Note: I wrote this the day before Father’s Day, but forgot to upload it until today… The content is just as poignant though.


It’s 6.15 pm on a balmy Saturday afternoon, and I just sat to write this post.

I am covered in flour from baking most of today.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day here in the UK (is it elsewhere too?) and my 11-year-old daughter Areti wanted to make a gift for her dad. Her savings didn’t stretch to anything fancy so she decided to make him his favourite Cypriot pies, kolokotes, which are a sweet pumpkin, bulgur wheat, sultana, and spice pie.

She has never made them before so we took it nice and slow preparing the filling, letting it develop in flavour while we made dough, letting that rest too. With time on our hands we decided to make two different kinds of jelly, and in the midst of that I received a call from my 20-year-old son to collect him from the hospital. We had dropped him there early this morning to get his foot checked after a football injury yesterday and persistent agonising pain.

His call was short, sharp, and angry.

“I can’t believe it …..(expletives)…. It’s broken, I’m just so done”.

In just two days he would be setting off on a week-long camping trip with his friend, everything was planned to the finest detail and he has been working every day to save towards this trip.

Following this trip, he was planning to join a friend in Greece, with a promise of work, and spend the rest of the summer there, practicing his Greek, making friends, and having fun.

Until he decided to have a game of football yesterday.

What do you do when your child’s world has fallen apart and nothing helps?

All my therapy training goes out of the window at times like this. I can’t be his therapist or coach, I can’t give him a pep talk, or inspirational speech, or take him on a forest bathing walk and uplift his spirits.

When my child is hurting, all I can do is be his mum. And being his mum doesn’t mean I can fix his problems, rectify the issues, heal his leg, remove his pain, or patronise him with positive affirmations.

So I did what I know to do. I finished the baking and jelly-making and family dinner preparations with my daughter and set about making his favourite Cypriot dessert, the one his yiayia (grandma) always makes for him when we visit Cyprus. Kattimeri.

The process of making it is time-consuming with different steps. First, chop the nuts, and mix them with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and cardamom, and a little dark brown sugar.

Then prepare the syrup for soaking the pastry in. Fresh orange peel, cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, and sugar bubbling away releasing aromas that comfort my soul. And then the pastry, the kneading and turning, and kneading some more to a smooth dough ready for rolling and filling and baking.

While I knead and chop and roll, and stuff pastry with nuts, my son sits in his room upstairs in his pain and anger and I continue covered in flour, silently praying for him, and enveloping him with love even if I can’t be near him, even though he doesn’t want to talk.

I check from time to time, the closed door to his room, the green bandana on the handle his ‘do not disturb’ sign. I listen for sounds to reassure me he is ok, like when he chats to his friends on the phone, or when he is playing a computer game, or watching Netflix, but it is just silent, so I return downstairs to my kitchen and rehearse what I should say, what I can say, what I could text, what song I could send…

But I do none of those things because I know right now in this moment, he needs solitude and I need to be silent.

And yet I am not really silent. I am after all a ‘power of words’ coach, and therapist.

No, I am not silent. I know the power of words and they are expressed in my mind, through my hands that knead and fold dough, through my prayers, and through my heart which aches for him.

I am praying, speaking, and blessing with words of healing and peace, I am visualising him laughing and happy, his eyes sparkling when he is excited, I am enveloping him in my energy and holding him there even If his physical body is in another room.

And there is no despair in my actions or my thoughts. I take control, I don’t fall into the trap, I don’t go there…I knead and fold and love, and pray, and I put music on my phone and let the lyrics soak our home and lift the energy.

For I know that there is great power in these ‘silent’ acts of using our words powerfully because they start with our thoughts.

If you dear one are worrying or hurting for a loved one, don’t dwell in the agony of it, take those thoughts captive, and instead release words of healing, peace, grace, and gratitude into your heart, into your home, and let their power fill every crevice, knowing that you hold great power even if you do not see it, you simply need to believe and act in faith.

The world of quantum physics dictates we cannot see everything that is taking place, yet electricity gives your devices energy, air keeps you alive, and the internet helps you read this post.

You can’t see them, but they are powerfully working in your life.

You can’t see the energy of your words, your thoughts, and your emotions, but they are powerfully working in your life, causing shifts, and changes.

The more you talk negatively, complaining, lamenting on your misfortune, the more you are calling it to be, establishing those words as reality.

Change your words, changes your reality.

It really is that simple and yet so profound.

It is a habit that can take a lifetime to form because our culture, upbringing, and society have taught us to live so much in the physical, that we cannot fathom or believe in the non-physical, yet, you are primarily, first and foremost, and always will be a non-physical being.

When I knead the dough, I take something formless and create something with form, flavour, and structure.

Your words do the same, you just can’t see them, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.

So, today, make a fresh decision, to catch yourself before the thought develops, before the words leave your mouth, before you visualise the worst-case scenario and change the story, change the narrative, change the picture…

You have great power. Use it.