A safe space to heal and belong
‘I am an Earth Scientist, a TV and YouTube presenter and a specialist in learning and engagement. I am a storyteller, bringing to life hidden mysteries of what rocks, fossils and landscapes can tell us about the Earth hundreds of millions of years ago. But I am also an Asian woman living in Dorset and I experience all the wonderful and the rather sinister things that living in this beautiful and rather physically and culturally isolated county can bring.’
On my shoulders and in my heart, I have carried a heavy burden for far too long.
That burden is a sense of hiding my true self; my true voice of what it means to be a brown person living and working in a white landscape. I hear so often from white people that they don’t see colour, that they don’t see race. But if you don’t see my colour, by default you cannot recognise that my experiences are different to yours. How will you understand and empathise with the burden that I carry?
I am an Earth Scientist, a TV and YouTube presenter and a specialist in learning and engagement. I am a storyteller, bringing to life hidden mysteries of what rocks, fossils and landscapes can tell us about the Earth hundreds of millions of years ago. But I am also an Asian woman living in Dorset and I experience all the wonderful and the rather sinister things that living in this beautiful and rather physically and culturally isolated county can bring.
I grew up in Slough in a house crammed with three generations of people. My Grandparents and my parents were immigrants from Kenya, trying to establish themselves in a country that did not necessarily welcome either them or their culture. The rich landscapes of Africa they had left behind were memories they talked about over dinner time or passed around as faded photos of a life belonging to a distant past.
When we did attempt to venture into the British landscape, to explore England’s green and pleasant land, we were met with hostility, suspicion and worst of all for an embarrassed 10-year-old, laughter. Our presence, our clothes and even our traditional food were objects of antagonism and ridicule in natural spaces that for white people were places of leisure and beauty. I remember one time being on a picnic at Hayling Island Beach with my family. As people walked by they made offensive comments about our presence, our clothes and the smell of our spicy food. We were made to feel like we did not belong in this natural space but despite this, I still loved being in these natural spaces and I wanted rocks in particular to become a focal point of my life.
This ambition to become a science communicator is what brought me to Dorset, a 95-mile stretch of internationally important rocks that would define me and my life for a significant period of time. But the pain and toil of living and existing in a white majority space would be a burden that I would carry silently, in isolation. Racism, hostility and isolation would weave a painful web around me; at times I felt like I was screaming into a void of pain where no-one was listening to or understanding my pain. I had felt this way for the last 15 years and had only survived by hiding my true self away, only allowing those feelings and thoughts to come out through projects or people that I felt safe with.
It was at this point last Winter that I met Simon Constantine. He listened and empathised with my pain and we talked about inclusive leadership and what that meant to him and me. He talked about an amazing adventure that I could be part of if I wanted to: a space where we could demonstrate the healing power of nature and how to harness and work with her gifts. I was curious, but naturally wary.
By the time I made my first visit to Carey’s Secret Garden. I was unwell with chronic anxiety, an eating disorder and depression all brought on by the trauma of injustice and racism. I can clearly remember walking through the wet, soft grass, feeling the cold breeze on my face and looking out over the gardens at the crumbling walls and overgrown vegetation. As Simon painted his extraordinary vision for the space around me, I could feel my anxiety lessening, my feelings of recovery beginning to blossom.
We talked about how Careys Secret Garden could be a truly welcoming place for those who are unaccustomed to nature to visit. It was being created so that those who have never been surrounded by natural beauty could be part of something special, and more importantly feel welcomed to the space.
The more I visited Careys, the more I felt my shroud of misery and pain starting to fall away.
The key to recovery after a deep trauma such as mine is to begin to let it fade, as a story, into your past. Instead of letting that experience define me I have chosen to own it; to empower and enable me to help others experience what I love about this special space.
A recent report by Dorset Race Equality Council identified that some of the most deprived communities in Dorset had no access to outdoor natural spaces during the COVID-19 lockdown. It was a sobering read and it took me back to my own childhood sharing a house and trying to find a space of my own alongside eight other family members. Of course, one can always argue that there are greater needs for underserved communities such as food, clothing and education. But my belief is that access to natural spaces sits alongside these; it is a basic human right too.
We are now very aware of the acute impact COVID-19 has on Black and Asian people and there is now data suggesting that children from these communities are also severely impacted in terms of their mental health and learning development.
Carey’s Secret Garden was built in an era that celebrated the achievements of the British Empire and colonialism. If I had visited this beautiful walled garden 200 years ago, I would have been turned away due to my race; I would have been seen as an inferior regardless of my professional or personal achievements. But now through the movement that is Black Lives Matter, the world and the discourse surrounding equity, representation and access to resources that often only benefit the privileged is changing.
