Life cycles

4 years ago, I started scribbling my adventures on notebooks about the dark world of domestic abuse, and with a sigh of relief, the story Is mostly finished.

From the start of this project, I was uncertain if I would ever publish the story, despite a lot of encouragement from my daughters, a couple of pals, and various kind souls on social media. I kept going thanks to your encouraging claps. I hold you guys in my heart, it meant a lot.

I knew deep down selling my story wasn’t the driving force behind my teary scribbles and didn’t know why I felt so compelled to keep writing.  A few hours editing and tidying would make it a complete book.  Yet, something has been bothering me for some time, which I believe, has made writing the conclusion of the book, tricky.

I suspect Africa has something to do with this. My journey with Africa started a couple of years after, I jumped into the human swamplands.

Putting pen to paper, drew dark stories from the soupy wounds of my unconscious, like a snake charmer onto paper.  

I was oblivious that my past haunted me, I  drunk gallons of Ayauscaha and San Pedro in South America.  I did therapy, I believed I was healed, cleansed and normal until those words revealed stories I had denied through deep shame.

The liberation gained from writing has led me to encourage others to write their stories. it’s a bittersweet process, that undoubtedly has a peculiar and enlightening impact upon your life. (I enjoy reflecting on the simplicity of this, often)

Writing and sharing my experiences has reclaimed personal power.

When I lived in the wastelands of society as a reprobate, it was standard to feel my skin being raked by other people’s disgust. I often wonder why nobody called the police; I knew, they knew life was cruel at my place.  I saw the lights and shadows appear behind their curtains, as I crouched behind cars gaging my mouth for silence, they heard the screams from me and my young daughters, through our broken windows.

I lived on that street for 12 years with panda bear eyes glued to the ground. They heard the frequent calls from my madmen calling me back, like Iman calling  prayers, “Get back now bitch, I’m gonna kill you”

I assumed at the time, the reason no one intervened was that they wanted me to die.  My existence on their street affected the house prices and my prison/home was a dump, like me. It’s a sad reflection of society, but I don’t blame anyone, its life and its messy. I personified people deepest fears, absolute rejection.  I always hope to reach out to the person who reminds me of who I once was. Unwanted and disregarded.

After finally the dumping my Psychotic boyfriend, I upgraded myself to a “strange-weirdo-eccentric’, other people’s adjectives not mine.  I performed at blending in, by nodding a lot, saying positive things, watching EastEnders and drinking increasingly larger quantities of alcohol to sublimate my unacknowledged pain.


I learnt not to share my dreams.

 I felt inadequate in the company those subscribed to the middle class. They appeared to be experts in all fields of life and shat sympathy at my innocent fantasy’s.

I learnt to keep my head down and keep my opinions to myself. My ears have always preferred the sound of other voices, to my own lips smacking. This made being in service to others a joy.  Which is fortunate as my exit from the swamplands left me in an alien world. I didn’t understand.

I’m blessed that I stumbled the path of living in service to others, in a positive way. The story I lived became my mighty sword that cuts through the nonsense.


I use that sword to walk alongside human beings with wounded souls and teach them how to navigate difficulty. My life experiences turned into gifts offering me airtime in society.


I’ll never win a popularity contest, and that suits me perfectly, I’d wilt under the spotlight of scrutiny. The voyeurs and curtain twitchers of Social Media, I thank you for that lesson. The thought of having to perform and please the masses would be painful. I admire those who do.

My dark sense of humour and obligation to speak from the heart forces me to speak candidly when I see, what I believe is BS. Yet, when the shits hit the fan, people knock my door, (or text me) knowing I’ll have wide arms and an open heart, take your hand to scramble through the darker paths of humanity/


I know I’m different from my colleagues in the therapy world, I don’t fit in there either, I tried, and I just couldn’t manage it without carving up my humanity.   I’m happy being a solo ranger in the swamplands, I know this territory like the back of my hand.  I’m an unconventional maverick, who swears, tells terrible jokes and threatens violence, whilst showing you the way to your personal power.  (The threats are playful and said with a cheeky grin)

I was thrilled to discover the story of, The Sin-Eaters in Wales who lived on the boundary lines of villages. The Sin eater is only called into the village when someone dies. The Sin-Eaters had a distinct purpose in the community, to cleanse the wounded souls of the dead for them to pass the pearly gates.

The sin eaters ate the sins of the deceased, and once they complete their task, they return to the edge of the village. I resonate with the Sin-Eaters, I don’t eat the bread of dead people’s belly, but I’m the women who cleans up messy human stuff and keeps myself to myself with the back up of a tiny circle of people I trust.

I spent my 30s trying to be a normal person, I transferred my addiction to taking class A drugs to drinking wine. I got a boyfriend who enunciated clearly and was a  dab hand at navigating “normality”.  He had a job that required a suit and didn’t have a criminal record. Vicariously I learnt how to please others and agree to the bland rules of conformity.

I started buying my knickers from M&S rather than nicking them from ASDA. i was trying to conform. 

I’m writing this in the Gambia while crafting a plan to create a sanctuary from the fast-paced materialistic world.  I first visited The Gambia in 1992, when I 17 years old. I cried for two days because I felt frightened and overwhelmed by its endless paradox’s.  I returned when I was 21, to see the medicine man to heal my psychosis, (my parents’ idea not mine) and I’ve lost count of the times, I’ve returned since.

The pendulum of balance instigated a maddening itch in my 30s to travel to unusual places. Unknowingly I was searching for somewhere that felt like home. I ignored Africa as a potential home, due to cavernous brainwashing regarding the primitive rawness and hostility in this continent. An idea on the top shelves of the pantry preserved in a jam jar by the western world to justify raping and pillaging the people and land. The media continues to peddle this myth. You wankers.

I’m here with happy tears in my eyes, overwhelmed by unpretentious kindness. I want to spend more time here, and share what I’m experiencing with you.


I love helping other people feel good inside, as I really know how it feels not too.


Watch this space…


My website

You are welcome to get in touch or make an appointment to visit my office on New Walk Leicestershire England or connect via Skype.

Big love, Alexia x



The paradox of existential isolation

Invisibility is considered a superpower said, someone who hasn’t lived feeling invisible to the world.

Existential isolation is a harrowing and profoundly self-destructive experience, where you feel disconnected and invisible to the social world.

What makes this existential concept utterly soul-destroying is, the problem is outlined in indelible ink.

After two decades of meticulous listening to thousands of peoples deepest secrets and stories of hardship, I’ve learnt an understanding towards stories from doing time in misery. The indescribable sorrow towards myself was, the result of being in the clutch of, invisibility, (existential isolation)

I’m a fan of Irvine Yolam, this quote makes sense to me

“Existential isolation impregnates the “paste of things” and hides within our lived experience, and we experience only a world of everydayness and routine activities. “We are lulled into a sense of cosy, familiar belongingness; the primordial world of vast emptiness and isolation is buried and silenced, only to speak in brief bursts, during nightmares and mythic visions.”

adolescence finally gave me something to trade with the social world and low cut tops became my shortcut to attention/visibility which ironically made me cringe and run for shelter.

The attention from others repulsed me and the fear of their scrutiny made me squirm in shame.  I’d scutter back to the familiar gutter of invisibility and fantasise about being seen and reignite the craving.  Yep, an absurd paradox

My appearance on the stage doing visibility with my boobs was short lived,  6 months to be exact before the  Boob show was scrapped.  At 15years old, I  left home to live with a guy who beat me and locked me up like a scabby stray dog.

Why did I stay with someone who beat me?

 It’s simple; he acknowledged me and the pain he inflicted upon me made me feel visible and weirdly, important. I made him angry, he must care.

Yes, I know, it’s an extreme form of validation, but it was the only acknowledgement I thought I deserved, positive acknowledgement was alien to me.



Depraved loneliness was my reality tunnel and the constant dramas which were ALWAYS my fault further reinforced my lack of meaning.

The relentless internal arguments ranging from whispers to shouting only served to strengthen a childhood wound.

It was all too much to handle in my naivety, drugs and self-created chaos, offered solace and avoidance.  Thanks crack cocaine. You were once a good friend.

This existential isolation was the core of numerous prevailing symptoms that presented in extremely self-destructive and unsociable behaviours. Over the years, I’ve addressed and changed the unfavourable behaviours which played significant roles in my addictions.

For those who haven’t “done time” in existential isolation this sound nonsensical. In truth, it’s as illogical as low self-esteem.

The difference being self-esteem is a mainstream issue in the world of psychological health. 

Existential isolation or nothingness is the master of railroading the search for the “something” in the nothingness.

It’s difficult to spot and impossible to spot if you haven’t done time in this landscape.

My boyfriend back then had a different experience with existence; he was loud and brash and was highly visible and recognised by others with juvenile adoration.  His formidable reputation held the metaphorical ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory of visibility.

Unknown to me, I hankered access to wonka’s magic world and needed to stay with him for access.  

My unconscious desire for visibility superseded sensibility, and this existential need was running the show.!!

Existential isolation is a desolate landscape to walk, if you are there I feel for you, but trust me you are not alone.  

I’ve had many conversations with death and concluding the only real way out of the shit hole was to jump of a bridge.

I survived it, and so can you.

Over the years I’ve changed many deeply held conflicts and behaviour feeding a plethora of addictions, all of which unknown to me at the time related, to soul loss.

A loss that left me abandoned in a world where, I could see and touch others but felt like I experienced life through a lens as an invisible voyeur.


Existential isolation follows a trauma, a shock or a disassociation

  • Have you had that feeling when you experience something so shocking your breath is expelled out of you?
  • It feels like you have been hit in the guts?

It’s common for people to say after a soul loss, “I’ve never been the same since X” and that’s when part of our soul cleared off.

My granny died when I was eight years of age, at the same time, I lost my mum who waded through grief.  Mum was here in body and her soul was somewhere else.

Yalom writes, “No matter how close each of us becomes to another there remains a final unbridgeable gap; each of us enters existence alone and must depart from it alone. The existential conflict is thus, the tension between our awareness of our absolute isolation and our wish to be part of a larger whole”


Signs of existential isolation

  • As we become more accomplished in existing in a world of invisibility, we learn to put on a show to survive interactions with others. The show is only manageable for short periods of time and often leaves you exhausted, if you exceed your manageable social limits.
  • Feeling of dread of social events, anticipating being worn out as a result of putting on a show. 
  • An irritation with people invading your space.
  • Feeling like your words evaporate during social events.
  • Feeling like you don’t belong here on earth.


What can you do?

  • Create a timeline of significant events from your life from birth to now, and pay attention to events that stand out and may be a precursor to a change in your story? When did the world change for you?
  • Talk, meditate, write about any significant event (s) with the aim to make sense of them.
  • Contemplate
  • What has happened to the relationship between you and the world as a result of this event?
  • What decisions did you make about yourself as a result of this event/trauma?
  • Consider how you can yield responsibility and become the author of your life.
  • Translate the old pain into courage, an act of courage that gives you permission to be here.
  • Then share that with other people, and you know what? That sharing creates powerful validating feedback.

I conclude we’re pretty fucked up!

A strategy I used for survival in the past was “Zip your mouth up, Lex and do not challenge others”. I often think differently to the herd and I am comfortable with that. Yet for years I nodded my head, smiled sweetly, agreed and adapted into ‘others’ worlds, for a quiet life.

I was afraid to speak for various reasons:

  1. I did not want to offend others by thinking differently to them.
  2. I was also afraid of being called stupid, which I heard many times.

Later in life, I kept ‘zipped’ to avoid getting a smack in the mouth. I live in peace now and no one shames me for having a different opinion or hits me for saying something different. I’m fortunate, no one hassles me.

What I write here is likely to piss people off, it is not my intention. Reactive mocking towards those who do not agree with us is the norm and it is concerning when it’s carried out by those we consider intelligent. The keyword in social media this week has been ‘stupid’. I have got to hand it to you, Donald Trump. You are an influencer for sure.

I’m metaphorically nailing myself to the cross here. Please, feel free to whip me if you wish, I will bend over if you ask politely.

To be clear, I’m taking Coronavirus seriously. I have self-isolated with a modest amount of food and loo roll. In truth, isolation hasn’t been a challenge for me so far. I avoid people out of the context of work, for sanity. I don’t have small children at home and have a garden to access fresh air, I can’t complain.

I’m in consideration for the poor fuckers living in poor cramped housing and the vulnerable souls trapped knee-deep in domestic abuse. Bearing in the mind the widening hole of poverty in society, alongside the mainstream knowledge that thousands of homeless human beings die on the streets every year, what do we do? Not much at all. We throw ‘em a few quid, take a picture for social media and revel in the love hearts. This situation shows us that, when we want to make a change, we can. If we really give a shit. Maybe this is a seed for societal change.

It’s saddened me to observe the cruelty spewed towards each other, for not sharing the same political opinion. I’m sure many people do not understand the severity of the situation. Yet weirdly this situation has brought many of us closer to the people we’ve ignored: the homeless human beings.

It is difficult to understand why someone would buy 100’s of rolls of toilet roll or ignore government advice when it seems so clear to us that selfish behaviour during a crisis leads to disaster. I understand the fear and anger to those flaunting around markets and parks oblivious to the severity of the virus to society.

I believe overall people are inherently good and people act in ways that do not serve society, I wonder what motivates them? Instead of scolding their skin with shame.

I was in my early 20s when 911 happened. I vaguely recall the shock within society, I was oblivious. I had nothing and lived in a war zone. What was happening outside of my home, made no difference to me. I didn’t give a shit because society was shit to me.

It’s likely I would have carried on wandering around with my children oblivious to the danger, I was disconnected from you all. If you scalded me, I would have probably spat in your face. Why? Society had abandoned me. Back then, life 100% shit. I suspect some of you can relate to this nihilism. Alongside my venom towards society, I held a silly belief, crafted from various life experiences, that I was “invincible”. The combination was dangerous and naive.

I suspect many of the people who’ve ignored the new rules for social isolation are desperate, they might be suffering from mental health issues, possibly suicidal, in disbelief, or wounded by society and carrying “I don’t give a fuck” as a protective shield.

The hypocrisy troubles me. It was only a few weeks ago,  social media warriors were furiously posting copied and pasted status’s screaming, BE KIND! That kindness had a short time on social media’s stage when fear tapped on the stage door. Fear hijacked the show and kindness ran faster than the virus.

On the flip side, the do’ers are doing and probably being shamed by the pointy finger crew, for buying several bags of rice. if only  ‘pointy fingered’  enquired instead of assuming.

The celebration of the NHS last night was beautiful, I love stuff like this and cry with joy towards collective kindness. Yet I felt a strange discomfort towards the clapping of hands, I wondered what was being communicated here? Are we celebrating a government that allows hard-working genuine people to work, unprotected, with unsafe staffing levels, earning shit money, are we clapping for that?

I know society’s intention was towards the brilliant NHS staff, but they deserve more than a fucking clap, they deserve a pay increase and better working conditions.

Was our collective clapping metaphorically putting health workers arms up their backs with the subtle message, ‘it’s down to guys, save us’!! Cough, Carry on regardless, chaps.

Why didn’t we shout from our windows asking for the NHS to be protected, while dealing with a highly infectious virus and potential mass death?

The fickleness of society will quickly shelf the NHS back on the shit pile. We will collectively creep back into a cosy state of comfort, snorting materialism, judging and pointing our fingers at others for their differences. Give it a couple of months we will be back to moaning how shit it is to get a GP appointment.

I’ve lived hand to mouth and had many times without toilet roll and luxury items. I didn’t realise my past life in poverty would give me resilience in the future.

I genuinely hope this passes quickly for us all, I am sorry for those suffering and sorry for the many who have died and those left behind.

I’m sorry for those who haven’t lived without. comfort and security, I know you’re dealing with the fear of losing everything you know and facing nothingness. That’s probably quite scary if you haven’t felt it before but trust me calling people stupid is unlikely to stop that.

  • ●  I hope we develop deeper compassion and wiser understanding of others.
  • ●  I hope we become curious about each other’s worldviews.
  • ●  I hope we develop a sense of unity instead of duality.
  • ●  I hope we learn to be kinder and more considerate
  • ●  I hope we find a way to rethink of values collectively.

Is this an invitation to reconsider our warrior driven need to rescue the planet and everything within it? Maybe our need to master everything is getting out of hand.

  • People are living longer than before, thanks to medicine,
  •  People are having children who wouldn’t have been able too, thanks to medicine.
  •  People are surviving life-threatening illness’s, thanks to medicine.

I keep wondering if our well-intended need to save everything is screwing up the balance, of an intricate process we really do not understand?

I’m seriously considering what I’m doing here, are you?


Alexia x













What can hardship teach us?

We have all encountered hardship, and uncertainty.

We know difficulty is part and parcel of being human.

When these existential truths knock on our door, we squeal, blame others and run for the hills armed with toilet roll, it appears.

We are yearning to nestle back into the cosy religion of “comfort”,  follow the herd and bath in our routines and order.

The illusion of uncertainly has been lifted and now we are truly living in the moment.

We will emerge from this shakeup, stronger kinder and wiser.

Life is uncertain, it always has been.

From the moment you were born, you learnt to deal with certainty. Tap into that wisdom. tune into your experiences, of resilience.

This is temporary, everything passes and each day we are getting closer to healing and renewal.

Lots of love

Alexia X

Want to reclaim your personal power?

Alexia’s Therapy Website



The fool’s trip to enlightening freedom


 We often relate to life as a journey. And fortunately, there are unlimited books, courses and experts offering sage-like help on our path to inner peace.  It doesn’t matter what path brought you to this point, you survived.  High five to you, brother-sister!!- You have got this far in life and therefore earned a place on the stage.


  • Do you have unshared stories hiding within you?
  • Are you uncertain about what to do next?


I feel a sense of sadness considering how many unheard heroes have curled up in their cave thinking this is it? Ok, I’ll stay here and be safe.


“Along your pathway of life, you will observe that you are not the only traveller. There are others who need your help. There are feet to steady, hands to grasp, minds to encourage, hearts to inspire, and souls to save” Thomas Monson


Get out of your cave and face yourself and the experiences that lived in body wisdom.


This invitation is a well-considered experimental journey, open to people with some clowning experience, or those who have worked with me.  Drop me a line to enquire to express your interested in joining a group of creative beauties on this 8-month journey, crack on, places are limited to 10.


My recent daydreams have been dedicated to conjuring a process of embodied play that exposes profound authentic wisdom, deeper expression and humility.  Four years ago, I fell into the bizarre world of clowning, and a lifetime of vulnerability, shame and shyness were seduced by this ridiculous transgressive creative play. My heart purred and I was immediately inspired.


The simplicity has so far been profoundly powerful, liberating, and beyond words. My fascination for beyond words experiences demanded me to put on my boots and explore this landscape with wide eyes and an open heart.


Each time I explore this magical disregarded space; confirmed I had to take others with me. Which led me to embark on a 2-year clowning facilitators course with the brilliant world-renown Vivian Gladwell. Running workshops is, a sensible requisite for my training.


Without a background in theatre or drama, I wondered how I could approach this?  A year of beard scratching brought the realisation, I should draw upon my extensive experience as a Therapist, realising this provides a safe foundation to build a unique and transformative journey.


Location: The space to breathe….

Time: 1pm-5pm.

Costs:  I am keeping this to a minimum of £10 each month, to cover room costs and the purchase of props. Full payment £80 is required to secure your place.  It is important you attend every meeting, if you feel flaky then I’ll give you a friendly Toodle pip, as serious commitment is required for you and your fellow explorers.


22nd Feb

21st March

25th April

16th May

20th July

18th July

22nd Aug

19th Sept


To be clear, this isn’t group therapy, or strictly ‘clowning’, despite clown philosophy being a strong foundation. This doesn’t mean the process won’t be therapeutic and transformative; it undoubtedly will be, alongside being very silly and humbling.


Over the eight months, we will activate and explore 12 archetypes through embodied improv-clown play. I aspire collectively to discover deeper layers to our humanness without thinking, conscious control or logic.


Be warned- profound changes will take place for you, and all I can say, it’s weird, it’s beautifully weird.  You learn to stop thinking, controlling and fall into trust with your innate wisdom. And boom, what you discover sitting within you, is mind-blowing and sometimes disturbing ha.


Clowning is more than a physical art form, it opens us to divine support, similar to a plant drawing nutrient from the earth.  The overall aim of this series of workshops is to collectively embark on a brave journey to open up what society, education and culture have shut down.

During this process, you will stumble across many opportunities showing you the way back home, to who you really are.


The simplicity of this work will show you how to you trust yourself and transform vulnerability into a sword, that positively affects others.

Expected- intended Outcomes

  • Confidence improved
  • Playfulness released
  • Physicality opened up
  • Understanding of 12 archetypes.
  • Permission to be and express a fuller spectrum of yourself
  • A greater understanding of the art of creating magic
  • Improvisation skills and confidence increased
  • Increased authenticity
  • Increased trust in spontaneity, being in the moment
  • Increased understanding of laughter creation and management
  • How to deal with ‘failure.’
  • Increased responsiveness – learning to trust impulses



Alexia x



This series of workshop is fully booked. If you are interested, email me and I’ll add you to the waiting list. X

Is it God’s fault?

We’ve all spat our disappointment to God at some point.

“How can God exist when children are dying, people are starving across the globe, and wars are ever-present?” etc. etc….

What’s going on?  I reckon God’s done a remarkable job. This universe is really impressive and consciousness well, I couldn’t dream that up.

For clarity, I view God in an energetic sense, if pushed I’d say animism suits my worldview best. So, when I say, God, I’m not referring to a bearded benevolent fella sitting on a cloud, monitoring the wheat from the chaff at the pearly gates.

I am a solid enthusiast of psychedelics, yet I doubt munching my way through a Shaman’s cosmic larder, would give me what’s required to knock up the visionary powers to dream up, consciousness.

I feel mean that the blame falls to God for the pain, suffering and misery in this world.

I enjoy shapeshifting for fun, it’s  a powerful way to get out of my habituated perspectives. Currently, I’m exploring being God, which means you, are also God. We are all God, see it like the pomegranate and the seeds in a pomegranate. We are the seeds and the pomegranate needs us seeds to do our bit, in order to continue.

From this perceptive its clear, we all play a bigger role in global suffering, than we care to admit.  We can’t be rogue seeds with our current ME-ME-ME, individualistic mindsets.

I believe It’s our communal responsibility to care for our planet, in the same way, we fiercely care and protect our homes, bank accounts, dogs and loved ones.

We all know deep down, we’re playing a significant role in the destruction of the planet. Let’s stop bleating and ranting on shitty articles on social media about the government and other shithead leaders, who continuously prove to be a total waste of space.

Moaning is passive time-wasting. DO something, anything, don’t let apathy eat your soul, my friend.

Whether your destructive contribution

  • Is buying cheap fashion,
  • Eating cheap meat
  • Over-consuming plastic
  • Judging the heroin addict,t chasing the dragon on the carpark staircase,

I could go on, but I suspect you get my drift.

I suspect we are all so immersed in mass denial in various ways, for some it might be regarding the cruelty the poor creature endured before its cruel death, for you to mindlessly gnaw on your beef burger. or ignoring the possibility that a small child is effectively being used as a slave in an overcrowded sweatshop, to give us that sparkly little T-shirt from a throwaway fashion store.

I think collective denial offers protection from our deepest fears.  It seems easier to spill our disgust and hatred onto the heroin addict, the alcoholic or the overeater, for not getting a handle on life and not behave accordingly to your rules. Yet, have you got a handle on your life, really?

How much of a role are you playing in the misery you observe- engage in?

The next question to consider is, “whatcha gonna do about it?”

I’m not suggesting you start a civil war, but maybe chose an area that conjures up some passion, something meaningful to you.

It could be saving the local library or visiting an elderly neighbour regularly, or buying meat from a reputable farmer, smiling at a stranger, or picking up litter.

The beauty in DOING is, when you do something from the heart, you get some really good feelings, that are free and without side effects, it’s better than citalopram.

I have a grandiose dream, that fractals of God are embedded deeply in every cell of our body,  a truth we never try to deny or argue.  with this knowledge, we can’t snooze in the safety blanket of denial. We are the creator and maintainer of misery and hellishness on this earth, (yes, and of course all the beautiful stuff) such a notion can open our awareness to the immense power we have as a collective organism, to shift the direction of our consciousness.

How can you make a small shift to doing a little more with regards to shifting the direction of our collective energy?

I dream we create a tidal wave of powerful human thought…and more Importantly DOING…


I do like to dream.

This post is not intended to sound judgmental, it’s neither an order. I consider my lack of inertia, actions and interactions daily with consideration.

Drop by with your thoughts, I  love hearing from you! 🙂


With Love

Alexia x

Other people’s Happiness is not your business. Keep your beak out! :-)

If you enjoyed this, let me know! I find feedback encouraging! X

Big love


Acceptance is a process and a destination.