Who even am I? Ugh.
I’m lining up at sparrow’s fart at a temple an hour outside of Ubud in Bali with six other women, searching for answers from a healer.
Six women. Apparently, the men are off surfing and actually enjoying their holiday.
The guy inside the temple was supposed to be #amazing and help me be more #grateful. And yes, to heal me.
Why does a 43-year-old radio announcer who overshares on social media and is finding dating really hard and confronting need a healer? A woman who gave up the grog but then realised her anxiety was just too bad so had a drink of sober day 150? Why does a gal like me need to be “healed” anyway?
Villa solo dance Cos I’m ???? in love with @villa_tsuchi Its divine – sexy – huge- cosy – next to errrrrything but in a quiet adorable lane away from any noise… so happy to curl up with my book or bring friends back for swims & dranks! ????????????????❤️???? #villatsuchi #bali #yourbaliitinarary #beepraylove lisa & amber thankuuuuu ????❤️????????????
What about all of the above?
The world of #wellness has us all obsessed. Instagram says I’m right about that.
Bali is evidence. It’s full of women wanting to know how we can fix ourselves. How can we heal our wounds, our daddy issues, how our exes f*cked us up? Our insecurities and desperate need for acceptance? And there I was, one of them, desperate to see this 95-year-old Balinese “healer”.
I had asked on Facebook if there was someone in Bali I should go and see in the world of spirituality, and people had raved about him. So being the FOMO wellness freak that I am – I had to go. The thought of NOT going was adding to my anxiety.