On Comfort… 

When my son, now 31, was small and came to me crying about the things that upset small children (a bad day at school, an incident on the football pitch, problems that seven-year-olds find insurmountable), I would search for something that might comfort him. My response was – and has remained – my go-to suggestion for him, for myself, for anyone struggling at any time of day: “Why don’t you have a bath?”

There is something about being enveloped in warm water that makes me feel safe. A bath is like a hug: a simple thing to do in what are often complicated times.

Recently I have taken more baths than usual. Life has been tough. I won’t bore you with paragraphs about my situation, but I have experienced more than my fair share of loss and am in profound grief. It is the price of love, and I have had to find my own path through it. Here are some of the things, from podcasts to pillowcases, Bendicks Bittermints to bathing, that have comforted me and continue to do so.

Finding Relief In Ritual

One day, when I was in the thick of it, my life unravelling and my brain with it, a courier handed me a package from my friend Chantal. Inside was an Aromatherapy Associates Inner Strength roller ball. I was so touched that I slipped it straight into my pocket, and there it has stayed for months. I roll it onto my temples and wrists, just because. The kindness, the soothing scent and the ritual give me tiny moments, when my mind is heading towards madness, just to breathe in and out.

Sleep matters most in times of stress, and it is easier said than done. I get into bed and that’s when the trouble starts. I have become the protagonist in Princess and the Pea: pillows feel filled with rocks, sheets I’ve happily used for years are now rough and uncaring, and unbearable silence descends, crowded with thoughts of my own that I don’t want to hear.

So I invested in new bedding. The White Company is my go-to, and I’d heard about their new Amala collection, made from Giza 45 Egyptian cotton. In the past I had only ever bought percale, which is smooth but papery; these 800-thread-count sateen sheets are silky, cool and sleek against the skin. “The real deal,” as my husband liked to say. I also bought a new pillow, soft but not too soft. I cannot overemphasise how delicious it all is.

“I have become a devotee of The Shipping Forecast at 5.34am on Radio 4, which is so melodic and repetitive that it lulls me to sleep in no time.”

Tucked in, I needed something to take me out of my own head. I began with Anderson Cooper's grief podcast, All There Is, which was moving and, in its way, life-affirming (I loved how easily he cried), but after a while I didn't want to hear about other people’s suffering. I had enough of my own to be getting on with. I turned down my friends’ well-meant grief books and listened instead to The Rest Is History and Jilly Cooper novels. I found Grey’s Anatomy, ER and The Pitt hugely comforting too: all those doctors being so kind to people. Then came poetry. I would doze off to T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, read by Ralph Fiennes, an exquisite meditation on life, redemption and love. Most important of all was Lucas Jones’ I Still Believe in Miracles. I’m not on Instagram, but when a friend sent me a link to the videos that made him go viral, I bought the audiobook immediately. His emotional directness moves me hugely. And I have become a devotee of The Shipping Forecast at 5.34am on Radio 4, which is so melodic and repetitive that it lulls me to sleep in no time.

Scent, Touch, Taste: Sensory Self-Care

Back to baths. I work from home and often head upstairs for an afternoon dip; there is no wrong time. Grief made my blood feel as though it had been put in a carbonator, and my muscles ache almost constantly. Better You magnesium salts help, as does regular exercise: weights, reformer Pilates, swimming. (My son says I look like a woman who might have opened a dance centre in the Eighties; I’m not sure that's a compliment.)

When my world fell apart in March, another kind friend, the entrepreneur Sharmadean Reid, sent me a selection from her new fine-fragrance bathing brand, 39BC. When I added the Denarii Oil Body Cleanser to my bath, I was hooked. The room filled with notes of wood and spice, and the water felt so soft it seemed to slide onto my skin. It takes a lot to knock my socks off as I’m such a bath-product nerd, but having written these words, I want to run upstairs for a soak.

I’m not saying sugar is good for you, but I could not have survived without Cadbury’s Fruit & Nut, Bendicks Bittermints, Minstrels, Maltesers, Fruit Pastilles, Fab lollies and, thanks to Nigella, the new Magnum Cherry Utopias. Nigella, like so many of my friends, never comes to see me empty-handed. Cooking is something I have been unable to face. She brought meatballs with orzo, the only thing I could eat in the darkest hours, and my husband’s favourite thing in the world, her perfect Victoria sponge. Despite being very ill, he managed a huge slice. I will love her forever for those kindnesses.

“I have never been much of a gardener, but there was something cathartic about getting my hands into the earth. It’s autumn now, and my terrace is full of glorious blooms.”

In May, when everything was still raw and I didn’t know what to do with my days, I planted dahlias in pots from bulbs Sarah Raven had sent me. I have never been much of a gardener, but there was something cathartic about getting my hands into the earth. It’s autumn now, and my terrace is full of glorious blooms, and every morning I sit with a coffee, look at them, and smile.

It Takes A Village… 

Being looked after by other people’s hands has mattered too. I have been seeing the facialist Joanne Evans at Skin Matters in West London for over 25 years. Sometimes I worry that a facial or massage is too self-indulgent, but I know that’s “stinking thinking”: suffering needs nurturing. Having someone lay their hands on my face, knowing I was suffering, means so much when life seems bleak. At home I’ve embarked on a regime of SkinCeuticals products – an intelligent, science-led range. It isn’t cheap, but it is excellent, and sometimes that’s what is needed.

“The moment the acupuncturist laid his hands on me, I knew I was somewhere special. His calm manner let me unwind, and with that came the tears, and a release.”

Then there is Miller’s Way Project in Shepherd’s Bush, an alternative therapy centre specialising in Chinese medicine. I was grieving; everything hurt – my head, my heart, my muscles in permanent spasm. I took off my shoes, was handed a cup of soothing herbal tea in a light-filled, Japanese-style space, and the moment the acupuncturist and co-founder Steve McCulloch laid his hands on me, I knew I was somewhere special. His calm manner let me unwind, and with that came the tears, and a release. The needles went into my shoulders wherever he felt tension. It isn’t painful, but it is intense. By the next morning, all my tension had gone. Trust me, this is a special place.

I’m not a drinker, I get drunk just looking at a bottle but sometimes needs must, and then it has to be Clase Azul tequila. Clase Azul (I love the bottle) with London Essence Grapefruit Soda – another Nigella introduction. I curl up on a sofa, having lit a gazillion candles, something I have done most nights for over thirty years. The first thing I do when I get home is light candles. I used to tease my husband that if anything happened to me, he would have to continue the ritual. Now I perform it for myself, and it is strangely comforting; bringing the house to life helps me feel less alone. I buy table and pillar candles from St Eval, and stubby British beeswax ones by Alice In Scandiland from Lostwithiel, Cornwall. For scent, it has to be the familiarity of Diptyque: I have burned Roses in summer and Feu du Bois in winter for years, discovered as a 16-year-old schoolgirl living in Paris.

As I write this, I realise how lucky I have been to be so well cared for during the hardest of times. Maybe the greatest source of comfort of all has been the love and support of my children, my extended family and my friends. That is priceless.