable and accessible after returning home.

The Transformational Power of Walking Retreats

A transformational walking retreat represents a powerful tool for personal growth precisely because it engages the whole person—body, mind, emotions, and spirit. By creating a supportive environment, offering opportunities for personal development through both structured activities and unstructured walking time, and promoting mind-body connection through movement and complementary practices, these retreats help individuals gain new insights and perspectives that might remain inaccessible through other means.

The combination of physical challenge, natural beauty, supportive community, and dedicated time for reflection creates conditions uniquely suited to breakthrough and transformation. For many, a walking retreat becomes a pivotal experience they reference for years afterward—a time when they reconnected with themselves, discovered inner resources they didn’t know they possessed, and charted a new course for their lives.

A transformational retreat can be a powerful tool for personal growth. By creating a supportive environment, offering opportunities for personal development, and promoting mind-body connection, transformational retreats can help individuals gain new insights and perspectives.

Walking retreats have become increasingly popular as people discover the unique combination of physical movement, mental clarity, and spiritual connection that comes from putting one foot in front of the other with intention. Unlike stationary retreats, walking retreats harness the natural rhythm of walking to facilitate deeper transformation and insight.

If you need more immediate help, you can register for my «Survive The Storm Protocol»

What Life Lessons Can You Learn While Walking the Camino de Santiago? – a free guide filled with 10 not just “quaint anecdotes” or Instagram-worthy moments (though there are plenty of those) but real transformations from real people who walked this insight-giving trail – Subscribe to my monthly newsletter to Download the Guide

Research about the Benefits of Wellness Retreats

Substantial research shows wellness retreats offer a broad range of benefits, including improved physical and mental health, greater stress reduction, and lasting enhancements in well-being that often persist for weeks or months after participation.

Physical and Psychological Health Benefits

Multiple longitudinal and systematic studies indicate that residential wellness retreats can produce significant improvements in weight, blood pressure, sleep quality, and mood. For instance, a study of a one-week retreat found meaningful reductions in abdominal girth, weight, and both systolic and diastolic pressure, alongside improvements in psychological measures such as stress, depression, and sleep. These health benefits are observed across diverse populations, including those with chronic conditions like multiple sclerosis and cancer.

Cognitive and Emotional Well-Being

Retreats focusing on meditation and mindfulness yield enduring benefits in emotional regulation, attention, and cognitive function. Research reports sustained improvements in stress resiliency, reduced anxiety and depression, as well as enhancement in sustained attention and telomere length, which is linked to healthy ageing. These cognitive and emotional gains generally exceed those seen in traditional vacations.

Long-Term Impact and Lifestyle Change

Evidence suggests that the effects of wellness retreats are not limited to the duration of the experience; improvements in well-being, stress management, and symptom severity often persist for weeks or months post-retreat. Many retreat participants report lasting changes in health symptoms, daily mindfulness practice, and overall life satisfaction. Retreats serve as catalysts for behavioural change by offering opportunities for reflection, skill-building, and deep rest, setting the stage for healthier habits once home.

Nature-Based and Holistic Approaches

Nature-based wellness retreats, specifically, have been shown to significantly lower stress levels, blood pressure, and improve mood, attributed to time spent in natural environments and participation in structured, enjoyable activities. The holistic approach of wellness retreats, which combines healthy eating, physical activity, therapies, and relaxation, underpins their uniquely transformative effect.

Evidence-Based Therapies and Preventive Health

Many wellness retreats now integrate evidence-based therapies such as cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT), personalised treatment plans, and mindfulness-based interventions, further boosting outcomes related to both mental and physical health. Improvements are found in inflammatory and metabolic markers, immune function, and chronic stress management, suggesting a role for retreats in preventive healthcare.

Research Limitations

While the evidence base is growing, researchers note a need for further studies involving larger populations, objective biomarkers, and economic impact assessments, to fully understand the mechanisms and value proposition of wellness retreats for healthcare practitioners and insurers.

References

Naidoo D et al. (2018) “The health impact of residential retreats: a systematic review” BMC Complement Altern Med. 2018 Jan 10;18(1):8.
Giridharan S et al. (2024) “Residential Meditation Retreats: A Promise of Sustainable Wellness” Cureus. 2024 Nov 9;16(11):e73326.

05/02/202303/05/2026

Burnout Destroys Creativity

Recommended TED-talk of the Month duration 5 minutes

Early this morning, when I should have been getting out of bed to go and feed the horses, the -3°C reading on the thermometer and crackling frost on the fields was so discouraging that I resisted my coffee cravings to watch one more TED talk: Rahaf Harfoush’s talk “Burnout makes us less creative. “

I am in the process of creating an online course called Burnout to Breakthrough/Road Map to Resilience, so I read everything I can lay my hands on about “burnout.” I actually hadn’t thought about the effect that burnout has on our creativity, but I should have because the more creative we are, the greater our ability to problem-solve. I reflected on my own experience and realised just how detrimental an effect burnout has on my own creativity – when I am stressed, I write to reduce stress, but burnout gives me complete writer’s block.

I thought I would share this talk with you here. It’s excellent, if you have 5 minutes, I recommend you watch it. Twice, if you have time, it makes so much sense. According to Rahaf Harfoush, a digital anthropologist (that sounds like an amazing job,) “Our obsession with productivity — to-do lists, life hacks, morning routines — is making us less productive. We need to redesign our workday around creativity – not just efficiency. She says the average American takes only half of their allocated leave…

Burnout Inhibits Creativity: When Your Inner Fire Burns Out, So Does Your Spark

Burnout doesn’t just make you tired—it murders your creativity, strangles your innovation, and leaves you staring at blank pages, wondering where your brilliance went. As a medical doctor who’s been there, survived it, and now guides others through it on Camino retreats, I’m sharing why your brain stops producing when you’re running on fumes, and more importantly, how to get your creative mojo back. If you’ve ever felt like a shell of your former imaginative self, keep reading.

5 Key Takeaways

Burnout literally rewires your brain’s creative centres: Chronic stress shrinks the prefrontal cortex (your innovation hub) whilst enlarging the amygdala (your fear centre). You’re not lazy—you’re neurologically compromised.
Rest isn’t optional; it’s the prerequisite for creativity: Your best ideas don’t come from pushing harder—they emerge in the spaces between effort. Walking, silence, and doing “nothing” are actually doing everything.
Storytelling rewires burnt-out brains: Sharing narratives in safe circles activates different neural pathways than analytical thinking, offering your exhausted executive functions a genuine break whilst reconnecting you to meaning.
Physical movement unlocks mental movement: Rhythmic walking (especially pilgrimage-style) synchronises both brain hemispheres, creating the conditions where creative insights spontaneously arise.
Community heals what isolation destroyed: Burnout thrives in loneliness. Creativity flourishes in connection. You cannot think your way out of burnout—you must walk, talk, and feel your way through it with others.

Introduction: Empty is Expensive

Burnout doesn’t just steal your energy. It pickpockets your imagination, burgles your curiosity, and leaves you holding an empty bag where your creativity used to live.

I know because I’ve lived it. As a medical doctor, I spent years believing that exhaustion was simply the price of excellence, that running on empty was a badge of honour, and that my worth was measured in productivity. Then one morning, I sat down to write a simple patient letter and couldn’t find the words. Not medical jargon—I had plenty of that. But the connecting tissue, the creative phrasing, the human touch that makes medicine an art as much as a science? Gone.

That’s when I realised: burnout doesn’t just dim your light. It fundamentally alters how your brain processes possibility itself.

The relationship between burnout and creativity isn’t just correlation—it’s causation. When your nervous system is perpetually flooded with cortisol, when your prefrontal cortex is starved of resources because your amygdala is screaming danger signals, when every ounce of cognitive energy is devoted to simply surviving the next email, the next meeting, the next demand… there’s nothing left for imagination.

Creativity requires spaciousness. Burnout is the ultimate space invader.

But here’s the good news I discovered walking the Camino de Santiago: creativity isn’t dead. It’s dormant. And with the right conditions—movement, community, story, and rest—it comes roaring back to life.

Tina’s Story: The Marketing Director Who Lost Her Spark

Tina Pyper arrived at a Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat carrying a leather portfolio she never opened and a smartphone she checked every seven minutes. Her fingers twitched constantly, as though typing invisible emails on invisible keyboards. When I asked what brought her to the Camino, she laughed—a brittle, humourless sound like ice cracking.

“I used to be brilliant,” she said, staring at the limestone path stretching ahead. “Now I’m just… functional.”

Tina had spent fifteen years building her reputation as the creative director everyone wanted on their team. The woman who could walk into a room and spin three campaign concepts before coffee arrived. Who dreamed in metaphors and saw connections nobody else noticed. Who made clients weep with the beauty of her brand stories.

Then came the promotion. More responsibility, more budget, more visibility. And with it, more meetings, more stakeholders, more nights working until 2 AM because someone in New York had “just one quick question.” More mornings waking with her heart already racing, mentally triaging the day’s disasters before her feet touched the floor.

The first sign was small: she stopped noticing things. The way autumn light slanted through her office window. The smell of rain on hot pavement. The particular green of new leaves in spring. Details that used to spark ideas now barely registered. Her world had narrowed to screens and deadlines.

Then the ideas stopped coming. She’d sit in brainstorming sessions, her team looking at her expectantly, and find… nothing. Just a vast, echoing blankness where her imagination used to live. She’d panic, reach for old formulas, and regurgitate what worked last year. Nobody complained—her execution was still flawless. But Tina knew. The magic was gone.

“I felt like a fraud,” she told me on our second day walking, her voice barely audible above the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. “Like everyone would eventually realise I was empty inside. Just going through the motions.”

On the third morning, during our storytelling circle, I asked each person to share a childhood memory—nothing work-related, no lessons, just pure recollection. The group sat in the dappled shade of an ancient oak, and when Tina’s turn came, she hesitated so long I thought she might refuse.

Then she began: “I was seven. My grandmother had this garden…”

Her voice changed as she spoke—softened, warmed, came alive. She described the weight of tomatoes in her small palms, sun-warm and heavy. The sharp, green smell of tomato leaves that stuck to her fingers. Her grandmother’s soil-stained hands guiding hers, teaching her to pinch off suckers. The taste of cherry tomatoes eaten straight from the vine, still hot from the sun, bursting sweet and acid on her tongue.

As she spoke, I watched the others lean forward. Watched their faces soften. And I watched something shift in Tina’s eyes—a light flickering back on after a long darkness.

“I’d forgotten,” she whispered when she finished. “I’d completely forgotten how that felt. How alive everything was.”

That evening, she borrowed paper from my notebook. Not to make lists or plans—she’d been doing that compulsively since arrival—but to write. Just to see what came. She sat on a stone wall overlooking the valley as the sun set, and her hand moved across the page in a way I recognised: the unselfconscious flow of someone reconnecting with a lost part of themselves.

Later, in our final storytelling circle, she shared what she’d written: a piece about gardens and grandmothers and the particular quality of light through tomato leaves. It wasn’t marketing copy. It wasn’t strategic or targeted or optimised for anything. It was simply beautiful. Several people cried.

“I thought creativity was something I did,” Tina said, her eyes bright with tears and laughter both. “But it’s something I am. I just needed to remember how to be quiet enough to hear it again.”

She left the retreat with her portfolio still unopened and her phone notifications permanently silenced. Six months later, she sent me a message: she’d taken a sabbatical, was consulting part-time, and had started writing again—not for clients, but for herself. “The ideas are back,” she wrote. “Better than before. Because I’m back.”

In my storytelling circles, I’ve witnessed this resurrection countless times. When we create space for people to share without agenda, without performance, without the pressure to be productive—something fundamental shifts. The stories we tell reconnect us to the stories we’re living. And in that reconnection, creativity doesn’t just return. It transforms.

The Neuroscience of Burnout and Creativity: Why Your Brain Can’t Do Both

Let’s talk about what’s actually happening in your brain when burnout and creativity collide. This isn’t woolliness—it’s biology.

Your prefrontal cortex, the sophisticated CEO of your brain, handles executive functions: planning, problem-solving, and creative thinking. It’s where innovation lives, where you make unexpected connections, where your best ideas emerge. But here’s the catch: it’s an energy hog. When resources are scarce, your brain has to make choices.

Enter burnout. Chronic stress floods your system with cortisol, triggering your amygdala—your brain’s alarm system—into overdrive. Your amygdala doesn’t care about your brilliant marketing campaign or your novel’s plot twist. It cares about survival. And when it’s screaming “danger!” your brain diverts resources away from that expensive prefrontal cortex and towards immediate threat response.

Studies using brain imaging have shown that chronic stress literally shrinks the prefrontal cortex whilst enlarging the amygdala. You’re not imagining it—your creative capacity is being structurally diminished.

But there’s more. Creativity requires what neuroscientists call the “default mode network”—the mental state you enter when you’re not focused on external tasks. It’s the wandering mind, the daydreaming state, the shower-thoughts phenomenon. This is where your brain makes those unexpected connections that feel like genius.

Burnout kills the default mode network. When you’re in constant fight-or-flight, your brain never gets to wander. You’re always on task, always vigilant, always scanning for the next threat (email, deadline, criticism). There’s no mental space for the mind to meander, to play, to stumble upon something new.

This is why forcing creativity when you’re burnt out is like trying to grow tomatoes in concrete. It’s not about willpower or discipline. Your brain literally lacks the conditions necessary for creative thought to emerge.

The Creativity-Burnout Cycle

Here’s where it gets particularly cruel: for many professionals—entrepreneurs, leaders, creatives—your creativity is your livelihood. Losing it isn’t just personally devastating; it’s professionally catastrophic. So what do you do? You work harder. You push more. You try to force the ideas to come.

Which, of course, worsens the burnout. Which further inhibits creativity. Which increases panic. Which drives you to work harder still.

I see this cycle constantly in the corporate professionals and entrepreneurs who come to my retreats. They arrive believing they need to “fix” themselves quickly so they can get back to producing. They’re treating their burnout like a software glitch—reboot and resume.

But burnout isn’t a glitch. It’s a message. Your nervous system is essentially staging an intervention, saying: “We cannot continue like this.”

Why Rest Isn’t Enough (But It’s Essential)

“Just rest” sounds simple. And yes, sleep matters enormously—the glymphatic system that clears metabolic waste from your brain works primarily during deep sleep. But here’s what I’ve learned both personally and professionally: passive rest alone doesn’t restore creativity.

You need active recovery. You need experiences that engage your senses, that connect you to something beyond your inbox, that remind your nervous system what safety and pleasure feel like.

This is where walking comes in. Rhythmic bilateral movement—the left-right, left-right of walking—has been shown to integrate both brain hemispheres and reduce amygdala activation. There’s a reason so many philosophers and writers throughout history were dedicated walkers. The physical rhythm creates a mental rhythm. Ideas don’t come from thinking harder; they emerge from the steady pace of feet on earth.

Pilgrimage-style walking—walking with intention but without rigid destination—adds another layer. You’re moving, but you’re not rushing. You’re going somewhere, but you’re fully present to where you are. This paradox is precisely what burnt-out brains need: forward momentum without pressure, purpose without performance.

The Power of Sensory Awakening

Remember Tina’s tomatoes? That wasn’t nostalgia—it was neurological rehabilitation.

Burnout narrows our sensory aperture. We stop noticing. Everything becomes instrumental—this thing to get through to reach that thing. Food becomes fuel. Walks become transportation. Conversations become transactions.

Creativity requires the opposite: a wide-open sensory engagement with the world. When you truly taste your food, feel the sun on your skin, smell the particular scent of pine after rain—you’re not just being mindful. You’re giving your prefrontal cortex novel sensory data to play with. You’re reminding your brain that the world is full of interesting inputs worth paying attention to.

In our Camino retreats, I watch this awakening happen gradually. Day one, people barely notice their surroundings—they’re too busy managing their anxiety about being away from work. By day three, someone stops the group to point out a spider’s web jewelled with dew. By day five, we’re pausing to taste wild blackberries, to press our palms against sun-warmed stone, to listen to the specific quality of birdsong at dusk.

This isn’t frivolous. This is medicine. You’re retraining your nervous system to perceive abundance instead of scarcity, wonder instead of threat. And from that shifted state, creativity doesn’t have to be forced. It simply bubbles up, natural as breathing.

Storytelling Circles: The Unexpected Antidote

One of the most powerful tools I’ve discovered for healing burnout and restoring creativity is also one of the oldest: storytelling in community.

In my storytelling circles, there’s no agenda. No workshopping. No critique. Just humans sharing stories and other humans listening intently. It’s deceptively simple. And profoundly transformative.

Here’s why it works: storytelling engages completely different neural pathways than the analytical, problem-solving thinking that dominates most professional environments. When you tell a story, you’re not in your prefrontal cortex trying to optimise and strategise. You’re in a more embodied, emotional, intuitive space.

Moreover, storytelling is fundamentally creative. Even if you’re sharing something that “really happened,” you’re making creative choices: where to begin, which details matter, how to convey emotion, what the story means. You’re exercising your creativity without the pressure of it having to be “useful.”

And here’s the magic: when you tell your story and someone truly listens—not to respond, not to fix, but simply to receive—something in you relaxes. You remember that you matter beyond your productivity. That your experiences have value beyond their professional utility. That you are interesting simply because you are human.

For women especially—and I see this repeatedly in my circles—this permission to take up space, to be heard without having to prove value, to share without apologising, is revolutionary. So many professional women have internalised the message that their worth equals their output. Storytelling circles disrupt that equation.

One member of my circles, Sarah, shared this insight: “For the first time in years, I experienced something without immediately thinking about how to monetise it or what it could teach me. I just… experienced it. And then I shared it. And people cared. Not because it was useful. Because it was true.”

That shift—from instrumental to intrinsic, from performing to being—is where creativity lives.

Your Body Keeps the Score

There’s a reason burnout recovery requires physical intervention, not just cognitive reframing. Your body has kept meticulous records of every threat, every stressor, every time you overrode your needs for productivity. Those records are stored in your nervous system, your muscles, your fascia.

You cannot think your way out of burnout because burnout isn’t just a thought problem. It’s a whole-body experience of depletion and dysregulation.

This is why our Camino retreats combine walking with mindfulness and meditation practices specifically designed for stress management. We’re not trying to relax your mind whilst your body remains clenched. We’re helping your entire nervous system recalibrate.

The walking provides bilateral stimulation and rhythmic regulation. The mindfulness practices teach interoception—the ability to notice and interpret bodily signals. The meditation cultivates the parasympathetic “rest and digest” response. Together, they create the conditions for genuine recovery.

And here’s what happens when your nervous system finally feels safe: creativity returns. Not as something you have to chase, but as something that simply emerges. Ideas arise on the walk. Insights appear during meditation. Connections spark in conversation.

Because creativity was never gone. It was just waiting for you to come home to yourself.

Real Voices: Testimonials from the Path

From a First-Time Camino Walker

“I came to Dr Montagu’s Crossroads Retreat in pieces. I’d spent three years building my startup, convinced that burnout was just weakness I needed to push through. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an original idea—I was just recycling the same strategies, hoping something would stick. The concept that I needed to stop working to start creating again felt dangerous, even irresponsible.

Walking the Camino changed everything. Not instantly—I spent the first two days mentally composing emails I couldn’t send. But something about the rhythm of walking, the mindfulness practices, the complete absence of wifi and demands… my brain finally exhaled. By day four, I was noticing things: bird patterns, stone walls, the way light moved through leaves. By day six, I was having ideas again. Not forced, not strained. They just… appeared.

The mindfulness and meditation exercises Dr Montagu taught us weren’t fluffy nonsense—they were practical tools for regulating my nervous system. And the storytelling circles showed me that I’d become so focused on strategic messaging I’d forgotten how to simply share a human experience. I left with more than rest. I left with a completely different relationship to my work, my creativity, and my worth as a human beyond what I produce.

Six months later, I’m still walking every morning. My business is thriving—not because I’m working harder, but because I’m finally creative again.” — Emma R., Tech Entrepreneur

From a Storytelling Circle Member

“Joining Dr Montagu’s storytelling circle was terrifying. I’d never travelled alone before, never put myself in a space where I had to speak without a professional reason. As a corporate consultant, I was used to having all the answers, being the expert in the room. The idea of just… sharing a personal story with strangers? Vulnerable doesn’t begin to describe it.

But that vulnerability was exactly what I needed. In the circle, nobody wanted my expertise. They just wanted me. My actual experiences, my real reactions, my honest struggles. For the first time in my professional life, I wasn’t performing. I was just being.

What surprised me was how this transformed my confidence about travelling alone. When you’ve sat in a circle and shared something true and been met with genuine attention and care—not judgement, not critique, just presence—something shifts. You realise you’re not as fragile as you thought. That connection is possible even with strangers. That you have intrinsic worth beyond your utility.

Now I travel alone regularly. And I’ve started writing again—not reports, but actual creative writing. The circle didn’t just help me overcome travel anxiety. It helped me remember I’m more than my job title. That the stories I have to tell matter simply because they’re mine.” — Patricia L., Strategy Consultant

FAQs: Your Burning Questions Answered

Q: Can’t I just take a holiday and recover from burnout that way?

No, and here’s why: burnout isn’t simple exhaustion that resets with time off. It’s a profound dysregulation of your nervous system that requires active intervention. A typical holiday—especially one where you’re still checking emails, planning the itinerary, managing logistics—keeps you in the same hypervigilant state. Recovery requires experiences that fundamentally shift your nervous system from sympathetic (fight-or-flight) to parasympathetic (rest-and-digest) activation. The combination of pilgrimage-style walking, mindfulness practices, storytelling, and genuine disconnection creates conditions a beach holiday simply cannot.

Q: How do I know if I’m burnt out or just tired?

Fatigue responds to rest. Burnout doesn’t. If you’re burnt out, you’ll notice: emotional exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, cynicism or detachment from work you once cared about, reduced sense of accomplishment despite working harder, inability to concentrate or create, physical symptoms like insomnia or tension, and feeling trapped with no way out. Most tellingly, if creative tasks that used to energise you now feel impossible, you’re likely beyond simple tiredness into genuine burnout territory.

Q: I can’t afford to take time off work. What then?

I understand this fear intimately—I felt it myself as a doctor. But here’s the harder truth: if you don’t take time off to recover now, burnout will eventually take the choice away from you through illness, breakdown, or such profound performance decline you’re forced to stop. Burnout is expensive—to your health, your relationships, your career longevity, and yes, your creativity. The question isn’t whether you can afford time off; it’s whether you can afford not to recover. Even a long weekend retreat can provide the reset that prevents months of dysfunction.

Q: Does walking really make that much difference to creativity?

Yes, and the research backs this up. Stanford University studies found that walking increases creative output by an average of 60%. The bilateral movement synchronises both brain hemispheres, reduces amygdala activation, and allows the default mode network to engage—precisely the conditions creativity requires. But not all walking is equal: walking in nature, at a comfortable pace, without screens or podcasts, provides maximum benefit. The Camino’s pilgrimage context adds another dimension: you’re walking with intention but without the pressure of productivity, which is exactly the paradox burnt-out brains need.

Q: I’m not naturally creative. Is this still relevant to me?

Absolutely. Creativity isn’t just for artists—it’s fundamental to problem-solving, strategic thinking, relationship-building, and finding meaning in your life. If you’re an entrepreneur, you need creativity to innovate and adapt. If you’re a leader, you need it to inspire and navigate complexity. And as a human, you need it to craft a life worth living. Burnout steals creativity from everyone, regardless of job title. And everyone, regardless of profession, deserves to get it back.

Conclusion: The Fire You Tend, Not the One You Smother

Burnout doesn’t just inhibit creativity—it fundamentally severs your connection to the part of yourself that imagines, innovates, and dreams. But here’s what I’ve learned from walking hundreds of kilometres on the Camino, from sharing stories in circles, from guiding others through recovery, and from my own journey back from the edge: creativity isn’t something you lost. It’s something that’s been waiting, patiently, for you to create the conditions where it can return.

You cannot force creativity any more than you can force a seed to grow by shouting at it. But you can tend the soil. You can provide water, sunlight, and space. You can remove the rocks choking its roots. You can wait, with faith, for the green shoots to emerge.

That’s what genuine recovery from burnout looks like: not a quick fix, but a fundamental reorientation towards what makes you human. Rest, yes. But also movement. Connection. Story. Sensation. Beauty. The permission to exist beyond your productivity.

Your creativity isn’t gone. It’s dormant. And winter, as any gardener knows, is not death—it’s preparation for spring.

The fire that creates, that imagines, that makes meaning from chaos? It’s still in you. It’s just waiting for you to stop adding fuel to the wrong flames—the flames of pressure, perfectionism, and endless productivity—and instead tend the quiet ember of your essential self.

That ember is enough. Given the right conditions, it will become a blaze again.

But first, you must stop. You must walk. You must remember. You must come home to yourself.

And then? Then the creating thing happens on its own.

Begin Your Journey Back to Yourself

If these words resonated in your chest like a bell that’s been silent too long, perhaps it’s time to consider something radical: actually stopping.

Not collapsing. Not failing. Stopping with intention.

My Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreats in the beautiful south-west of France aren’t your typical hiking holidays. They’re carefully designed recovery experiences for burnt-out professionals and entrepreneurs who’ve forgotten they’re human beings, not human doings.

Picture this: walking ancient pilgrimage paths through landscapes that have witnessed countless journeys of transformation. Not the full Camino—these are carefully curated sections chosen for their beauty, significance, and capacity to restore. The rolling hills of Gers, the medieval villages where time moves differently, the paths through oak forests where the only sound is your footsteps and birdsong.

Each day combines mindful walking with meditation and mindfulness practices specifically designed for stress management—not the kind that feels like another task on your to-do list, but embodied practices that help your nervous system remember what safety feels like. We move slowly enough to actually notice things: the quality of light, the scent of wild herbs, the feeling of your feet on earth.

In our evening storytelling circles, you’ll discover what happens when you share your experience without having to prove anything, fix anything, or turn it into a professional development opportunity. Just stories. Just listening. Just the profound recognition that your life—exactly as it is, with all its contradictions and complexities—matters.

These retreats are small by design. Intimate enough that you’re genuinely seen, large enough that you’re not carrying the social weight of one-on-one intensity. You’ll walk with others who understand what it means to have given everything to your work and found yourself empty. And you’ll discover that you’re not alone in this—not in the struggle, and not in the journey back.

The south-west of France offers spaciousness. The villages are quiet. The paths are uncrowded. The pace of life itself is different here—slower, richer, more sensual. The food is extraordinary (because recovery also requires pleasure). The sunlight has a particular golden quality that makes everything feel like a painting.

But more than the location or the practices, what makes these retreats transformative is this: they’re led by someone who’s been where you are. I understand the particular exhaustion of high-functioning professionals. I know what it’s like to believe rest is weakness and pushing through is strength. I’ve experienced firsthand what happens when your body finally forces you to stop. And I’ve found my way back—not to who I was before, but to someone more whole, more creative, more alive.

You don’t need to walk the full Camino to experience transformation. You just need to begin. To take a few days away from the noise and remember what your own voice sounds like. To walk without destination and discover that you have everything you need already within you.

Your stories matter.

The Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat

25/04/202123/01/2026

Mindful Travel: Making the most of your next Travel Opportunity

Exploring nature with a mindful travel approach.

Sitting at home, during the pandemic, thinking of all the places I wish I could travel to, I amuse myself by making lists of the places I would like to visit, as soon as it is possible again.

I think about mindful travelling rather a lot (no doubt because I desperately yearn to escape the lockdown.) My dearest wish is to go to the beach, only 90 minutes from here, and watch the sun go down over the sea.

Whenever I get the chance to go to the beach again, I intend to make the most of the experience by travelling mindfully, a subject that I find myself blogging about frequently since the pandemic started.

What is Mindful Travel?

Mindful travel is the practice of being fully present and intentional while journeying, focusing on appreciating each moment, engaging deeply with one’s surroundings, and cultivating awareness of the impact on both self and environment. It involves slowing down, observing details with curiosity, feeling gratitude for experiences, and making choices that promote sustainable and respectful interactions with local cultures and ecosystems.

Mindful travel means paying attention to the present moment during travel, noticing sights, sounds, flavours, and sensations without judgment or distraction.

It encourages reflection, self-discovery, and learning by immersing in the local culture and landscape rather than rushing through itineraries or seeking constant entertainment.

Mindful travel often emphasises actions that are purposeful, such as sustainable choices, supporting local communities, and respecting traditions and the environment.

Update at the end of 2025

How we missed travelling during those long, quiet months of the pandemic. The hum of airports, the clink of coffee cups in little cafés, the thrill of waking up somewhere unfamiliar—all suddenly replaced by stillness and the same four walls. We missed the feeling of possibility that lives inside a packed bag, the way new landscapes stretch the mind and soften the heart. More than anything, we missed the way travel makes us feel alive—curious, open, and connected. When the world paused, we realised that it wasn’t just about seeing new places—it was about rediscovering parts of ourselves that only awaken when we step beyond the known.

Now that we can travel again, every journey feels like a gift we no longer take for granted. The simple act of stepping onto a train, breathing in the air of a new place, or sharing a smile with a stranger feels almost sacred. We travel more slowly now, more mindfully—lingering longer, listening deeper, savouring the quiet moments between destinations. It’s not about collecting stamps in a passport anymore; it’s about collecting moments that make us feel whole. Each trip reminds us how resilient and wonder-filled the world truly is—and how, in finding new paths, we often find our way back to ourselves.

How I am going to make the most of my first chance to travel again:

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1) I will plan my trip carefully – I have nothing against leaving for unexplored shore at the drop of a hat, but since I have loads of time, I will research my destination in detail, to find out more about the people who live there and to get a feeling for the geography of the place so that I will lose less time getting my bearings. A quick Google search will reveal the destination’s top attractions and its must-sees. From these I will choose one or two, to visit in-depth, and I will research these in detail.

2) To get a feeling for the place I want to travel to, I will read some books and blog posts, watch a couple of documentaries and even, if I have time, a few films set in the region which will strengthen my connection with the people living there, and give me a deeper appreciation of their culture. A few words of the local language will come in handy too.

3) To make the most of the experience, I will decide beforehand what I want to get from my trip. I know myself. Going to all the big tourist attractions just for a photo opportunity is not my thing. I love sitting at a café with a coffee in front of me and watching the world go by. I love talking to people about what is important to them, whether they are locals or fellow travellers. I love exploring vintage markets and shops. I love running, early in the morning, through a sleeping city, or on a deserted beach. So I will plan my trip to ensure that I can do as many of these things as possible.

4) I will make the trip there part of my travel experience. I will choose travel options less damaging to the environment when possible, by taking the train instead of a plane, for example, and use local communal transport once I get there. Whenever I can, I’ll walk – it’s good exercise and gives me time to take in the sights. I will aim to stay off the beaten path so that I will experience the emotions that travel is meant to be about: discovering, exploring and navigating unknown territory. I would like to visit less famous sites and support those communities that need it more.

5) If at all possible, I choose to travel in the off-season when there are fewer people about because the other thing I love is to wander aimlessly, on foot, and explore the place I am visiting in my own time. What greater travel luxury is there than that? Staying in an impersonal hotel occasionally appeals to me when I am looking for anonymity, but I by far prefer to stay in a local guesthouse, where I can talk to the owners about their region and maybe even make a new friend or two. They will also be able to direct me to interesting (to me) local events, festivals and concerts. Getting involved in local activities will enable me to connect with the local community, learn from its people and make my trip unique and unforgettable.

6) I rarely buy souvenirs. I prefer to buy something that I will use once I get home. If I do buy something, it will be from a local producer or artist. Instead of buying several small things, I will often buy one item, even if it is a bit more expensive, and if possible, chat to the person who made/produced it. If it is a vintage item, I will want to know its origin. I want to support the local producers and artisans and they can only survive if we put our money where our values are.

7) I will keep a travel journal. This is something I so far have not been able to do. I might start a travel journal with good intentions, but I get so involved in my experiences that I have soon forgotten this noble intention of mine. It’s difficult enough for me to remember to take a couple of pictures. Travelling, while being fully present has got a lot going for it, but now, on the other side of 50, I feel the need to commemorate my travel experiences so that I can fondly look back on them during any future lockdowns. Making a few notes each day also allows me to process the experience, so I think putting aside 30 minutes every morning to remember and reflect on the previous day’s events would be of great benefit and might even give me a few surprising insights about myself.

8) As I mentioned, remembering to take pictures does not come naturally to me, but I do tend to waste time on my phone. Won’t be doing that next time I travel. I might take a couple of pictures, less so of the places I visit than of the people I meet, but otherwise, my phone will rest undisturbed in my rucksack until I get back to my lodgings in the evenings. I am going to aim for a digital detox, on my next holiday. Texts and e-mails will have to wait till the next morning when I usually answer them at home because I tend to stick to certain of my routines while travelling. Having said that, sharing my travelling experiences with the people I care about greatly enriches travelling for me, so I will get up a bit earlier every day to connect to friends and family. And to Facebook. And Pinterest, probably, for last-minute research. And I’ll post a couple of photos on Instagram. But that will be all. So if you need me urgently while I’m travelling, phone me and leave a message if I don’t answer.

9) While travelling back, I will make time to reflect on what I have learned about the places I visited and the people I met, as well as what I discovered about myself. I will adjust the way I do things accordingly. Maybe I took a watercolour painting class and discovered a hidden talent, so I’ll look around for lessons where I live. Maybe I discovered I like a dish that I never thought I would like, or I made a friend that I want to stay in contact with or I made a travelling mistake that I never intend to make again. All these valuable lessons I will consciously incorporate into my life once back home.

These will be my guidelines, whenever I get the opportunity to travel again. I call them mindful guidelines, not rules because I want to remain flexible while travelling so that I can focus on the experience, rather than the objectives I have created for myself.

Choosing to come to one of my retreats here in the south of France would be a great idea if you would like to put your own guidelines of making the most of your next travel opportunity into practice.

The Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat

Mindful Travel FAQs

1. What is mindful travel?

Mindful travel is the practice of being fully present and intentional during your journeys. It means travelling with awareness, respect for local cultures and environments, and a focus on meaningful experiences rather than just ticking off tourist attractions. Mindful travelers pay attention to their impact on destinations, engage deeply with local communities, and approach travel as an opportunity for personal growth and connection.

2. How is mindful travel different from regular tourism?

While traditional tourism often emphasises seeing as many sights as possible in a short time, mindful travel prioritises quality over quantity. It involves slower-paced itineraries, deeper engagement with local culture, conscious choices about where your money goes, and consideration of your environmental and social impact. Mindful travellers seek authentic experiences and meaningful connections rather than superficial encounters.

3. What are some practical ways to practice mindfulness while travelling?

Start each day with intention-setting or meditation, even just for five minutes. Put away your phone regularly to fully absorb your surroundings. Engage all your senses—notice smells, sounds, textures, and tastes. Take time to journal about your experiences. Practice gratitude for the opportunity to travel. Walk slowly through neighbourhoods, sit in local cafés to observe daily life, and have genuine conversations with locals rather than rushing from landmark to landmark.

4. How can I reduce my environmental impact as a mindful traveller?

Choose slower, lower-carbon transportation options when possible, such as trains over flights. Stay longer in fewer places rather than hopping between many destinations. Support accommodations with eco-certifications or sustainable practices. Bring reusable water bottles, bags, and utensils. Respect wildlife by maintaining distance and never supporting exploitative animal tourism. Offset your carbon emissions, reduce water usage, and leave no trace in natural areas.

5. What does it mean to travel respectfully and ethically?

Respectful travel means honouring local customs, dress codes, and social norms. It involves learning basic phrases in the local language, asking permission before photographing people, and understanding cultural sensitivities. Ethical travel includes supporting locally-owned businesses, paying fair prices for goods and services, avoiding exploitative tourism (like orphanage tourism or unethical animal encounters), and ensuring your presence benefits rather than burdens local communities.

6. How can I have more authentic cultural experiences?

Stay in locally-owned accommodations, eat at neighborhood restaurants frequented by residents, and shop at local markets. Take classes taught by locals—cooking, crafts, or language lessons. Use local guides who can provide insider perspectives. Attend community events, festivals, or performances. Be genuinely curious and ask questions with humility. Most importantly, approach cultural differences with openness rather than judgment.

7. Can I practice mindful travel on a budget?

Absolutely. Mindful travel isn’t about luxury—it’s about intention. Budget-friendly mindful practices include staying in homestays or guesthouses to connect with locals, walking or cycling instead of taking taxis, cooking your own meals with local ingredients, and choosing free activities like hiking, beach visits, or exploring neighbourhoods. In fact, travelling more slowly and simply often aligns perfectly with mindful principles and saves money.

8. How do I balance taking photos with being present?

Set boundaries for device usage—perhaps designate specific photo times or limit yourself to a certain number of pictures per day. When you arrive somewhere beautiful, spend the first few minutes simply experiencing it without your camera. Practice taking mental snapshots by consciously absorbing details. When you do take photos, do so intentionally rather than compulsively. Remember that the goal is to enhance memories, not replace the actual experience.

9. What should I do if I feel overwhelmed or exhausted while travelling?

Listen to your body and mind. It’s okay to slow down, skip an activity, or spend a day resting. Build downtime into your itinerary from the start. Find quiet spaces like parks, gardens, or cafés where you can recharge. Maintain routines that ground you, such as morning meditation, exercise, or journaling. Remember that rest is part of the journey, not a waste of time. Mindful travel means honouring your needs rather than pushing through exhaustion.

10. How can mindful travel practices benefit me beyond the trip?

Mindful travel cultivates skills that enhance daily life: presence, adaptability, cultural sensitivity, gratitude, and the ability to find joy in simple moments. It often reduces anxiety by teaching you to focus on the present rather than worrying about the future. The practice of slowing down and noticing details can carry over into your routine at home. Many travellers find that mindful approaches to exploring the world help them appreciate their own communities more deeply and live more intentionally overall.

5 Essential Books on Mindful Travel

1. “The Art of Travel” by Alain de Botton

A philosophical exploration of why we travel and what we seek from our journeys. De Botton weaves together personal travel experiences with insights from writers, artists, and thinkers throughout history. This book encourages readers to look beyond the surface of destinations and examine the deeper motivations and meanings behind travel, making it perfect for anyone wanting to approach their journeys more thoughtfully.

2. “Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel” by Rolf Potts

While focused on extended travel, this book’s philosophy applies to any journey length. Potts emphasises simplicity, presence, and the importance of experiences over itineraries. He challenges conventional notions of success and encourages readers to prioritise time and experience over material wealth. It’s an inspiring guide to travelling with intention and embracing the transformative aspects of being on the road.

3. “The Snow Leopard” by Peter Matthiessen

A beautifully written account of Matthiessen’s trek through the Himalayas that blends travel narrative with Zen philosophy and personal reflection. As he searches for the elusive snow leopard, the journey becomes a meditation on grief, impermanence, and spiritual awakening. This classic demonstrates how travel can be a vehicle for profound inner exploration and mindfulness practice.

4. “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” by Annie Dillard

Though not about traveling far from home, this Pulitzer Prize-winning book exemplifies mindful observation and deep attention to one’s surroundings. Dillard spends a year exploring the area around Tinker Creek in Virginia, noticing the extraordinary in the ordinary. It’s a masterclass in how to truly see and experience a place, offering lessons that transform how you approach any destination.

5. “A Year of Living Danishly: Uncovering the Secrets of the World’s Happiest Country” by Helen Russell

A humorous yet insightful account of an outsider’s immersion into Danish culture and the concept of “hygge.” Russell’s journey illustrates the value of slow travel, cultural integration, and learning from different ways of life. The book shows how mindful engagement with a culture—rather than surface-level tourism—can lead to genuine understanding and personal growth.

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Recommended TED talk of the month

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No time to escape to the southwest of France?

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2. What are the early warning signs I might miss while they’re developing?

3. How can I tell if it’s burnout or just a bad project/period at work?

4. Can burnout affect my physical health, and what symptoms should I watch for?

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