Out of nowhere the thought of dying came into my head and wouldn't go away. Shivering and breathing heavier than acceptable in a room full of meditating strangers, I opened my eyes to suppress a full-blown panic attack.
Overhead, nine Brahmin kite eagles circled a mushroom-shaped, fairy-tale building, its thatched roof jutting out from the dense green mangroves that swallowed it. Soon the sickly ruminants disappeared and all I could hear was the soothing sound of water rushing against the shore of a nearby lagoon.
It wasn't how I expected to end my first sunrise yoga session at Sen Wellness - an Ayurvedic wellness retreat in the Rekawa Nature Reserve on an untamed sandbank on the southern coast of Sri Lanka. Ironically, I had signed up for a five-day breathing retreat to help address my anxiety, which previous therapists had told me stems from a deep-seated fear of death.
Health anxiety has ruined my life for fifteen years. A migraine is always a brain tumor. A persistent cough: lung cancer. Chest pain - "Someone call an ambulance; I'm having a heart attack."
These irrational thoughts quickly degenerate into obsessive controlling behavior, seeking reassurance and debilitating panic attacks - resulting in sleepless nights and days, weeks or months of mental torture.
I'm not alone: according to a March 2023 survey by the Office for National Statistics, almost a quarter of British adults reported high levels of anxiety. It's something that affects a large number of us, and remains heavily under-recognized and under-treated - especially among men.
So I meditate, do yoga, take medication and go to therapy. I'm prioritizing sleep, eating pretty well and have drastically cut down on drinking. But after recently receiving a life-changing diagnosis, things had taken a turn for the worse, so I was looking for another weapon to add to my arsenal.
Breathwork previously seemed a bit too woo-woo for a naturally cynical northerner. But somehow Sen made it sound more accessible.
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Sri Lankan-born, London-based osteopath Sam Kankanamge built the sanctuary almost a decade ago to give his clients a place to heal as an extension of his Harley Street clinic - in his words: "a 45 consultation every few weeks minutes. can only go so far."
When I arrived, I was far from relaxed after a crazy two-hour bus ride from Ahangama (bright murals, disco lights and blaring music), and then a bumpy half-hour tuk tuk ride from Tangalle. I was greeted first by a single frangipani tree in the middle of a circular pond covered in water lilies, and then by Frances, a barefoot Australian woman with thick curly hair, armed with a coconut and a genuine smile.
She began to show me around the sanctuary, which sits between a vast lagoon and a long, wild, peopleless sandy beach. There are several outbuildings and a large, circular main structure draped with prayer flags, hand-painted Buddhist tapestries and patterned sarongs, with tables full of books and sunbeds generously spread out.
In the woody, crescent-shaped yoga shala, I admitted to Frances that I knew little about breathwork or its benefits. "It is essentially a practice that cultivates awareness and the connection between breath and body," she explained.
"It's a tool that can help ground you in moments of anxiety and, if practiced regularly, can recalibrate your nervous system. The best part is that the breath is always there - you always have it with you."
Although I was on a breathwork program, there were several tailor-made retreats going on at the same time, all following a similar schedule, which was written on a blackboard in reception. Herbal tea at 5:30 p.m., before a 90-minute sunrise yoga session at 6 a.m.; Ayurvedic treatments from 9:30 am; lunch at half past two, then more treatments, plus yoga and meditation.
The dinner (based on Ayurvedic principles - so no meat, wheat, sugar, dairy, processed foods, fried foods or fizzy drinks) was served family style, which meant I got to know the other guests over meals.
Among them were a vibrant Indian entrepreneur who was trying to lose weight, two smart Australian women looking for some rest and relaxation, and a charming Icelandic investor who had recently lost both his parents (his sister had visited Sen nine times). . Some visitors battled serious, long-term illnesses. Others just needed a detox.
Everyone was on a journey in some way: self-care, relaxation, discovery or recovery. As the lovely
Helen, a yoga teacher from Hertfordshire, told me: "It seems everyone arrives at Sen at just the right time."
I was also introduced to Ayurveda for the first time. Originating from the Sanskrit for "science of life," this ancient Indian medical system is based on the idea that health and well-being depend on a healthy balance between body, mind, spirit and environment. The goal is to promote long-term health, rather than fighting disease.
The belief is that everyone has a unique blend of three Doshas (Vata, Pitta and Kapha). Mine - a mix of Vata and Pitta - had some traits that were correct: forgetfulness, skin problems and anxiety.
Each of us underwent a lengthy consultation with an Ayurvedic doctor. For me, Dr. Udari - a warm, inquisitive woman with a pretty pink sari and a disarming smile - went through the usual things your GP asks, and added a few less-than-conventional questions, like: 'Do you prefer warm or cold food? ?". She then suggested treatments (massages, steam baths, acupuncture etc.).
My favorite one took place in a dark room, blindfolded. The Shirodhara consisted of a therapist slowly dripping hot oil on my forehead, which sounds like a torture method, but it was anything but. Immediately my body uncoiled and my mind went silent as I drifted in and out of sleep, bothered only by an unfamiliar smell of something like French fry grease and spices.
Some breathing sessions led to similar feelings of deep relaxation, accompanied by tingling fingers and toes. Other times my mind danced between feeling completely overwhelmed with sadness and incredibly joyful. Most of the lessons were centered around circular breathing - essentially creating a constant flow of inhalation and exhalation using the diaphragm.
Time always slowed down. "Thirty minutes? It felt like three days." I would say to Frances. 'It's powerful stuff,' she replied. Then the squirrels and monkeys rushing through the bushes and the birds tweeting in the palms always sounded louder.
The landscape - the ethereal crimson sunsets, the sublime green mangroves, the turquoise ocean - always seemed more intense.
And gradually I began to surrender. My anxiety lessened and my mind wandered from having catastrophic thoughts to wondering if the frog in my toilet would be in my toilet or hiding behind the shampoo bottle in the shower when I came back after dinner.
During my last breathing session I thought again about my own death. But this time it was more vivid, like an LSD trip. I saw myself saying goodbye to friends and family in a sunny villa in Spain. But this time, instead of feeling overwhelmed by fear and panic, I felt nothing but peace.
Adam Turner was a guest at Sen Wellness (020 7486 3371; senwellnesssanctuary.com), which offers the seven-day Breathwork and Heart Connection program from £1,840 per person, including accommodation in the Eco Cabana.
