Fiona Swinburne Acupuncture

11/11/2025

Wild hearts 🖤 If you awake in the morning to ALL of the thoughts, especially the doom inducing kind, give yourself a chance to rise, make some tea and begin again. Don’t let the doom pin you down.

If you work with me, you know this is top tier advice 👌🏼

BUT FIRST MAKE TEA by .godden from With Love, Grief and Fury.

Please like, save or share with anyone who may need a little restart for their day. And definitely buy this book. Wow!

Thank you to C for such a thoughtful gift. ✨🫶🏻

23/10/2025

Wild hearts - stay open to Joy ✨

I was just sitting waiting for my last client of the day to show up and as you all know, it’s been a bit of a time lately.

I noticed Nick Mulvey was going live to play a track from Dark Harvest Part 2 and then he only went and gave my work a little shout-out on Instagram.

Celebrate with me! A lovely little reminder that joy can find its way in, even through the cracks.

Celebrating those moments makes the joyful ones even more joyful - a lovely ripple effect of joy.

Stay open to joy

23/10/2025

21/10/2025

Some experiences challenge everything we think we can handle, and yet, within them, we often find unexpected strength, deep connection, and lasting gifts.

Four weeks ago, my father died — at home, just as he wished. He wanted his daughters to carry his coffin. He always told anyone who would listen, “My daughters can do anything any man can.” And above all, he wished for his family to remain united.

Honouring those wishes became one of the hardest and most meaningful experiences of my life. My sisters and I carried Dad home for his wake, into and out of the chapel, up the stairs and into the crematorium - supported by our uncle and cousin.

I had never seen mostly women carry a coffin before. The quiet expectation was that men would take on this role. But we knew what Dad wanted, and we moved forward, step by step, with love, determination and strength. In doing so, we fulfilled his wish and uncovered a deeper truth about ourselves - that we are always capable of so much more than we believed. It was one of the greatest reminders he left me.

In those moments, as I felt the weight of his body I could feel the echo of his faith in us. My sisters beside me, arms linked, holding the weight together, united, dissolving what had gone before. My sons watching on - it was sacred work.

These months have taken me far beyond what I thought I could bear. Fear, exhaustion and grief stripped me back to the rawest parts of myself. And yet, in walking through what felt impossible, I found strength, clarity, and a deep sense of knowing.

My father’s death taught me that the hardest things can become the most meaningful. When we meet death - and life - with our eyes, minds and hearts open, something ancient stirs. Ritual and ceremony help us honour, feel and heal in ways that words alone cannot.

There is pride in having carried him. Pride in standing shoulder to shoulder with my sisters. Pride in knowing my sons saw their mother do something that mattered deeply. And there is peace - knowing that in fulfilling his wishes, we remember our own quiet courage.

05/10/2025

There are times in life when the familiar begins to dissolve; work, identity, relationships, or a way of being that once felt steady. These moments can feel like loss, but in Taoist understanding, they are simply part of the natural turning of life’s seasons.

My work offers a place to rest within that turning - to listen, soften, and find your way home to yourself.

I support people through life’s transitions - the thresholds between endings and beginnings. Using body-based awareness, nature connection, reflective dialogue, and Taoist-inspired practices that help you move with, rather than against, change.

Together, we explore what it means to live in alignment with your true nature, even amidst uncertainty.

If you’re navigating a time of unraveling or renewal, and would like a space that honours both your humanity and your unfolding, you’re warmly invited to reach out for online or in person sessions.

We’ll go gently, and let the way reveal itself.

What if change isn’t something to survive, but something to listen to?

Please feel free to tag or share on your story or with anyone who may be in a transition.

Love
Fiona
X

02/10/2025

You don’t have to fix yourself to survive a situation that isn’t safe for your wellbeing.

The real power comes from expanding your capacity and learning what needs to change in your life, not in you.

Often we try to regulate our nervous systems in environments or experiences that are actively damaging our sense of safety. That constant effort can leave us exhausted, frustrated, and disconnected from what really matters.

True resilience doesn’t come from forcing calm—it comes from remembering the times you’ve made it through before. Reach into your archives of experience and let that memory remind you that you can hold centre until the intensity passes.

When the situation ends, ask yourself: what needs to change so I am less likely to face this again? This isn’t about changing who you are. It’s about creating boundaries, adjusting your environment, and protecting your wellbeing so you can thrive instead of just surviving.

28/09/2025

I used to say that many of the most important moments in life seemed to arrive in my favourite season. Now, losing my dad has become part of this seismic list of life events in autumn.

As many of you know, my dad had been very unwell, and he sadly left us earth-side last Wednesday.

I feel deeply grateful for the chance to share precious time with him in his final months — a gift I will always treasure. Together we leaned into the big questions of life, love and death. To be welcomed into that part of his world, to sit with the real, the raw and the sacred alongside him, was something rare and profound.

My dad made a great impression on people as the party man; he would always find a reason to strike up a conversation, share his views, and tell a story. Born in Donegal, then raised in the East End of Glasgow, his outer bravado often hid a man of softness and sensitivity that many didn’t get to see. In our quieter moments near the end, more of that tender side came to light.

He seemed to know something about everything. His knowledge always surprised us. An avid reader and lifelong lover of books, he was rarely without one in his hands, and when he stopped reading we knew things were fading for him.

He read anything passed his way — even if it wasn’t “his thing” — and never shied from saying so. Never shy in coming forward was Benny. Sharing poetry with him in those last months, and seeing the words reach him, reminded me of the quiet medicine that stories and language can bring.

Music was another strong thread. He had been to see so many of the legends of the 60s and 70s, and one of our brightest shared memories was seeing Roger Waters together in Glasgow two years ago. His vinyl collection is a legacy in itself — one that will always hold his spirit and I will cherish.

Conversations about social injustice and politics often got us both fired up. He taught me to speak truth to power, and he loved to see people standing up for what was right. What has been happening in Palestine broke his heart for years, just as it does mine.

One of the last things he gave me was a printout of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, which once hung in our family home in Ireland. Now it will hang in mine, a powerful reminder of where we have come from and where we are going.

When I was a wee girl, he once told me: “You are not better than anyone, and no one is better than you.” Those words have always stayed with me.

In his final months I began to see just how alike we truly are. He lives on in me, and in his girls, always. Dad, remember “those signs”. We will be keeping our hearts and our eyes wide open.

With love always,
Fiona
x

29/07/2025

Wild hearts - I’m wrapping up for the summer in my last clinic day until September.

In between the fullness of holding others today, I found a moment to return to myself. A quiet pause, a time to let the day exhale. Chamomile called me to sit with her and I listened.

Bought at Dilston, tended by one of my sons, this soft medicine felt like both invitation and remembering.

We’ve begun, at last, to grow our own physic garden. A long-held vision finally taking root. Chamomile, valerian, Chinese mugwort… gentle allies, alongside familiar kitchen herbs.

What I’ve always known — and continue to remember — is that it’s often the quietest of medicines that speak the deepest truths. These are not the plants that shout or shake. They don’t demand. They don’t pull you into the underworld. Instead, they ask for presence. They ask for patience. They ask you to come closer.

They require you to lean in. Listen. Not with your ears but with your whole being.

These quiet medicines shift something subtle in the system. They don’t perform. They don’t promise. Yet over time, with care, with consistency, they bring you back, to your breath, to body, to earth.

They move at the pace of nature. At the pace of healing. At the pace of trust.
There’s no rush here.
Just tending.
Just returning.
Just remembering what it is to be in relationship with something older, wiser, and infinitely gentle.

Can you let it be enough?
Can you trust what unfolds when you stop striving?
Can you work with a medicine that doesn’t push, but waits?
Can you stay long enough to hear what the soft ones are whispering?

These tame plants, so often overlooked, so widely known — are waiting to walk beside you. Not to carry you, not to rescue you, but to companion you back to a rhythm that holds.

Will you let them? Will you lean in? Will you wait long enough to feel what they are offering?

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