Bel Bowers - Holistic Wellness

27/07/2026

09/06/2026

People ask what we do on the retreat, and the honest answer is: less than you’d think, on purpose.

Most of us live at a pace that asks the body to keep up and never checks whether it can.

We override the small signals - the tight breath, the clenched jaw, the tiredness we push through - until they’re no longer small.

A week in the hills above Grasse is a chance to come back into range of yourself. To eat slowly, sleep properly, move gently - and listen.

That’s the whole purpose. We slow down and let the listening do its work.

10–17 October 2026.

Our next retreat runs 10–17 October - a small group, with room for only a few.

If something here lands, send me a message or find the link in my bio 🍁

04/06/2026

The light here asks nothing of you.
— the hills above Grasse, this October

02/06/2026

Each morning in this hills above Grasse, we begin with a quiet hour I call The Listening Body.

It’s something I’ve been developing across a decade of clinical work - a slower way of hearing what your body, your nervous system, and your inner life have been trying to say underneath the noise.

Sometimes that comes through movement. Sometimes through stillness, breath, or where the eyes come to rest. Sometimes through what your body is sensing before you’ve found the words for it.

There’s a great deal of training and method underneath the quiet - but that’s mine to hold. Your only work is to arrive and let yourself be listened to.

Come as you are. Bring nothing. Just a daily returning to yourself.

Our next retreat in Provence runs 10–17 October. A small group, with room for only a few. If something in you is nodding, I’d love to hear from you - send me a message or find the link in my bio. 💕

30/05/2026

You wake before the alarm you didn’t set…

Morning light through the old windows, the village still quiet on the hill. Stone underfoot. Ash is back from the village with the morning’s bread, and breakfast is on.

A small group in a 200-year-old house above Grasse. Madeline leading us into villages she’s known for years, me holding the quiet work, Ash cooking from the markets all week. The sea half an hour down the hill when an afternoon asks for it.

This October - the 10th to the 17th.
If something in you said yes before your mind caught up, that’s the part worth listening to.

Bel, with Madeline & Ash 🤍

30/05/2026

You wake before the alarm you didn’t set…

Morning light through the old windows, the village still quiet on the hill. Stone underfoot. Ash is back from the village with the morning’s bread, and breakfast is on…

A small group in a 200-year-old house above Grasse. Madeline leading us into villages she’s known for years, me holding the quiet work, Ash cooking from the markets all week. The sea half an hour down the hill when an afternoon asks for it.

This October ~ the 10th to the 17th.

If something in you said yes before your mind caught up, that’s the part worth listening to.

Bel, with Madeline & Ash 🤍

02/05/2026

I thought it was my age.
Turns out it was my attention.

Slowing things down has been… confronting and quietly powerful.

05/03/2026

I found this photo the other day and it made me smile.

The world feels a little busy at the moment… travel plans, news cycles, everyone juggling a hundred moving parts.

And then there’s this.

This is the long table outside the farmhouse in Provence.

By the end of the day we’ll often gather here… a little sun-softened, a little more gently landed in our bodies, sharing very good food and drifting into the kinds of conversations that appear when there’s time and space to slow down.

Bel 🤍
with Madeline & Ash
Provence - September 2026

23/02/2026

I’ve been building something quietly.

Steadier.
More refined.
Deeply grounded.

In September, I’ll be holding a small retreat in Provence.

Five guests.
One week.
Morning light.
Long tables.
Embodied work that goes beneath the surface and integrates gently.

This is a recalibration week.

The kind that unfolds when your nervous system softens and you remember yourself clearly.

If your body feels something as you read this, trust that.

Bel 🤍

Details via the link in bio.

17/02/2026

In my early fifties, I’ve started something that feels quietly radical for me - I’m returning to big, beautiful books.

Some are centuries old. Some are modern. What they have in common is that they require attention.

Life filled up quickly these past decades - work, motherhood, responsibility. I always adored reading, but somewhere along the way I began valuing textbooks, qualifications, skill-building. Knowledge felt productive, useful, necessary. Novels began to feel like indulgence.

Depth, character, long time arcs, other eras and perspectives - they quietly shimmied down the priority list without me noticing.

And lately I’ve been noticing what constant scrolling does to the mind. The quick hits. The tiny bursts of intensity. The way focus fragments without you quite realising.

So this feels like a gentle reconditioning. A beautiful brain rinse.

Long-form reading asks our brain to stay….follow a thought all the way through.
To sit with ambiguity.
To tolerate discomfort without reaching for distraction.

From a clinical lens, that strengthens attention networks, working memory, empathy, and emotional regulation. From a human lens, it simply feels like depth returning.

The intention isn’t to be well read, rather - it’s to tend the mind.

This little stack on my favourite reading chair is my nourishing mind practice. Slowing the tempo. Returning to depth… it feels delicious.

Is anyone else on a similar journey?

And I don’t mean just the classics. Read whatever holds you - literary fiction, crime, memoir, poetry, hockey romance (apparently that’s a whole genre 😄). It doesn’t matter what you read. It matters that you give your attention to something long enough for it to work on you.

What do you have on your bedside table at the moment? Does it steady you, stretch you, stir you? 📚