I had just taken a few days off, eagerly anticipating a break from work, but my mind was still racing with thoughts and to-do lists. As I boarded the plane for my first-ever wellness retreat, I realised this was a new experience, in more ways than one: not only was this my first retreat, but the first time I'd found myself the sole Black passenger on a flight. The same feeling persisted when I arrived at the retreat, to find I was the only person of colour in the entire group.
The F Zeen retreat on the stunning Greek island of Kefalonia - the name of which, my limited language skills revealed, translated as 'embracing the good life' - was billed as a haven of tranquility, offering wellness activities, yoga, and the chance to slow down and savour life. It was fitting, perhaps, that I was visiting during Mental Health Awareness Month; I was really longing for a break.
Throughout my career, I've navigated various spheres - from the corporate to the entrepreneurial, spanning activist and creative sectors - and worked with a variety of people from different cultures, races and backgrounds. I know that burnout isn't a race issue, but different backgrounds approach self-care and taking time off in different ways. It's one of those subtle biases woven into our culture, rooted in history, born from the need to compensate; to go above and beyond. Capitalism, oppression and trauma all play a role in how we perceive rest, its impact on our mental wellbeing, and how much we feel we deserve it.
Research from the National Institute of Health sheds interesting light on this notion. A study found that Black people are nearly twice as likely to report experiencing short sleep, putting them at higher risk of health issues like diabetes. As the eldest daughter from a single-parent family, I shouldered numerous responsibilities from a tender age - breaks and rests weren't always part of the equation for me. I know that it's not just Black people who might be able to identify with my experience - many carry the weight of societal and familial expectations, particularly those from minority backgrounds.
According to the clinical psychologist Dr Thema Bryant, "there is research on what's called the 'Superwoman Syndrome', where many Black women tend to others needs while neglecting our own. The exploitation of Black women, past and present, is based in an abusive pressure to be super strong and tend to others. This pressure is based in gendered racism from those outside of the community and internalised racism from those within the community."
Why I was the only Black person on my retreat was beginning to make sense. "Black people were penalised for resting. Intergenerational trauma is a reality, as is the ongoing stereotype of laziness," explains Dr Thema. "This stereotype ignores the truth that our unpaid labour is the foundation of our nation's growth. Culturally we come from those whose literal worthiness was based on their labour. Also, there is a growing culture to push for people to grind, overextend themselves and make even hobbies into streams of income." Her last point will likely ring true for many - these days, every casual interest must, it seems, become a side hustle - but I was taken by the idea that my heritage might be a factor in how I see rest and relaxation.
Being the only Black person on my retreat highlighted to me just how divided the wellness industry is when it comes to race. There are a number of retreats focused on Black women - such as Oya Retreats, which offers programmes designed specifically for women of colour spanning meditation, yoga and more - but we are still underrepresented in the sphere.
Wellness tourism, estimated to be worth roughly £467bn worldwide in 2017, can feel like it caters almost exclusively to White people. Retreats and brands that are focused on the Black community are especially important given this, as well as the disturbing truth that people from Black, Asian and minority ethnic (BAME) backgrounds fare statistically worse across a wide range of health outcomes: Black women in the UK remain four times as likely to die in pregnancy and childbirth than white women; we are less likely to be prescribed newer medication for Type 2 diabetes, and we have to wait longer for a cancer diagnosis. In short? We need, and absolutely should seek out and demand, the right to rest and wellness just as much as everyone else.
When I arrived at the retreat, it took me some time to adjust. I couldn't resist briefly hopping online to check emails on my laptop, despite the incredible view beckoning me to be fully present. It wasn't until the second day of my four-day trip that I truly started to let go, and simply be, with the help of a sound bath, a Pilates session and a few leisurely strolls along the beach. It was a refreshing departure from the ceaseless pursuit of meaningless goals.
In today's world, it's challenging not to derive meaning and identity solely from work, but the retreat taught me the power of replenishing my energy. Since I've returned home, my outlook has shifted in terms of how I view relaxation, beyond the cultural examples of the grind that I've always been used to.
The retreat altered the way I consider rest: now, I see it as an act of justice and a therapeutic practice, during which I need to set time aside to pay attention to my body, and its need and right to relax. Now, I know that I can resist the pressure to always work, I can set boundaries and say no to constant demands and, in doing so, I can heal the idea that Black people must constantly prove themselves.
Looking after yourself and knowing when to stop goes beyond a retreat, and now I realise that resting is not giving up, it is lifting up. I learnt something important on that trip: that everyone's journey of self-care will look different, but all of us are deserving.