Hello Lovelies,
Today’s post is really a few days in one.
It’s that time of year when my thoughts turn to my son, Benjamin. It’s my season of grieving, of letting the “what ifs” and “what could’ve beens” have their space. Writing has felt too heavy, and I’ve been keeping myself busy so the sadness doesn’t swallow me whole.
Day 11 brought my first workshop (I’m running four in total). I woke up with some anxiety, so I unrolled my mat for a bit of yoga to steady myself before heading into Scala. I needn’t have worried. A wonderful group of women turned up—open-hearted, open-minded, and ready to dive into what Gwen and I had to share. We smashed it. Since then, we’ve done two workshops: one on elemental and folk magick, and another on protecting your energy and cutting karmic cords. Both were deeply received, and I’m sitting with a beautiful mix of pride, relief, and awe at the healing that unfolds in this work.
The women who come to the Sappho International Women’s Festival are a fascinating, vibrant mix. I’ll admit some of the bars—fabulous though they are—are too much for me. I’ve found the spaces that feel like home and tend to avoid the rest. Still, I love people-watching, soaking in the atmosphere, and—let’s be honest—the drama (of which there’s always plenty).
Many women here are around my age (59) or older, and it fills me with joy to see them so unapologetically themselves. Greece has only recently legalized gay marriage, and the islands are still quite conservative, so I can only imagine what this place meant for women decades ago—back when they might have had to pose as “roommates” back in England. This little lesbian haven must have felt like salvation. I’m hoping to find an older couple to interview before I leave.
What really strikes me is the sense of authenticity and freedom. Free from the male gaze, women here are radiant. Botox and fillers are rare—though those who’ve had them stand out (not always in the best way). That’s not a dig at anyone—I’ve had my share of injectable moisturiser!—but rather an observation.
Here, age, shape, size—none of it matters. Bellies relax, breasts hang where nature intended, cellulite and stretch marks are worn like battle scars and love letters from life. No one hides, no one comments. And the beauty in that freedom? It’s magnetic. These women, in all their realness, are absolutely stunning. In a world that demands women stay “hot,” shun age, and chase youth at any cost, there’s so much to learn from the badass beauties of Scala.
After the workshop I treated myself to lunch and a quiet read, followed by another swim (I can’t get enough of the sea).
That evening I met Storm for margaritas and a moonrise. Our taxi driver deserves an award—not just for breaking the speed limit but for watching Netflix on his tablet while driving. Only in Greece!
Later, we headed to Rock Ink, a live music spot I love because it attracts as many locals as tourists. The night was full of music, dancing in the streets, and that spirit of Scala that makes my heart sing.
Day 12 was Benjamin’s anniversary. My beautiful boy would be 26. if he were here. I woke heavy with grief, tears falling into my morning coffee. Thankfully, my dear friend Anja—with her huge heart—had planned the perfect day to hold me.
She picked me up, and we drove through winding mountain roads to a tiny village called Zithra, home to only a handful of residents. There we found a small chapel, the perfect place to light a candle for my son and send my love to the other realms.
Some might find it strange—a witch lighting candles in a Greek Orthodox chapel—but for me, those spaces hold such peace. A candle is a candle, wherever it’s lit. The intention is what matters. And in the icons and artwork, I always see familiar mudras, symbols, and signs that remind me we are more alike than we are different. Whatever path we walk, if our hearts are right, we are all just walking each other home.
Afterward, we headed to a quiet, almost deserted beach at Gavanthas. We swam, sunbathed, and shared a beer. Later, in the town of Antissa, we had a simple meal at a traditional café—though we did have to laugh when a dog and cat had a dramatic showdown under our table. It was the perfect, peaceful end to an emotional day.
That night, I chose to stay in. To sit with the melancholy, remember my boy, and just be.
I was up early next morning to witness the beautiful sunrise.
A new day, a new beginning, a spirit of renewal and possibilities. I always carry a hole in my heart for my missing son but today I can put the grief away and get on with living life and counting my blessings .
Thanks for reading folks
Brightest Blessings Bex xx
