2021: Your call to adventure

Can you hear it?

Can you hear the call to adventure?

Can you hear the call to claim your seat at the table.

To take up your space.

To make your voice heard.

To be the person you were always meant to be and live the life you were always destined to live?

If you can hear it, that’s wonderful. And we’re going to be talking about what to do next in a moment.

If you can’t, don’t panic! You might simply need to be still for a while, to quieten your mind and to turn down the volume on all the other noise – all the ‘shoulds‘, the overwhelm, the resolutions you’ve already broken and the disappointments you already feel, even though we’re only a week into the New Year.

I confess I’m not feeling particularly adventurous or dynamic myself right now, and that’s a huge disappointment for someone like me who places substantial expectations on herself.

I’d hoped to feel fit, healthy and strong, Amazonian even. I’d hoped to roar into 2021, ready to take on the world. I’d hoped to be full of bounce and drive. I even began working with a personal trainer in December, making a headstart on my intention to strengthen my body as I approach my half-century on this earth.

But instead, I’m hobbling around the house after spraining my ankle on a hike on Christmas Eve and, consequently, feeling a bit flat.

For me, a sore ankle is far more than an inconvenience. For someone who relies on fresh air and exercise to stay mentally afloat and for whom sport has been such a friend, as well as an obsession at times, it’s a real blow, especially during a pandemic when outdoor walks are one of the few sanctioned forms of socialising.

I’m also prone to catastrophising, especially about my health, and I have to be careful not to spiral down. When my body hurts, I struggle to remember what it feels like when it doesn’t or to see any light at the end of the tunnel. The time when my body didn’t hurt actually feels a long way off. My health has taken quite a battering this year – a combination of Covid, ageing and, I imagine, pushing myself always that little bit too far.

The life that didn’t go to plan

Suffice it to say that my life today, January 7, 2021, isn’t how I would like it to be and I wonder if that’s true for you too.

Is your life today different to how you’d hoped it would be?

It’s incredibly annoying, isn’t it? Frustrating. Sad. Depressing at times.

But what can we do? We can either fall into the trap of beating ourselves up for all the ‘mistakes’ we deem we have made …

Why did I hike so far on Christmas Eve when I actually wanted to be lying on the sofa, watching rom-coms? Why didn’t I strengthen my joints last year?

Or for you, it could be …

Why did I waste two years of my life with that guy, two of my precious fertile years? Or why did I focus all my energy on my career and neglect my personal life? Or why didn’t I do my inner work sooner so I could change my relationship patterns?

Oh yes, here’s another one of mine, which is bugging me right now …

Why did I wait until I was nearly 50 – yes 50 – to believe in myself enough to write a novel?

That question is driving me mad right now as I read the stories of other women who realised at 30 or at 40 that they wanted to be a novelist and just went for it, while I continued to focus my energies elsewhere.

So we can wallow in those questions, and believe me, I do a fair bit of that myself. Oh yes, I can spend hours berating and blaming myself for all the things I deem that I’ve done ‘wrong’. I’m so much better than I was – you should have known me 15 years ago – but self-compassion does not come naturally to me. I’m a work in progress in that area.

Acceptance is the answer

Or we can accept where we are today – me with my sore foot and aching body, arriving late, and on crutches, to the novel-writing party; you with your life that hasn’t gone to plan for whatever reason – and love ourselves as we are today.

We can trust that life isn’t a race that we’re somehow losing or a test that we’re failing badly. We can trust, instead, that life is a crazy, challenging, sometimes infuriating adventure, with many humps in the road, but an incredible privilege too, an adventure that we can make our own.

Yes, we write our own script. And we play the leading role.

So can you hear the call to adventure?

Despite my lack of dynamism, my sore foot and my grief about my ailing mum, which is always in the background, and sometimes in the foreground, often hijacking me in the middle of the night when I’m wrestling to sleep, my mind buzzing with information and ideas so that I don’t have to feel the magnitude of the loss I am facing, I do hear the call to adventure.

But hang on a minute, what adventure? I hear you cry. I can’t go anywhere right now.

How can I have an adventure when I’m stuck indoors and it’s cold and dark outside? Surely adventures involve tropical rain forests, mountain tops, beach parties or festivals?

Yes, they can do, but our most important adventure happens on the inside.

It’s the journey back to our authentic selves. It’s the process of uncovering our truth and discovering who we really are, beneath the fears that compel us to stay safe, to stay small, to stay quiet. It’s the action of reconnecting with the joyous, courageous, creative child inside, with the person we were before life rudely landed on us like a tonne of bricks.

Step Inside

Step Inside is the title of the first chapter of my book and my How to Fall in Love Laying the Foundations course, and there’s a reason for that.

It’s where we must go first, before we do anything else. Because that’s where we connect with our deepest feelings and our heart’s desires. That’s where we discover our mission. That’s where we find the map that’s going to dictate our next steps. That’s where we discover our truth.

We need to connect to this truth because otherwise we’ll go off in the wrong direction. We’ll follow a path that others set out for us, a path that pleases other people but not us, or a path that feels comfortable, safe and secure, even if it is intolerably dull.

And we’ll keep following that path until we hit a brick wall, which we’ll bang our heads against a few times before sliding to the floor and sitting at its base, our head in our hands, in despair.

So dear readers, first, step inside. Have a good look around. Because that’s where you’ll find your mission for this year.

Once you have your mission, identify your superpowers.

Yes, you have superpowers. If you don’t know what they are, think about some of the darkest times you’ve endured, some of the difficulties and challenges that have been unique to your life, some of the pain you’ve experienced. That’s where you’ll find your superpowers. That’s where your greatest strengths were developed.

Maybe you are extraordinarily perceptive, able to sense what others are feeling and hear what goes unspoken – a skill you honed growing up around anger or violence or drunkenness or other unpredictable behaviour.

Maye you are deeply empathetic because you experienced grief and loss at a young age.

Maybe you are super resilient, because you have been fending for yourself for so many years.

Maybe you are incredibly creative – a creativity born out of pain – a way to express things you struggle to say in other ways, which manages to touch other people’s hearts.

These, dear reader, are your superpowers.

Identify them. Embrace them. Champion them. Don’t be embarrassed to shout about them, even though doing so makes you cringe, just as I cringe a bit when I write the following …

I see my superpowers in my coaching – in my ability to see and hear and empathise and read between the lines and help to put together the puzzled pieces of someone else’s heart and mind so that they make some form of sense, so that the picture brings relief and shows a way forward.

And I see them in my writing, in how I am able to translate the scars on my heart into words that somehow heal someone else’s wounds.

So know your superpowers and use them to their full potential. They have carried you this far and they will continue to carry you, for miles and miles.

Next, accept your humanity. You have superpowers, yes, but you are human too. I often forget my humanness. I think I should be able to keep going even though my mind and body are telling me to stop. I think I have more than twenty-four hours in a day and that I can achieve more in those hours than anyone else. It’s simply not true.

So accept the fact that you are human, that you sometimes make ‘mistakes’ (or experience opportunities for growth), that you sometimes feel weak and sad and need to lie down in the middle of the afternoon (something I never do, by the way, but would love to!). Forgive yourself. Show yourself compassion. Love yourself, for both your superpowers and your not so super powers.

And because you are human, gather your supporters. Yes, you have come so far on your own, in your own strength, not asking for help, but you don’t have to struggle on anymore. In fact, you can’t, because you’ll hit that brick wall.

So look around you and ask: who’s supporting me? Or who can I ask for support? Coaches, counsellors, therapists, friends, groups – lean on others. Allow them to be there for you, just as you, no doubt, would be there for them.

Armed with your superpowers, with a healthy dose of self-compassion and a team of supporters, identify the obstacles that stand in your way and start to chip away at them.

Yes, I said chip away at them. I could advise you to pick up the boulders that block your path and hurl them to one side with your Herculean might but this wouldn’t be realistic. It would be setting you up to fail.

Remember, you are human. Slow and steady progress is enough, more than enough. Baby steps. Small wins. Gradual improvements. Pick your battles too. It’s impossible to slay all the dragons in one go.

Allow space for miracles

And remember to do something that I always forget – to celebrate your successes. If not, what incentive do you have to succeed again? If your eyes are always fixed on some faraway, elusive prize, you will miss out on the joy of the journey. And that’s what it’s all about.

Along the way, allow space for miracles. When we hold on too tightly to fixed outcomes and exert ourselves in trying to engineer the perfect result, there is no room for the unexpected, there’s no space for surprises or miracles.

Hold it lightly, whatever it is.

So can you hear the call to adventure? Or are you willing to listen out for it?

What internal and external adventures will 2021 hold?

How will you take your seat at the table, how will you be heard, how will you be seen this year?

You are the hero or heroine of your life.

You are the author of the next chapter.

What story will you write this year?

Resources to bring you home to yourself

Create Your 2021 Vision and Design Your Dream Decade – free workbook

My book – How to Fall in Love

Reconnect to your true self 7-day course – Use code fromfortywithlove for 50 percent off the course for the next week (discounting it to £19.50)

Laying the Foundations and Date with Courage, Clarify and Confidence self-paced courses to help you to reconnect to yourself, lay your foundations for a healthy relationship and date successfully. Use the code compassion for 10 percent both self-paced courses for the next week.

My next How to Fall in Love – Laying the Foundations small group course starts January 25th, 2021. Seven places remaining.

My Date with Courage, Clarity and Confidence group course will run in early 2021 also so please contact me for details.

Want to discuss if my courses or coaching are for you? Book a free discovery call here.

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The Pain of Christmas Past

I have so much more I want to write than what I’m about to share with you.

I want to tell you about my adrenaline addiction and how it especially bites at painful times of the year – like Christmas – and how I’m becoming more aware than ever that I use on work and stress to avoid my emotions, emotions that are particularly strong right now because my dear mum is slipping away.

I want to tell you that last night, after finally putting down my work, far later than planned (and here I am again!), I was hit by such an avalanche of emotion, of grief and of pain, and a barrage of memories from previous Christmases.

Memories of loneliness.

Memories of being frightened.

Memories of drinking so much alcohol and eating so much sugar to avoid my feelings that my skin came out in a rash and I vomited everything up.

Memories of shame, like the time I was thrown out of a backpackers’ hostel in Queenstown, New Zealand, on Christmas Day, for having a man in my bed the night before. Yes, in a female dorm.

But it’s Christmas Eve and the sun is shining and I need to go swimming in the sea and then go hiking with my husband.

So instead, I’m going to share with you something I prepared earlier, something I sent to my mailing list yesterday.

If you’re on my mailing list and have already read it, I wish you a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays. If not, read on …

Emotions in turmoil.

Tears just beneath the surface.

Feeling overwhelmed.

Feeling isolated and alone.

Feeling sad because your circumstances haven’t changed from one year to the next and your life is so far off the plan that you’ve almost forgotten what the plan looked like.

If you can relate to any of the above, dear reader, please know that you are not alone.

Whether or not you celebrate Christmas, this time of year is triggering.

It pushes our buttons.

If we’re in a good place, we can give thanks for all that we have and enjoy this festive season. And I truly hope you find yourself in a good place.

But I know from speaking to many of my friends and coaching clients – the majority of whom are single without children and with hopes and dreams that haven’t come to pass (yet) – that this time of year can shine a spotlight on the things that are missing – the partners, the children, the communities, the sense of belonging and the people who are no longer with us.

On top of that, this year we have Covid with all its restrictions.

For me, Christmas is one of those times when I’m prone to ask, ‘Is this family of two that I’ve created enough?’

The volume on that question is turned up this Christmas as my mum slips away, suffering with dementia and growing thinner by the day.

In fact, a week or so ago, my emotions floored me.

I connected to the sadness.

I connected to the grief.

I connected to the loss of the hope that my mum, or any other parent figure, would meet my unmet childhood needs.

And I (once again – as this awareness comes in layers) faced the stark reality that there was only one thing for it: I would have to meet my needs myself.

I cried a lot. But I’m pleased to say the feelings passed and my joy returned (mostly – I’m sure there’ll be more wobbles). New edit: I had another major wobble last night.

Which is my message to you today:

This too shall pass.

If you’re feeling down, trust that you will feel better. If you’re feeling hopeless, know that hope will return.

And in the meantime, show yourself so much love, compassion, gentleness and acceptance. Give thanks for all that you are and all that you have done in this difficult year.

And do lots of lovely things for yourself, no matter how small. Tiny acts of kindness, for yourself, and if you have the energy, for those around you too.

Rest, relax, restore and recover.

And remember that you are enough and that you have done enough.

I will remember it too: I am enough and I have done enough.

Sending you love and season’s greetings. See you on the other side.

Katherine x

Resources to help you through

Hand on heart meditation – This is the meditation I share on my How to Fall in Love courses. I’ve uploaded the video to YouTube so that you can use it whenever you feel the need (ideally every day!).

My book – How to Fall in Love

Self-paced courses to help you to reconnect to yourself, lay your foundations for a healthy relationship and date with courage, clarity and confidence. Use the code compassion for 10 percent off all my self-paced courses.

Explore my group How to Fall in Love courses (starting again in early 2021).

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How to reparent yourself

What would a good parent do?

This question has been on my lips for a few days, and I imagine it’ll stay there for a good while longer, because the topic of reparenting ourselves and taking care of our inner child is hot for me right now.

I’ve been aware of the concept of reparenting for a long time. As you’ll know if you’ve been following my journey on this blog or if you’ve read my book, I’ve been walking this path of self-discovery, personal growth and healing for many years.

In fact, it was more than 17 years ago when the penny first dropped and I understood that I had an eating disorder – I was addicted to the highs I got from binge eating on sugar, starving myself in between binges and racing around everywhere to burn off the food, and that these highs numbed my feelings and anaesthetised my emotional pain.

At 49, I’m a very different woman to the 30-something who’d walk from shop to shop buying chocolate bars and crisps, joking with the shopkeepers that she was having a big party that night, before dashing up the stairs to her flat, shutting the curtains and gorging on her sugary feast until her stomach hurt and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Pictured at 49, in the same flat where I used to binge until my stomach hurt

Or rather I’m the same woman at my core, but with a huge amount of recovery, healing and growth behind me (and more still in front of me) and much healthier patterns of behaviour.


The Inner Child Holds The Key

Understanding that I have a scared, wounded child inside who longs to be comforted, soothed and reassured has been a crucial part of my self-discovery journey. But despite all the work I’ve done to date, it feels like the concept of reparenting has only just clicked for me.

Or maybe the knowledge has moved from my head to my heart.

Or perhaps I’ve peeled off another layer of the onion and got closer to the core.

Whatever it is, I feel much clearer about what my inner child needs and how I can successfully reparent her.

My inner child needs clear, consistent communication.

She needs to know that there’s an adult in charge (that’s me, as there’s no other parent around to help and there hasn’t been for a very long time – and even when there were parents around, sadly they weren’t able to provide the best parenting).

She also needs my compassion.

In summary:



Commanding communication.


While so much has changed in the past 17 years, I now see that my inner child has often felt like she’s stumbling around in the dark, navigating a grown-up world but with no adult at her side.

Who’s in charge here? Who’s taking care of me? What’s going on?

On the outside, I’ve done a reasonable job of being a grown-up. I’ve bought property, got married (albeit at the rather mature age of 48), managed my finances (sometimes by the seat of my pants, but I’ve managed them all the same), published a book and built a coaching, writing and speaking business.

Some of it might even look impressive from the outside.

But my inner child has remained terrified as I’ve taken these steps, which is why everything has felt so hard, so painful, so tortuous.

With every move, I’ve struggled with fear, indecision, second-guessing, procrastination, perfectionism and self-recrimination.

Frankly, it’s been exhausting.

And while I want to keep on learning, growing, expanding and stepping deeper into my true purpose, which includes writing more books and delivering more courses and coaching, I’m done with the exhaustion.

More Courage – Less Torture

So how can I continue to take courageous steps in my life and work without torturing myself so much?

How can I cultivate a sense of ease?

The answer lies in the question I asked at the start of this blog:

What would a good parent do?

If I can ask that question in every instance and then take the action I’m guided to take in response to it – the same action a good parent would take alongside a beloved child – I believe that everything will become easier and, who knows, my life and career might even flow.

Let’s take my writing as an example.

I have three books on the go – a memoir, a novel and a self-help book on emotional overeating. They’re in varying states, one half-finished, one just begun, one somewhere in between, and I’ve got myself into a pickle about which book to complete first.

I’m basically frozen and therefore not writing very much at all.

That’s because my inner child has been running the show.

It’s my inner child who flits from one project, one book or one activity to another, seeking instant gratification and emotional highs, that inevitably are followed by lows.

It’s my inner child who has a limited attention span, is prone to distraction and who reaches for her phone to scroll through social media in the middle of a writing session.

It’s my inner child who struggles to proceed steadily, with balance, and to stick with a project until completion.

It’s my inner child who is afraid of people and of others’ anger and who prefers to please others first before pleasing herself, thereby postponing the pursuit of her dreams.

And it’s my inner child who’s reluctant to finish what she starts because finishing another book and publishing it would mean she’d have to face her fear of rejection, criticism and humiliation, deal with her terror of getting something wrong and stand up to her chronic inner perfectionist.

I guess that’s why I wrote my first book, How to Fall in Love, so fast. The adrenaline I created as I worked to meet a deadline set by colleagues and reinforced by a writing coach numbed the fear I felt inside. And I rode that wave of adrenaline right up to publication day.

But it wasn’t an entirely healthy way to manage my workload. I wrote late into the night and got up at four in the morning, replicating the adrenaline-fuelled years I spent as a Reuters news journalist. And I didn’t lay the groundwork for publication. I didn’t do any advance marketing. I simply hit ‘publish,’ breathed a huge sigh of relief and then went on a ski trip!

I also abandoned other areas of my life to get the job done – my social life and my relationship. Fortunately, no long-term damage was done. My partner stayed with me, supported me throughout and even proposed after I’d published the book, despite barely seeing me for weeks (or perhaps because of that!) and having to cook all the meals.

This Is What Good Parents Do

Going forwards, I’d like to do things differently, with more balance, more self-care, more flow and more ease.

Which is why this question – what would a good parent do? – is so important.

A good parent, I feel, would encourage a child to choose one project and see it through to completion, surely and steadily.

A good parent would gently guide the child back to her main focus when her attention wandered off or when she wanted to throw in the towel.

A good parent would give the child a manageable deadline and draw up an achievable writing schedule that allowed the project to be completed while making time for self-care, fun and love.

A good parent would soothe the child when her fear of criticism, judgement and humiliation rose to the surface and threatened to derail the entire project.

A good parent would ask for help and support from appropriate quarters – a writing coach and an editor, perhaps – just as a parent would bring in a maths tutor or a sports coach.

A good parent would bring consistency, clarity, compassion and would let the child know who is in charge, helping the child to come down from her flighty, unfocused, adrenalised and panicked state and proceed with balance.

I don’t have my own children. I’m not a parent. But I’ve been parented, I’ve observed parenting and I know and love a number of children. I also think we instinctively know what children need, whether or not we are parents.

Children love to play. They can be spontaneous and chaotic. They can leave a mess everywhere. They prefer instant gratification. A good parent can teach the importance of order, cleanliness, balance and delayed gratification.

In what areas of your life do you need a good parent? In what areas are you prone to instant gratification or magical thinking? In what areas do you need some balance and order?

When The Inner Child Goes Dating

Since I’m a love, dating and relationships coach, let’s explore the topic of dating for a moment.

If your scared inner child is in the driving seat when you go dating, she might reach for instant gratification and she might overstep healthy boundaries. She might end up texting late into the night, losing herself in fantasy thinking, abandoning self-care and sleeping with someone before she’s ready.

She might end up staying in a relationship that isn’t right for her because she’s scared of abandonment or rejection, or she might push a good person away because she’s terrified of getting hurt.

On the other hand, if our loving inner parent is running the show when we go dating, we will proceed steadily, we’ll delay gratification, we’ll set and respect healthy boundaries, including around our thinking (my book has a whole chapter on boundaries) and we’ll act in our best interests, choosing to stay or to go based on our inner wisdom and intuition rather than our panic and terror.

All that said, it’s important to acknowledge that we’re human, we make mistakes, we get over-excited, we let our emotions run away with us and we get ourselves in a pickle, especially where love and sex are concerned. And that’s OK. I’ve done it. We’ve all done it. We simply pick ourselves up afterwards, brush ourselves down, learn our lessons and move on. Self-compassion is critical to the whole process.

But if we can keep coming back to the question, what would a good parent do?, and if we can keep soothing and reassuring our inner child and giving her clear direction, then we’ll set ourselves up to succeed in relationships rather than fail.

Putting It Into Practice

I hope this question – what would a good parent do? – helps you in life and love. It’s already helping me.

When I feel tempted to flit to a new task before finishing what I’m doing, I ask, what would a good parent do?

When I reach for my phone to scroll through social media rather than getting on with my writing, I ask, what would a good parent do?

When I want instant gratification with food rather than cooking a healthy meal, I ask, what would a good parent do?

When I’m procrastinating over life admin, I ask, what would a good parent do?

When I’m working myself into the ground and depriving myself of play, I ask, what would a good parent do?

So, dear reader, take your quandary and ask, what would a good parent do?


This blog was inspired by a wonderful experience I had recently doing equine therapy with my incredibly insightful therapist Paul Sunderland. There’s a separate blog brewing about the equine itself, or perhaps a media article, so I won’t write anymore about it now. Suffice it to say that I learned how important it is to communicate clearly, consistently, in a commanding way and with compassion when around anxious horses or humans (including our inner children).


How To Fall In Love Courses Starting Soon & Prices Going Up!

One of the results of all this inner work I’ve been doing is a realisation that it’s time I increased the prices of my How to Fall in Love courses, Laying the Foundations and Date with Courage, Clarity & Confidence. This is what a good parent would do. I have understood that I cannot fulfill my true purpose in this world while charging my current fees and while I struggle with marketing, selling and charging certain rates for my work, I need to practice what I preach and value myself and my expertise.

The good news is I’ll be running both courses starting in November for one last time at the current prices. Click here to explore my courses and email me if you’d like to join: katherine@katherinebaldwin.com. You can also book a free discovery call here.

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Your inner child needs you

I was doing some meditation at the beach on Sunday morning – listening to the wonderful Sarah Blondin on Insight Timer (she’s the best!) – and a scene from my childhood meandered into my mind.

In this scene, I was not long into my time at secondary school (so around aged 11) and I was feeling anxious about missing out.

Yep, I had FOMO, long before the acronym was ever imagined (I think – don’t quote me on that!) and long before social media caused an epidemic of FOMO.

The reason? I was due to take part in a race for the City of Liverpool’s cross country team in Sheffield. This was quite an honour. I was only 11 and I was representing my city at cross country running. Go me!

But running the race, a distance away from home, meant taking a day off school and missing a very important lesson: my drama class.

This felt like a dangerous thing to do because back then, I was only just figuring out who my friends were and I was worried that the two girls I’d been hanging out with in previous drama classes would cement their friendship in the class I was set to miss and that I would be left out, in the cold, on my own, friendless.

I remember feeling so unsure about running the race. I remember feeling torn between the drama class and the cross country event. I remember going along to Sheffield and running through the muddy forest, while at the same time worrying about what was going on back at school and how friendless I would be when I returned.

It was excruciating. I had no peace. I wasn’t present. And I didn’t enjoy the race. I ran it with the weight of the world on my tiny shoulders.

This memory came to me because, this past Sunday morning, I was once again torn between two activities: an outdoor yoga class followed by a sociable coffee versus some alone time at the beach hut, swimming in the sea, journaling and enjoying the peace and space.

I opted for the latter, because I felt like I needed it. I knew I had a sociable afternoon ahead – my husband and I had been invited to go sailing – and I’d had a sociable Saturday evening. My inner introvert, who cohabits with my inner extrovert, was asking for some time out.

But even as I sat down in the glorious sunshine to meditate, I felt a bit unsure – unsure of what I wanted and needed, unsure if I’d made the right choice. I also felt a little anxious about missing out on the yoga and social gathering.

Yes, I had a touch of FOMO. Aged 49.

To settle myself, I tuned in to a meditation called ‘Remembering Your Worth’ and I did just that – I remembered my worth.

I remembered that I didn’t need to run around like crazy trying to prove that I was valuable and that I didn’t need to gather an army of friends around me to certify that I was a likeable person.

Instead, I could just rest, in my inherent worth.

And as I rested, I connected with my little girl – with my 11-year-old self and with an even younger self, my inner baby – and I saw how scared and unsure of herself she was.

I saw how much she lacked a secure base – that is a safe haven, provided by consistent, present and loving caregivers; a place to return to when she felt scared.

I saw how wobbly she felt on the inside and how much she needed to be reassured that she was safe and that she was OK, which is why, as she grew up, she was so anxious about forming friendships and why she had so much FOMO – and can still have to this day.

I saw why she studied so hard and performed so brilliantly academically and on the sports field – because she was forever seeking a sense of safety, a sense of worth and a sense of esteem, but from outer rather than inner sources.

And I saw why she picked up the crutch of binge eating, and later binge-drinking, and later sexual liaisons – to feel better about herself, to feel OK, to feel acceptable, to feel loved (even though her actions left her feeling the opposite – full of shame, unworthy and unlovable).

Once I had a clear picture of my insecure, anxious inner child and my scared inner baby, bawling her eyes out in her cot while nobody came to soothe her, I imagined myself walking towards her and picking her up and holding her on my lap, against my chest, stroking her hair, calming and reassuring her.

And what was so clear to me is that the baby I was holding on my lap wasn’t my baby. It wasn’t a baby I’d given birth to. Or I baby I wanted to give birth to.

Rather it was me as a baby.

It was my inner baby.

My inner baby needs me.

My inner baby needs to be soothed and told that she is loved and that she is safe.

My inner toddler needs this too, as does my inner 11-year-old and my inner teenager.

They need my comfort and my support. They deserve my comfort and support.

And the more I am able to give comfort, reassurance, love and soothing to my inner children, the more I will feel on steady rather than shaky ground, and the less I will suffer from the fear of missing out and the illusion that happiness is over there, rather than inside here (places hand on chest).

These reflections bring me onto the topic of World Childless Week, which is happening this week.

I was unsure about what to write for World Childless Week until I stumbled upon these thoughts about the inner baby and inner child and they felt relevant.

Each of us has our own journey to not having children, if that’s our story.

For me, my journey has a lot to do with my inner child.

I now understand that I always needed to connect with her first and to love and care for her, before contemplating bringing a child into this world to love and care for.

She has always needed me, and she’s been crying out for me, but I ignored her for many years – until now.

She needed me to soothe her and she needed me to play with her.

This, I now see, was the most important thing for me.

And it had to come first.

I didn’t have enough nurturing, love or care to give to another child because I needed to give it to myself. Or perhaps I was resistant and reluctant to give it to another child because I knew I needed to give it to myself first.

But it took me a long time to realise this, all my fertile years, in fact. And I’m now 49.

Of course, my story has its additional complexities, as all our stories do, and you can read more of it on this blog if you’d like to (try Am I childless or childfree? to begin with), or in my book, How to Fall in Love.

I wonder what your story is, in relation to outer and inner children.

You may already have children and you may still need to connect with and care for your inner child. In fact, your inner child might be screaming out for your attention and you just don’t feel you’re able to give her/him any of your time.

Or like me, you may need to accept that your inner child needed your love and attention so much that you weren’t able to nurture an outer child, or perhaps you developed the capacity to do so eventually, but by then it was too late.

Or maybe you still have a desire to have children and you still have time. In which case, my suggestion is the same …

Start by nurturing your inner child.

How do we know if our inner child needs our attention?

Here are some clues: if we find ourselves binge-eating or binge-drinking or social media scrolling or blaming, judging and criticising others or sleeping around or working ourselves into the ground, then it’s likely our inner child is crying out to be noticed, to be heard, to be seen, to be allowed to play, to be reassured and comforted.

If we are doing any of the aforementioned self-harming behaviours, the best thing we can do is pause, reflect and connect with our inner child and give him or her all the soothing, reassurance and love that he or she deserves.

Do you agree?

I’d welcome your thoughts.

**Upcoming Events**

This week is World Childless Week and there’s a whole series of wonderful, free events so do take a look via this link.

If you’re looking for support to develop your connection to yourself, I have two fabulous small group online courses, How to Fall in Love – Laying the Foundations and How to Fall in Love – Date with Courage, Clarity & Confidence. Email me on katherine@katherinebaldwin.com to find out the next course dates, which I’ll announce soon. The courses are also available as self-paced programmes. You can sign up on my mailing list to get updates about future courses here: www.katherinebaldwin.com

If you’d prefer to explore these topics face-to-face, I am hosting a wonderful retreat holiday in Turkey with yoga in May 2021. Click here for details. Why not give yourself something to look forward to?

Finally, whether you are childless or not, or looking for love or simply looking for a better relationship with yourself, you might benefit from my book, How to Fall in Love.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

The danger of ‘if only’ thinking


I spent a lot of my childhood peering through other people’s windows, both literally and metaphorically, wishing that my life was more like theirs.

Wishing I lived in their house.

Wishing I had their parents.

Wishing I had their clothes.

Wishing I had her body.

Wishing I had her face or her hair.

Wishing I had her name.

I actually told my primary school teacher once that I’d changed my name to Karen because I wanted to be Karen, a pretty blonde schoolmate of mine who, through my nine-year-old eyes, seemed to have the perfect looks and the perfect life.

I remember telling a barefaced lie to the teacher, saying that I’d filled in the forms and jumped through the legal loopholes and I was now, officially, Karen Baldwin. I started to write Karen Baldwin on my school work. I was a good girl so I must have wanted to be Karen quite desperately to tell fibs.

I feel sad remembering that.

I didn’t want to be me.

I didn’t want my life.

I thought I’d be happier as someone else or with someone else’s life.

Many years on and despite so much change and personal development work – thanks to which I am now happily married, living a pretty cool life by the beach, working at something I love and writing books – I’m sorry to say that I spend too much time looking at other people’s lives, wondering if I’d be happier if I had what that person had.

In other words, living in the ‘if only’.

It’s a dangerous place to be.

It’s a drain on my precious time, energy and resources.

It’s addictive.

And, like any addiction, if I keep it up, it’ll rob me of joy, make my life unmanageable and, ultimately, drive me and those around me up the wall.

I know for sure that I’ll look back in 10 or 20 years time and think …

‘If only I’d lived in the present.

If only I’d enjoyed the moment.

If only I’d appreciated all that I had, all that I was and all that my body could do for me.

If only I’d put my energy into changing the things I could change rather than ruminating about the things that I couldn’t.’

My ‘if only’ thinking gets especially triggered when I see what, on the outside, looks like the perfect family down on the beach, which I see quite often living here on the Dorset coast. Beautiful mum, good-looking dad, gorgeous kids and a dog, laughing together at the water’s edge. It gets triggered even more when spritely grandparents rock up to lend support, followed by another perfect looking mum and dad with their kids. It’s even worse when the second family shows up on a boat.

Buckets, spades, sandwiches, smiles and Prosecco.

So I stare at them and ponder what my life would be like if I had kids, naturally assuming that it would be better, that I’d be happier, more content, more fulfilled, less in my head; that I’d feel a greater sense of belonging, more valid, more valuable, more part of the human race.

I have no idea whether this would be true. It could be that I’d be stressed out, anxious, exhausted, depleted and longing for some peace and quiet. And it could be that even if I had a perfect looking family, I’d still carry the same wound inside – the wound that makes me look everywhere for an elusive sense of belonging; the wound that makes me question my life even when it’s going well; the wound that leaves me feeling never enough, despite so much good stuff.

Who knows?

We’ll never know.

But what I do know is that I’ll waste my life and miss out on the joy of the present if I spend my time living in my head, in the ‘if only’ or the ‘what if’.

This isn’t to say that there isn’t a place for acknowledging our sadness about the things that haven’t come to pass, about the desires and dreams that may have died. It’s so important to allow our feelings to the surface. If we push them down or stuff them down (for example, with food, as I used to do), they’ll get stuck. They’ll turn murky and noxious. They’ll come out sideways, in angry swipes at ourselves or someone else, usually those closest to us (my poor husband!).

Plus, grief comes and goes. The feelings come and go. We can’t grieve on demand. It might hit us when we’re least expecting it. We deserve to be gentle with ourselves.

But what I’m now noticing, more than ever before, is how addictive and damaging this ‘if only’ thinking can be, thanks, in large part, to my psychotherapist Paul Sunderland, who draws my attention to this in our sessions and who encourages me to challenge this behaviour.

‘If only’ thinking takes me away from myself. It takes me away from reality and off into a fantasy world, which was, of course, its purpose when I was young. ‘If only’ thinking was a survival mechanism back when I was small, but it’s long past it’s sell-by date. It doesn’t serve me anymore.

And I don’t want to look back in 10 or 20 years with regret because I didn’t appreciate what I had and was always longing for something else. I don’t want to look back and ponder all the things I could have done if I hadn’t spent my time dreaming about the ‘what if’.

My desire is to accept, embrace and cherish my life as it is today.

My desire is to move forwards, not be hampered by looking back.

My desire is to make the most of everything I have and everything I am, rather than watch my energy drain away as I keep wishing I was something I’m not.

My desire is to be free of the ‘if only’.

How am I going to make this happen?

I have three ideas for now (no doubt more will come):


Although I’ve known for years that a daily gratitude practice is helpful, I’ve never actually stuck to one. It’s been a long time since I regularly wrote lists of things I’m grateful for. So I’m going to do that. I’m going to endeavour to write my gratitude list every day.


I’m going to aim to have better boundaries around my thinking. I need to bottom line rumination and ‘if only’ musings. When my mind strays into that territory, I promise to bring it back to the now, to the moment. What steps can I take today to fully embrace and enjoy my life?

I did this yesterday on a hike back from the beach. I was walking down a beautiful pathway, worrying about something that hadn’t happened and was probably never going to happen, when I noticed what I was doing.

No more, I thought. No more living in my head and missing the moment. I brought myself back to the here and now by observing the green of the leaves and the brown of the bark and seeing the sunlight shine through the tree canopy.

And it worked. It really worked.

Seeing myself as a spiritual being, united with other beings.

I’ve been doing Deepak Chopra’s 21-Day Abundance Meditation Challenge and the meditation that spoke to me the most was about the unity of life. We are all one, part of a whole, connected to each other. If I can hold on to that, Deepak says, the concepts of rivalry and competition will disappear. I believe that ‘if only’ thinking will disappear too. Because we are all one. We are all connected. Children and mothers and grandparents and childless women and men and childfree people and those who struggle and those who don’t, those who have boats and big houses and those who don’t. We are all connected. We are all one. There is no difference.

If I can believe this, truly and wholeheartedly embrace this, I can free myself from the trap of ‘if only’ thinking and truly inhabit my beautiful life.

I wonder, dear reader, what’s your experience of ‘if only’ thinking?

Is it a drain on your happiness?

Does it steal joy from your life?

Does it hijack your ability to be present?

And how can you free yourself from its trap?




One more ‘if only’ …

If only I had more than 50 reviews on Amazon on my How to Fall in Love book, I could submit it to a promotional platform so that it could be more widely distributed! I’m at 41.

Thank you so much to those of you who’ve left a review. It really is wonderful to read them and so humbling that so many people have taken the time to write one. If you’d like to contribute to my efforts to reach more people with my words, you can leave a review on Amazon here.

And if you’d like to know what I’m up to – courses, retreats and so forth – sign up to my regular Love Letters on my website, www.katherinebaldwin.com.

Thank you, as always, for reading and for your support x

Posted in Addiction, Childless, Eating disorders, Happiness, Love, Recovery, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

To control or to trust? That is the question

Copy of Control_Trust - FBDo you trust the outcome or do you try to control it?

I confess that despite many years of personal development, healing and growth, I still find myself trying to do the latter.

Trying to control the outcome.

Trying to control what people think of me.

Trying to control everyone and everything so that I feel “safe”.

I have a huge need to feel safe, because I felt so unsafe when I was small.

I feel safe when I’m liked, when I’m approved of, when I’m loved (ideally universally loved, if that’s not too much to ask).

And I feel unsafe when people are angry with me, displeased with me or disapproving of me.

Of course, none of us like being disliked or being shouted at.

This is normal.

What’s problematic is when we have such a huge need to feel safe that we contort ourselves into strange shapes, bend over backwards and adopt a false self in order to avoid other people’s negative opinions, displeasure or anger (this is codependency, which I wrote about in a previous post).

Little Ms Perfect

I try to control things and people by endeavouring to be Ms Perfect.

I try to control things and people by not speaking the whole truth.

I try to control things and people by breaking the self-loving, self-caring boundaries that are so important for my emotional and mental wellbeing.

In the past, I tried to control my dating journey and romantic relationships by being what the guy needed me to be, instead of being true to myself.

To trust feels scary to me.

I grew up feeling like I didn’t have a backstop or a safety net.

I felt that I had to be responsible for absolutely everything – not just my own feelings but another’s too; not just my own wellbeing, but another’s too.

It felt like there would be nobody to catch me if I fell.

No wonder I developed controlling behaviours.

No wonder I’ve struggled to trust – to trust myself, to trust others, to trust God, to trust the Universe, to trust that everything will work out as it’s meant to work out and that I’ll be OK, to trust that I’ll survive.

At what cost?

I’m writing this because I felt myself becoming controlling in the run-up to the launch of my latest course, How to Fall in Love – Laying the Foundations, which began this week.

I wanted to control the number of women on the course, and control their experience of the course, rather than trusting that the right people would take the course and that enough people would join the course to make it a wonderful experience for everyone.

Of course, I care too.

I care deeply about delivering a fabulous course. I care deeply that my clients have a transformative experience.

This is important.

And this is why I’m very good at what I do (there – I said it!).

But, and I’m sure you can relate to this, we can care too much, can’t we?

As in, we can care so much about others’ feelings or about delivering something that’s near perfect that we don’t care enough about ourselves.

And we pay a high price for this.

This has been one of my biggest learnings over the years and remains a huge challenge – to trust, to let go of control, to believe that I am enough and that I have done enough and to trust that everyone will get what they need.

My control took me to burnout and breakdown in my first career as an international journalist.

I don’t want to go there again.

That’s why I changed my plan this weekend.

When we trust, we allow things to flow

I’d intended, on Sunday, to stay home and get ready for Monday and the start of my course, to tidy my office and “organise my life” (“organise my life” is often on my To Do list).

But I saw the sunshine and I felt the call of the outdoors, so I took off on a hike and to swim off the rocks.

I let go of control and I made myself happy, as you can see from my smiley face on this video.

And as I was out in nature, making myself happy, several people signed up to my course, creating a lovely-sized group.

I needn’t have worried after all.

So, how can you cultivate a little more trust in your life and let go of some of the control?

How can you surrender what others’ think of you and trust that you are enough, and that you have done enough?

If you’re looking for inspiration, you might want to visit or revisit the first two chapters of my book, How to Fall in Love.

For me, this is a healing journey that will never end.

It’s a journey of building up my emotional resilience (what I call my inner oak tree) and of making myself feel as safe as I can, so that I don’t crave a feeling of safety from others; a journey of learning to trust myself every day and to trust that I’ll be taken care of, without needing to control everyone and everything; a journey of accepting, deep down, that it’s safe to be myself.

Are you on this healing journey too?


A favour to ask, dear readers. If you enjoyed my book, How to Fall in Love, I would be so grateful if you’d take five minutes to leave a review on Amazon here. I am trying to hit 50 reviews to that I can distribute the book via a different platform and reach more readers. I have 38, which is already amazing!

And, a second favour. If you feel minded to do so, could you please subscribe to my YouTube channel here. I’m trying to hit 100 subscribers so that I can incorporate my name into the link. I have 90!

Finally, if you’d like to know what I’m up to – courses, retreats and so forth – sign up to my regular Love Letters on my website, www.katherinebaldwin.com.

Thank you, as always, for reading and for your support x

Posted in Addiction, codependency, Dating, Perfectionism, Recovery, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged | 2 Comments

The regrets of the living


This morning’s shell (to be returned to the sea very soon)

I held by breath and dived down to retrieve a shell from the seabed, watching the sand cloud around my fingers.

It was an unremarkable shell, yet remarkable all the same – remarkable for the journey of formation it had been on.

It was an unremarkable day too. Grey and breezy, with rain in the air. Yet remarkable simply for being another day.

I’d thought twice about taking my early morning swim.

Earlier, I’d stood peering out of the glass kitchen doors into the gloomy garden, pulling my dressing gown in closer as I watched the leaves on the trees dance in the wind. I could stay here in the warm. I could lie on my yoga mat, stretch, breathe and meditate.

But you never regret it, Katherine. You never regret going in the sea.

So I did.

Towards the end of my dip, I removed my top-layer swimming cap, and then the cap I wore underneath, and plunged my head into the cold water. I then lay on my back for a while, enjoying the familiar brain freeze that calms the washing machine in my mind.

I’d thought twice about doing that too. Getting my hair wet always had a big impact on my body temperature. It would be sensible to keep my head covered on a day like today. I’d shiver afterwards.

But you never regret it, Katherine.

So I did.

As I took my final gentle strokes, careful not to aggravate the lingering chest pain I wrote about in my previous post, this blog came into my mind.

I would write about my dive down to the seabed, about the fact that I get to do this before I start work, about the miracles I’ve made happen in my life – the career I have transformed, the relationship I have built, the book I have written and the books I am writing, the schedule that is my own, and the new home by the sea I have made with my husband.

I thought about the things I never regret – swimming in the sea; putting my head under; doing most forms of exercise outdoors; spending time writing my books or this blog.

And I thought about the book, The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware, which I haven’t read in full but which I feel like I know by heart, because the regrets are so familiar:

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

I wish that I had let myself be happier.

These regrets of the dying are similar to the ones I feel today – my regrets of the living. They are the regrets I’m on course to have later in life unless I change things now.

I know that …

I’ll regret working too hard; spending too long at my computer or on my phone.

I’ll regret not making enough time and space for my husband, friends and family members and not having more of the courageous, authentic conversations that I know break down walls and catapult us into a deeper relationship.

I’ll regret keeping myself separate from groups and sabotaging my desire to feel like I belong, out of fear of people and fear of life.

I’ll regret that I frequently questioned and doubted myself, using up huge amounts of energy and time.

I’ll regret that I waited too long to get a dog and a cat.

I’ll regret that I allowed fear and control to run my business, thereby sabotaging my ability to earn the money to buy a campervan or go on some amazing adventures. I’ll get there in the end, but I’ll regret that it took me so long.

I’ll regret that I didn’t dance more and that I didn’t sing more.

I’ll regret that it took me so long to know the names of stars and birds and flowers.

I’ll regret that it took me so many years and so much inner healing to spread my writing wings and publish a string of novels, non-fiction books and poems. 

I’ll regret that I delayed and procrastinated over strengthening my body and changing my diet to resolve the pain I’ve felt for years.

I’ll regret that I didn’t spend enough time playing, simply playing.

I’ll regret that I allowed fear and indecision to slow my forward progression in all areas of my life.

I’ll regret that I didn’t invest in myself more, buy myself more gifts and allow money to simply flow in and out of my life, instead of clinging to it out of fear. 

At the end of my life, I’d like to be able to say that Je ne regrette rien.

I’d like to sing, Regrets, I had a few, but then again too few to mention.

But I fear that won’t be true.

Of course, there are so many things I don’t regret, too many to list in this post.

Despite the craziness of my 20s and 30s, I don’t regret the places I visited, the people I met and the adventures I had. I don’t regret the rocks I jumped off, the boats I back-flipped off, the mountains I climbed and the canyons I trekked. I don’t regret the flings and the deeper relationships, even though many of them hurt.

I don’t regret the wonderful memories because they are part of me, a reflection of my adventurous spirit. And I don’t regret the less pleasant ones because there was nothing I could have done about them.

I was blind. I was on the run, from myself and my feelings. I was chasing highs as well as lows.

But I’m not blind anymore. I can see. And I can see very clearly.

I can see that I’m in the second half of my life. I can see that the years are passing quickly. I can see that I am the architect of my troubles today – even if the roots of those troubles lie in my distant past – and that I am the one who can build a better life. I can see that I have everything in me – all the learning, the ability, the skills, the emotional intelligence, the healing, the maturity and the courage – to do some extraordinary things.

To write those books, to take those trips, to buy myself those gifts, to declutter the house, to welcome the kitten and the puppy into my life, to dance, to sing, to befriend and to belong.

I was not well equipped before, but I’m well equipped now.

So let me take these tools that I have sharpened and use them to build something extraordinary. Not overnight. Not in a flash. This journey of healing and growth that I am on is tiring. I deserve to pace myself. I deserve to be compassionate towards myself.

But let me slowly and steadily delete items from that list of regrets of the living.

Let me have more moments like this morning, when I swim in cold water and dive down for sea shells and then return home to write, wearing my dressing gown over my clothes because I’m still cold, knowing I am already living an extraordinary life.

Let me embrace this extraordinary life, truly inhabit every corner of it, while also taking those small, courageous steps to fulfil every ounce of my potential and to make the rest of my days even more extraordinary.

With thanks for your wonderful support.


Resources For Your Journey

Ready to transform? My flagship 8-week course, How to Fall in Love – Laying the Foundations, begins on July 27. Limited places.

Already have your foundations in place? My Date with Courage, Clarity & Confidence course starts July 20 and runs for 8 weeks, subject to numbers.

Sign up on my website for a free download of Chapter 1 of my book, How to Fall in Love. You can also explore the book on Amazon here.


Posted in Career change, Empowerment, Happiness, Health, Love, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

How Coronavirus taught me to be still

After years of rushing, racing and running, coronavirus has forced me to slow down.

It’s like I have a brake in the middle of my chest. As soon as I start to rush or hurry, or as soon as I get anxious or stressed, the brake comes on automatically, in the form of a sharp pain in my sternum (official name: costochondritis).

This pain slows me right down. It literally presses against me like a giant hand, until I cut my pace.

For a lifelong rush-aholic, it’s fascinating to observe. Has my body finally run out of ways to tell me to be still? Is this its last resort – inflicting pain that at times feels like a heart attack?

I fight back, of course. How could I not? I’m a struggle-aholic too, addicted to battling through life. So I dipped myself in the sea this morning. But I’ve surrendered enough to give up the fast front crawl. Instead, I did some meditative backstroke, slowly, gently, ever so slightly opening my chest. Then I did some equally slow breast stroke, for a minute or two, followed by a period of simply lying on my back, in a star shape, floating, observing the sky and the clouds, in that vast expanse of sea and space.

What a gift.

This pace is such a change for someone who’s been permanently on the move, permanently chasing something elusive at high speed. My nickname used to be the Duracell Bunny for my non-stop energy.

It’s such a change for someone who’s sought out adrenaline rushes and anxiety spikes, as a way to numb the deadness and the pain she’s often felt inside.

It’s such a change for someone who for years felt she had to keep moving fast to work off all the calories she’d consumed in her latest binge. I no longer binge or overeat, and I no longer engage in punishing exercise, but my muscles must remember the perpetual motion, as must my mind. I am still compelled to keep moving.

It’s an annoying change, that’s for sure. I want to run and cycle and swim fast. I want to paddle board and climb hills. This is who I am. This is what I do.

But good is coming out of this too – some useful life lessons, and more time and space to be and to write.

The pain is reducing. My body is healing. I know this from listening to a voice note I recorded into my phone almost a month ago. Here’s an edited version of those words:

My body has stopped me in my tracks. Normally by this time in the morning, I’d have walked the length of the beach, if not jogged it, or I’d have cycled to the sea, swum and cycled home up a few hills, perhaps doing a few leg lunges in the garden once I got back.

Today, though, I parked the car as close as possible to the beach, walked along the pavement at snail’s pace and then inched my way along the sand, tentative step after tentative step, breath by breath, until I reached the nearest sand dune, where I flopped.

I have costochondritis (inflammation of the cartilage around the breast bone, thought to be connected to what was presumably a case of coronavirus, brought back from the French Alps) and the slightest bit of exertion causes pain in my chest, or rather it exacerbates the pain that’s been there constantly for the past few weeks.

man on electric surfboard at sandbanks beach

Surfer from Outer Space

So instead of moving on the beach, today I sat. And I meditated, using a guided meditation that encouraged me to open my mind and to think expansively, and as I did so, I looked out to sea and a man went whizzing past, on an electric surfboard, several feet out of the water. He looked like something from outer space. I want one of those. I want to do that!

Then I observed all the other people doing stuff: the fishermen on their boats, the paddle boarders and the dog walkers, including a woman who wandered down the steps from her beach-front home to walk her dog in a tiny silk dressing gown that skimmed her bum cheeks. I’ve never seen a dog walker dressed like that before – perhaps because I’ve never sat still for long enough. 

Perhaps this is what writers do. They sit and observe everything. Maybe it’s time for me to observe more and write more.

As I sat, the emotions came to the surface, including a terrifying thought: that if I’m not perfect, if I’m not super healthy and fit, my dear husband of only one year will leave me. If I’m not able to join in our bonding outdoor activities, he’ll be off.

I know he won’t. I’ve checked a few times. Yes, I’ve actually asked him. Will you leave me if I don’t get well? He won’t. In sickness and in health and all that. But the fear is real.

Is this how I was dating for all of those years? Is this how I was looking for a relationship? Gripped by a deep fear that if I wasn’t perfect, if he found me out to be faulty somehow, he would walk away. What a weight to carry. What an obstacle to overcome. No wonder I sabotaged my love life for so many years.

My mind wandered back to the pain and I started to beat myself up. This chest pain is my fault. I didn’t ease myself gently back into exercise after having coronavirus. I went too fast, I did too much, I pushed myself. And this is the result. 

Then I remembered that the pain reduces considerably after lying still for 7 or so hours in sleep. So stillness is the solution.

Toes in the sand on Sandbanks beach

Let’s just sit, shall we?

My next thought was: how am I going to get back to the car? I started to plot an easier route to avoid the soft sand. My eyes followed the path I would take – down to the water via the rocks, along the wet sand and back up the next walkway.

I set off, treading carefully, breath by breath.

Nearly four weeks on, I am still walking at this slow pace, but I can go a tiny bit faster before the brake goes on. It’s so interesting to observe myself, and to observe how fast other people move.

Today, I stepped aside to allow a woman a few decades older than me to overtake on the uphill steps. I also continued at my slow pace when a woman paused on a narrow path to allow me to pass at a safe distance. I would normally rush, so as not to inconvenience her, but I can’t. I had to live with the discomfort of keeping her waiting.

I reckon this physically painful period of my life is another layer of the onion, another phase in my development. I used to thrive on adrenaline and stress and I’ve always done everything at the last minute. But I don’t like the feeling it brings me anymore.

Last night, I got anxious preparing for a Facebook Live for Psychologies magazine on finding love after lockdown (you can watch the replay here). I grappled with the tech and the tech grappled back and time flew and before I knew it, it was almost time to go live and I hadn’t combed my hair or applied my lipstick.

Stress. Anxiety. Rushing.

Then pressure on my chest. The brake again.

Telling me: calm, Katherine, slow. It will be good enough. Breathe … 

I’m also learning to pay attention to my breath, which for many years I’ve ignored. I reckon I’ve been a shallow breather most of my life. That’s what happens if you live with panic, dread and an expectation of catastrophe around every corner. That’s what happens if you live on high alert, hyper-vigilant, awaiting danger.

I’ve been doing a breathwork course with the wonderful Sonja Lockyer. Only at the start of the course, I couldn’t actually breathe very well. It felt too scary and too painful to hold my breath. So instead of holding it at the designated points, I simply noticed when the in breath ended and the out breath began, and when the out breath ended and the in breath began. Not doing anything. Not holding. Just noticing. Observing. That’s a change for me.

This pause in my life, in my activity, has also allowed me to explore my deeper health issues: recurrent inflammation and digestive problems, with the support of Kim Talbot, a nutrition expert and a long lost childhood friend of mine, who has the most incredible story of recovery from chronic pain. It’s going to be a long journey of gradual changes but I’m looking forward to the benefits.

In summary, coronavirus and costochondritis have taught me so much:

Patience, surrender, acceptance and trust.

I don’t have to be perfect in order to be loved.

I won’t get fat if I sit still.

I am enough. I have enough. I do enough.

My health is my wealth.

And stillness is the route to my inside world, to creativity and to peace.


***Upcoming Events***

I’m excited to announce the next dates for my transformational How to Fall in Love courses – Laying the Foundations & Date with Courage, Clarity & Confidence. Both courses begin at the end of July. Take a look at my course page if you’d like to join inspiring, courageous women like Anna who are blowing me away with how they are transforming their lives and relationship patterns:

“I want to say a big thank you to Katherine Baldwin for her brilliant courses because today I went on my first date in 14 years and it was okay, in fact I enjoyed it!” 

The courses are also available to take at your own pace if that suits you better. Click here.

Posted in Dating, Health, Leisure, Love, Perfectionism, Recovery, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

It’s OK to make mistakes

Yesterday, I sent an email to my mailing list, consisting mostly of single women on a personal development path, entitled “Open this if you’re looking for love.”

The email invited them to take a look at my How to Fall in Love coursesLaying the Foundations and Date with Courage, Clarity & Confidence and reminded them that if we have dreams, we deserve to create time and space to make them happen.

It was about time I got in touch with my followers. Some of them might have actually wanted to know about the dating course I’ve just begun, yet I’d kept quiet about it, partly because I’ve been struggling with the aftermath of coronavirus (more on that in my next post) and partly because my deep-rooted shame routinely sabotages my marketing efforts (more on shame later).

Anyway, I was pleased I’d finally reached out to my audience after weeks of silence.

Later that evening, on the way to the beach with my husband, I called my 70-something aunty.

“Thank you for your email,” she said.

“What email? Did I send you an email? When? Today?” I replied.

“Yes. It arrived earlier.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. And I was very impressed. Your courses sound very good. I didn’t click on the links as I didn’t think they were for me, but what you wrote really motivated me. It helped me to realise that if I want to make something happen, I need to get on with it!” she said.

By now, the penny was dropping. And my stomach was churning and my heart was sinking.

There was only one explanation as to how my email about a dating course had ended up in my aunty’s inbox. And that explanation had embarrassing consequences. It meant that everyone else on our ‘Wedding Invites’ mailing list had got the email too – including my husband’s mum, his blokey mates, at least one of my ex-boyfriends, two of my husband’s ex-partners, some of my single friends who might find it useful or feel offended, and – I fear but I’m too scared to check – the happily married vicar.

WeddingMeBillJustMetI instantly knew how it had happened. I’ve been working with a virtual assistant on cleaning up my mailing lists, which required the removal of the wedding guests’ emails from my platform. Or that was the plan. It turns out their emails got amalgamated with those of my clients.

So a mistake happened.

They do that, don’t they? Mistakes happen. Or we make them. We all do.

Yet I had an instant shame attack. I felt mortified. I wanted to skip the beach, turn the car around and spend my evening on screens, sending out apologetic messages or frantically phoning friends.

Since I was with my husband, who’s a wonderful antidote to my workaholism, we continued to the beach. But my shame attack carried on. And do you know what I did? I took it out on him – the patient man stood right in front of me; a man who’d had absolutely nothing to do with the mix-up.

I snapped at him over something trivial.

Seconds later, I realised what I’d done.

I’d managed my shame and my anxiety by putting him at disease.

This is one of the symptoms of codependency.

If we’re codependent, we manage our shame and anxiety by putting others at disease, by making others feel uncomfortable, by lashing out at others, by shaming them, judging them and criticising them.

Another, perhaps better known symptom of codependency is that we manage our shame and anxiety by putting others at ease. We are a doormat. We bow down to others. We subjugate ourselves. We go out of our way to be what others want us to be. We are chameleons, always changing the colour of our skin to suit our environment in order to feel safe.

We modify our behaviour – what we say and what we do – because we anticipate other people’s anger, disapproval, rejection or abandonment and want to avoid it at all costs, often at huge detriment to our sense of self and our wellbeing. For example, we stay in toxic, harmful relationships or in soul-deadening careers.

Our functioning, the way we live and conduct ourselves, is dependant on a reaction we imagine, expect and fear.

I’ve been exploring codependency for more than a dozen years, healing from it and recovering from it. As I’ve healed, my understanding of it has deepened.

Codependency is a loss of self. It stems from a deep, often early wound that produces fear, low self-esteem and insecurity, alongside chronic shame – a sense that there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. These by-products of the initial wound or wounds then alter our behaviour in the world – the way we communicate with and respond to others.

We are controlling or we are compliant. We are victims or we are aggressors. Sometimes we’re both, swinging from one extreme to the other.

Sometimes I manage my anxiety and shame by putting others at ease. I overwork, over-deliver, over-promise, overcompensate for a deep sense that I’m not enough. I say Yes when I mean No and vice versa. I lay down at the feet of authority figures or people I admire or fear and allow them to trample on me, undervalue me, or take advantage of me. Much less than I used to, of course. I’ve changed a lot. Yet I remain a work in progress.

On the other hand, as I said earlier, I manage my anxiety and shame by putting others at disease. I snap, criticise, judge, lash out, find fault.

And only now am I seeing what a harmful affect this has had on my romantic relationships over the years. Thankfully, I’ve done so much work on myself that I’m not at risk of sabotaging my marriage. I notice my behaviour quickly and apologise instantly, as I did yesterday on the beach. But without this inner work, I wouldn’t be married, or I’d be at risk of breaking my marriage whenever I felt shame or anxiety.

It pains me to look back on past relationships and remember the occasions when I belittled people or undermined them or judged them or criticised them, in order to manage my anxiety or sense of shame. It also pains me to remember the occasions when I adapted myself and lost myself to avoid rejection, when I became who I thought you wanted me to be.

Can you relate to any of this?

Do you manage your anxiety, shame or fear by putting others at disease?

Do you manage your anxiety, shame or fear by putting others at ease?

Do you swing between the two?

Do you modify your behaviour – what you say and what you do – based on a perceived threat, on the possibility that the person before you might be angry, might disapprove or might abandon you?

When I ask my coaching clients and course participants what their biggest challenge is in relation to dating and entering into relationships, many of them say it’s being their authentic selves in relationship, staying true to themselves, not abandoning or losing themselves.

I get it.

But it’s codependent, and so damaging, to modify our behaviour so that someone will love us or to make them stay.

Clearly, we’re all on the codependent spectrum. There are degrees. We may omit to tell the whole truth to spare someone’s feelings or to avoid discomfort. Or we may do something we don’t want to do for an easy life.

The problem is when this codependency wrecks our relationships or our chances of finding love.

Or when this codependency keeps us in a relationship that’s harmful, potentially dangerous or a complete waste of our precious life.

Or when this codependency keeps us in a job that’s stifling our spirit and sending our soul to sleep.

Or when this codependency drives us to give too much of ourselves in order to please others, leaving us exhausted, drained, burnt out and with nothing left for ourselves.

I have been there – to all of these places – and, in so many ways, I have recovered. In others, I am making progress, always growing and learning. Perfectly imperfectly.

You can recover too.



Read my book, How to Fall in Love – A 10-Step Journey to the Heart. You’ll find a wealth of resources at the end of the book, from further reading to support groups.

Check out my How to Fall in Love courses (there’s still time to join the dating course if you’re quick!)

Subscribe to my YouTube channel and watch some of my self-love and dating masterclasses.

Codependent No More by Melody Beattie is a great introductory book to codependency.

You’ll also find some good definitions and resources on this website.

Posted in Addiction, codependency, Dating, Perfectionism, Recovery, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Lonely in lockdown? You’re not alone






These words are roaming around my mind right now, prompting my fingers to search out letters on the keyboard.

I don’t know in what order to put the words. I don’t know where this blog will lead. All I know is that I need to write something down, so here goes …..

Some of you will be feeling exceptionally lonely at this time. You’ll be missing hugs, touch and closeness. Some of you may be feeling starved of physical contact and hungry for human connection.

I get it. I’ve been there.

I’m not there now because, thankfully, I’m sharing lockdown with my husband, but I remember long periods of time, during my single years, when I ached to be touched in a caring or loving way, when I longed for closeness and intimacy, despite being scared of it.

Massages helped – I’d often cry on the rare occasion when I followed through on my promise to myself to have a massage, moved to tears by a stranger’s gentle touch. Hugs from friends helped too. But they didn’t go all the way to satisfy that longing, that yearning.

And right now, if you’re single and living alone, you can’t have massages and you can’t have hugs, and that’s beyond tough. And if you’re childless too, not by choice, you’re going to feel the longing even more – especially at this time when we’re reminded daily to stay at home with our families or to mix only with people from our households.

What if you have no family? And what if your household consists of one? The messaging from governments around the world is consistently tactless, exclusive and alienating, exacerbating the sense of isolation felt by many single people who live alone, as Australian journalist Jill Stark writes in this article.

So if you’re hurting, if you’re aching and if you feel ignored or invisible, I’d like to say that I see you. I acknowledge you. We see you. We acknowledge you. And you are not alone.

But where do we go from here?

Sadly, I don’t have any fixes. There are no magic bullets. I only have some suggestions, which I accept might not cut it at this time, but I’ll offer a few of them anyway as they’re all I’ve got.

Feel your feelings

Allow yourself to go there. Feel the pain. Get in touch with the hunger, the yearning and the loss. For me, the act of honouring, accepting and feeling all of my feelings has proved transformative. Something shifts deep inside. Something changes. I am changed by the process.

By feeling your true feelings about the current situation, you may get in touch with much deeper feelings about your past – memories of feeling lonely, alone, isolated, invisible, unseen, forgotten, afraid or unsupported. Allow yourself to go there too if you can – if it’s not too painful.

This, as I say to my coaching clients, is the gold dust. This is where the transformation happens. In the dark places. In the tears. In the pain.

Share your feelings

It’s especially powerful if you can share your feelings with someone else, with someone who’ll understand – someone who’ll see you, hear you, acknowledge you, empathise with you and support you, ideally with someone who can identify with how you’re feeling. Clearly, it’s best to avoid people who might shame you for being ‘over-emotional’, selfish or who might be intolerant of your sensitivity (something that might have happened in your past and left scars).

Soothe yourself

As you feel your feelings and share them, make sure that you love yourself – that you love yourself through the pain. Take care of yourself. Hug yourself. Soothe yourself. Identify the longing or the craving and then try to figure out if there’s anything that you can do to meet that longing or to satisfy that craving in a healthy way, even if you only manage to touch the tip of the iceberg. This is a start. A tiny start. (If you need support with this, watch How to Self-Soothe in Healthy Ways  an hour-long webinar I recorded recently in which I share some tools that have helped me to heal from decades of overeating and other forms of self-harm).

Creativity is one thing that helped me recently to soothe my sky-high anxiety around my mum, who’s in lockdown in a care home 300 miles away and who turned 80 yesterday. I got creative and I made a card (you can watch a 6-min video about the process here).

To be clear, it doesn’t come naturally to me to manage my anxiety by creating something, or by gardening, baking, writing, meditating or going on mindful walks – all those things that we know are good for us. My default is to think and worry obsessively, and then to work, work and work. The more anxious I am, the harder I work. Over-working might be marginally better for me than binge eating, which I did in the past and thankfully no longer do, but it still isn’t healthy.

The key is to be really kind and loving towards ourselves as well as to practise gentle discipline when we see that we’re overworking or overeating or over-doing something else. 

mewaterfallLet nature nurture you

In addition, if you can, get outdoors. Get away from screens and tech and into nature. Notice the leaves and the breeze. Feel the soil and the stones. Turn your face to the sun. Imagine you’re standing beneath a waterfall.

Connect, if you want to

And, of course, connect to others, which I appreciate may mean returning to tech and to screens, but if this is your only means of connection, it’s likely the upsides outweigh the downsides.

That said, notice if you’re using on screen time. I sometimes feel like I need to connect with others, that I need to be at the party that’s happening on my laptop or phone, when really I need to sit quietly and connect with myself.

This is about self-awareness – about identifying our real needs, not what we think we should be doing because everyone else is doing it.

But I didn’t intend this to be a ‘how to’ post or a ’10 steps to …’ article.

I started writing this blog today because I wanted to tell my truth.

My learnings

It strikes me as odd that I haven’t written here for over a month – odd because I’ve had so many feelings going on and this is one of the first places I go to work through them. But perhaps I didn’t know where to start. Perhaps I had too much to say. Or perhaps I was scared of my truth. This blog, right from its origins, has demanded absolute, rigorous honesty, a form of nakedness. Maybe I was feeling too delicate – until now. Or maybe I procrastinated.

Of course, my truth is that I do have too much to say, at least for one post. I have learned so much about myself since the coronavirus pandemic began.

I’ve learned how much I fear illness and death and how illness triggers painful memories from my past. When my husband had a bad bout of what was probably coronavirus a few weeks ago and his breathing became laboured, I recalled the night I slept on the floor in the back room of my dad’s house on the eve of his death, listening to his breath rattle through his lungs – an experience I wish I hadn’t had and I especially wish I hadn’t had alone. I can see myself. Lying there. In the dark. Scared. Grieving.

I’ve learned more too about my anxiety around people (which I hide well beneath a confident, sociable exterior) and about how I manage my fear and anxiety about being in groups by leading them, by creating a space or a barrier between me and everyone else. I’ve learned that going forwards, I’d like to be part of groups on more occasions, not just lead them. I’d like to belong. I’d like more friends and more shared experiences.

My loneliness

Finally, this Easter weekend, I learned more about my loneliness, which is why I wanted to write this blog.

I felt painfully lonely this weekend – especially on Saturday, despite having the wonderful company of my husband. Now, this isn’t about feeling lonely in my relationship (I know that can happen and it’s really sad when it does, but that’s not what I’m talking about). I love my relationship and my husband, and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather be locked down with.

Rather it’s about a deep loneliness, something I carry and have always carried and perhaps will always carry. I sense it’s connected to my early wounds, to those early scars.

It’s heavy. It’s big. It’s a void. An abyss. And it aches.

I could call it existential loneliness and explain it away as part of the human condition, but that sounds too high-brow, too intellectual. For me, it’s a rupture.

I feel it more on national holidays – Christmas and especially Easter. When it arrives, my first thought is that it’s connected to not having children. Under normal circumstances, Christmas and Easter are times when extended families gather – times when women who are childless not by choice feel their loss and their difference more acutely than ever. And although we’re in lockdown, there are families staying at home all around our neighbourhood, so this would be a fair explanation – my Easter blues were related to not having kids and to seeing families play in the sunshine.

And maybe that’s part of it. But I just know it goes deeper than that. I know, or I think I know, that it would still be there whether I had one child or six – and maybe I hope that would be true as it’d mean I hadn’t made the worst choice ever by not having children (even though it wasn’t exactly a choice; it was more of a non-choice, born out of ambivalence).

Perhaps it was there at the start. Perhaps it began inside the womb or just after I emerged from it – a breaking, a separation, a need unmet, a longing unfulfilled, a something that I don’t have the words to describe. A hole in the soul, as the saying goes.

And then I spent decades trying to fill that hole and escape that emptiness, but none of it worked and I ended up in a much darker place than before, until I began my climb out.

Healing has happened since that moment. So much healing, especially in terms of my relationship with myself and with men. Without that healing, I wouldn’t be married. Hurt happens in relationship and healing happens there too and I have healed so many wounds.

But that doesn’t mean the darkness has gone away. The void is still there, and it shows up sometimes, as it did this Easter Saturday.

And what if I accept that it’ll always be there? Perhaps that would make my life easier? Because I know I’m still trying to escape it in one way or another – by working too hard, achieving too much, by trying to please too many people, by being scared to be entirely myself.

Like me. Love me. Don’t hurt me. Don’t judge me. Don’t leave me. Please. 

What if I could just give up all the striving and trying and accept that it’ll always be there – that it’s part of me, an important part of me, part of my uniqueness, my Katherineness?

As I write this, I’m still trying to figure out whether that’s comforting or not; whether I’m OK with it being there all the time or whether that’s frightening or depressing.

I think I’m OK with it. We’ll see.

But what I’d love to know is do you feel it too? Have you always felt it? Did you feel it in the past or did a relationship or a child or both make it go away? Do you now have that relationship and/or that child and does it still linger?

Or do you think that a relationship and/or a child will make it go away, and how is it to feel that way? Does that belief lead to a state of desperately seeking – desperately seeking that relationship or that child, to your own detriment? (I did this in the past). And does desperately seeking lead to constant disappointment? How would it be if you desperately sought and found that relationship and/or that child and the void still hadn’t gone away? Would that be bearable? Intolerable? Disappointing?

Finally, how would it be to desperately seek yourself?

I’d love to know.

This blog has always been about connection – connection through shared experiences and the incredible power of identification with others to help us to feel less alone. So if you feel minded to, please comment below or drop me a message.

Your comments and messages have always helped me to feel less alone and I thank you for that.


Further Reading, Viewing & Resources

Read my lockdown blogs for Psychologies magazine Life Labs: How to stay sane during lockdown and How to date at a distance: Finding Love During Lockdown

Watch my lockdown webinar recordings: How to date at a distance and How to manage anxiety, fear and pain in healthy ways.

Lockdown Course Offer: Use the code soothe20 at checkout for 20 percent off either of these two online courses:

Step Inside – Reconnect with your true self – 7-Day Course

How to Fall in Love – Laying the Foundations– 5-Week Self-Paced Course

Lockdown book discount: How to Fall in Love is on offer right now over on Amazon.

Posted in Addiction, Childless, codependency, Creativity, Dating, Eating disorders, Love, Recovery, Relationships, Self-Acceptance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments