Labels & Layers

On the lives we build and the selves we carry within them

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A few photos taken by others. Different moments. Each one feels like me.

Most of us can introduce ourselves without revealing very much about who we are. We explain our work, describe our family, say where we live. We offer the familiar outlines of a life, the details that help other people place us. All of it may be true. There is usually a great deal more to tell.

Over the years, we gather labels. Some we pursue with determination; others are given to us almost in passing. We become a parent, a partner, someone others depend upon. We become known for being capable, accommodating, the person who will always find a way. A few words can hold decades of love and effort.

With time, though, a description can quietly become an instruction. The capable one must keep managing. The easy-going one finds it difficult to object. We grow so accustomed to being recognised in a particular way that we can forget to ask how well it still describes us.

These were some of the thoughts woven into our recent Holistica retreat in Sotogrande. For four days, sixteen of us gathered at Templo Sotogrande, among its five casitas, with the sea nearby. We made time for yoga, meditation, journalling, breathwork and sound, and for the shared meals and unhurried pauses that give a retreat its own rhythm. The programme was a slow journey with a gentle enquiry: how do we stay in touch with ourselves within everything our lives ask us to be?

It is tempting to speak about this as shedding layers. There is something appealing in the image of setting things down, of feeling lighter. But I don’t believe every layer needs to go. Some are precious. They hold our commitments, the work we care about, the relationships through which we have learned to love. They carry experience we would never wish to undo.

Sometimes, what we want is simply to glimpse the core underneath. To recognise ourselves within all that we have become. For me, our core is that quiet sense of being, beneath the roles we step into each day. We touch it in moments when we feel at home in ourselves, with nothing to prove and no particular person we need to be.

I think of that recognition as a kind of familiarity: knowing what stirs our curiosity, what feels right to us, what makes us laugh without restraint. Having a sense of our own wishes before we begin translating them into what is practical or convenient for everyone else. There is something quietly reassuring about remembering that we can enjoy something without having to justify its place in our lives.

Many of our earliest choices were made while we were still learning who we were. We listened to our families, absorbed the values around us and followed paths that promised security or belonging. Often, there was kindness in that guidance. Often, too, we had yet to discover the questions we would one day want to ask.

Looking back deserves a little tenderness. Our younger selves could only choose from what they knew. We have more experience now, and a fuller understanding of what matters to us. That understanding might lead us towards change. It might equally help us choose our existing life with greater affection and intention.

On retreat, I wanted to make room for that kind of attention, with time to notice whatever emerged. A yoga practice could be a chance to listen to the body. A meal could be enjoyed slowly. There could be a conversation, a moment of stillness, an afternoon that asked very little of anyone. The days could unfold without needing to produce a revelation.

Five collaborators from The Holistica Collective’s own website helped bring those days to life. Seeing their different offerings become part of one experience was especially meaningful to me. The Collective began with the wish to bring thoughtful people, places and approaches to wellbeing into conversation. Here, that idea had somewhere to live, in the care that went into both the practices and the food on the table.

I felt happy throughout. I keep returning to that simple fact, because enjoyment belongs in this conversation too. Looking more closely at ourselves can include laughter and good company. Sometimes, the most welcome discovery is how much we enjoy having a little time to spare.

We return, of course, to the lives that were waiting for us. We still have people to care for and things to do. Perhaps we can inhabit those familiar roles with a little more room around them, remembering that our own needs belong there too. If a layer feels too tight, we can loosen it. If it remains dear to us, we can keep it.

Our layers tell the story of how we have lived. Every so often, it is good to spend some time with the person wearing them.