Somewhere, sometime ago, I seem to recall being at a management training type day, or a mindfulness seminar or reading something, somewhere, which encouraged people to ‘scream’ and I mean properly scream as a way of letting go of your emotions.

Panorama at Droskyn Point
Well today was the day for me.
After giving up work from a job I loved to deal with the aftermath of losing my Mum some 18 months ago now, I wonder how I ever had time to work. I seem to have filled my time with worthwhile stuff, running the Beaver Group, getting to grips with house administration, dealing with the defence of a forthcoming court hearing, looking to future businesses or ourselves as my husband faces the reality of leaving the RAF, as well as supporting a new business venture, part-time work for my previous employer, as well as most recently taking on the Team Manager role for youth badminton so my daughter can continue to play at county level. And it was this latter role that was the catalyst inducing me to scream. The few hours a week I thought it would be have definitely been more time consuming. And dealing with the expectations of the parents has been challenging. And the messing about with team transport over the past few days for this weekend’s match was thrown into turmoil once more by a late notice email from a parent changing the goalposts, which meant all my previous work had been nugatory.
The email came on top of a poor night’s sleep, where I had vividly dreamt that my late Mum had ‘faked’ her own death. No-one else in the dream, which included most family members, seemed at all perturbed by this revelation, and in fact I’m not sure these dream characters even acknowledged this new fact. Perhaps it was only to me that my Mum revealed this crazy admission? Whatever, it meant I woke up ‘out of sorts’.
So having seen the email pop onto my phone after I’d done the school drop off, I drove home from the school run, upset, tired, cross, and frustrated as the waste of time of the efforts of the previous few day – in truth I was also grief stricken. I decided to head to the beach so find a solitary spot where I could scream. Droskyn Point seemed appropriate and I carefully made my way down the slippery steps. I didn’t want to fall and ‘scream’ for real. And I was aware of other people enjoying the view and I didn’t want to induce any panic, should I be overheard. Luckily it was a blowy day, and I was stood by a still rockpool with a small waterfall and the waves a few meters away crashing on the rocks. The contrast between the turmoil of the sea and the barely rippling rock pool felt like my insides – which was going to win?
My first scream was pathetic. A shriek more than anything. I was scared. Scared of letting go. Scared of being heard. Scared of where it would take me. I had spent the last 4 years protecting my voice (for radio) and now I was going to potentially damage it. But I knew I needed to get rid of the anger, the emotion, the stress.
The second scream was more purposeful, and then it just came, like the waves crashing on the rocks, the noise, the emotion, the tears, the anger, the grief. And I was a snivelling, snotty wreck, for a few minutes, physically rocking myself back and forth, beside the rock pool, wiping my nose on my gloves as I had no tissues. And as the water gently trickled out of the rockpool, so did my anger, and my stress and my grief and a stillness returned.
My best friend reckons I need bereavement counselling, and I’ve not had time for that. For the moment, a short screaming session has done the trick – and now I need to wash those gloves.