Keeping it real with Ruby Wax at Broughton Sanctuary in England
Christine Fieldhouse reviews Ruby Wax’s retreat in Yorkshire and finds a calmer way of being, the joys of sky-gazing and her inner ice queen
I’m shoulder-deep in freezing cold water, ice cubes nipping at my ankles like a snappy terrier, and I’m gazing into comedian and presenter Ruby Wax’s twinkly eyes. Over Ruby’s shoulder, the backdrop is the heart-melting Yorkshire Dales, with undulating meadows separated by dry stone walls and carpeted with velvety green grass. It would be a pinch-me moment, if I didn’t have frostbite finger.
I’m on Keeping it Real in a Frantic World, a retreat for the frazzled, led by Ruby, now an expert in mindfulness-based cognitive behavioural therapy, having added Oxford scholar and author to her already impressive CV. She’s supported by Buddhist monk and author Gelong Thubten, and author and writing coach Rahla Xenopoulos, both equally eminent in their fields.
“Ruby grabs mindfulness by the scruff of its neck, making sense of it with her research, and modernising it by throwing in stories of when she interviewed Madonna and Carrie Fisher. Our interest doesn’t wane for one second. Self-deprecating, honest and open, she reveals herself, foibles and all, and we all love her for it”
The retreat at Broughton Sanctuary is set on the Broughton Estate, where the TV series All Creatures Great and Small was filmed. I’m among 32 people, aged from 30-something to their seventies, from yoga teachers, nurses and charity workers to IT technicians and film directors, who have ventured to the market town of Skipton – some from as far afield as Canada – to learn about mindfulness.
The opening circle, which some love and others hate so much they’re visibly shaking, reveals many are battling depression, grief and disappointments, while others, like me, would love some tools to handle everyday stress. We all want to return to our lives a more serene, tolerant version of ourselves. And failing that, we can say we went on retreat with Ruby Wax.
While many of our group are based in the opulent Hall, others are in retreat homes scattered around the estate. I’m staying in a very comfortable en-suite room at the 1800s-built Manse, the former priest’s home. Sharing with three other women, we have all mod cons, as well as a conservatory looking out on a Peter Rabbit-style garden, and we’re a handy two-minute walk from the hub of the retreat – Avalon Wellbeing, where the talks and yoga take place, and Utopia, where we eat delicious vegan and vegetarian meals three times a day.
We soon fall into a pattern. Each morning we have an hour’s pre-breakfast Forrest yoga led by Sarah Leyla Puello, who’s also manager of Avalon. Then we gather in Sanctuary for our talks.
Ruby’s sessions are interspersed with her wry humour, scattered with expletives that make us all laugh. She grabs mindfulness by the scruff of its neck, making sense of it with her research, and modernising it by throwing in stories of when she interviewed Madonna and Carrie Fisher. Our interest doesn’t wane for one second. Self-deprecating, honest and open, she reveals herself, foibles and all, and we all love her for it.
Meanwhile, Thubten authoritatively dispels the group’s misconceptions about meditation. Shoulders drop an inch when Thubten says we can’t clear our minds, no matter how hard we try. Hope returns to faces when he reveals our brains can’t ruminate AND be mindful at the same time. Joy abounds when we discover we can shut up our inner chat, the one that tells us we’re not good enough, not young enough, someone doesn’t like us, we’ve upset someone… by being mindful.
After lunch, we have another talk with Ruby and Thubten, then Rahla leads a two-hour writing workshop, where she gives us a prompt such as: ‘The sound of my sorrow is….’ and we write by hand, stream-of-consciousness style, all the random things that come into our minds for several minutes. Some days, we pick out our most poignant lines and make them into poems. Other times we read them out to our group. As we plunge deep into our souls and dredge up long-buried memories, we have the occasional a-ha moment (I have a morbid fascination with death).
And so the schedule goes. With just two free periods of an hour or so, before and after dinner, we dash out to get fresh air, our 10,000 steps and some alone time, walking the lanes and rewilded fields. The pool is a wonderful shape (long and slim) for swimming lengths; the hydro-massage pool, sauna and steam room a warm haven on rainy days, even in summer.
But then we’re thrown a curve ball. Our schedule has been changed at about an hour’s notice (due to the weather forecast, not sheer bloody-mindedness) and we’re using our one fine day to go up the moors for wild swimming.
It’s around an hour’s walk to our meditation and picnic spot by a lake. There, silence is declared, and we all lie on tarpaulin where the sun beams down while Thubten leads us through sky meditation. Staring upwards at a canvas of blue, with cotton wool clouds, we imagine the sky as our mind and the clouds our thoughts, drifting by, then moving off. For me, it’s a moment of pure peace that has stayed with me back in the real world.
After a dip in the cold lake, we head into ice barrels where we’re talked through controlling our breathing and conquering our misgivings – fears of cardiac arrest flutter in the air, unspoken. I emerge proud of myself, not least because I’m in the – let’s say – more senior third of the group. For anyone not keen on braving the chilly waters, there’s mindful walking with purple-clad Thubten, a comical sight in the down-to-earth Dales. The icing on the cake is the sauna in the woods.
Evenings are quiet affairs, spent in our rooms, chilling with a book in the library, at extra meditation sessions with Thubten in the very cosy Nest, or watching a film together (popcorn included). One evening I have a blissful aromatherapy massage with therapist Jordyn Faraday before I head back and sink into one of the cosiest beds I’ve ever slept in.
On the final evening, we gather at the fire temple in the woods for a drumming workshop with cacao. There, before my eyes, those who were down and depressed in the welcome circle transform into hip and hopeful drummers. One woman gets up to dance. People have stopped crying. It’s a jolly evening to mark the end of an often traumatic, mostly fun week.
I return to Civvy Street slightly discombobulated as I don’t know how Ruby and co’s teachings will transfer into my working life. But I was wrong to doubt. A few weeks on, thanks to quietening that annoying inner voice, I’m much more tolerant and less judgemental. And… have you heard? I went on retreat with Ruby Wax!