Why our wellness obsession can be a bed of nails

I bought a shakti mat during Black Friday sales because if you dangle the words “deep relaxation” and “stress relief” over a tired toddler-mum on the verge of Christmas, she’ll jump, like a cat to catnip. My Instagram had me all worked out, throwing ads at me daily: attractive, yogi-looking people lying in total blissed-out states, all nurturing their mind-body connection.

For those of you who haven’t joined the bandwagon, it’s basically a yoga mat with plastic spikes for some amateur acupuncture — kind of like lying on a bed of nails but without tetanus. I mean, it could be anything, really, and I would have bought it. You could sell me a DIY coffee colonic kit if you told me it would make me more chilled (oh wait, Gwyneth Paltrow already tried).

Wellmania can be a bed of nails.Credit: Karl Hilzinger

I am the embodied target market for most wellness fads: mid-30s, busy, 21st-century mum. I can see a bunch of slick executives sitting around a table devising new ways to grab my attention and money (“Yes! We need a woman with a sore, achy neck in the ad! With kids hanging off her legs!” ) I’m really not that hard to access; all you need to open with is “are you tired?” and you’ve got me.

My shakti mat arrives, and brimming with hope, I lay down. I suddenly realise the word “shakti” must be Sanskrit for “pain”. I wonder if it’s the sharp pain that keeps your mind from wandering. I roll off the mat; my back is red and covered in tiny spots, like I’ve been violently attacked by angry ants.

I’ve tried it all. I did a salt float and spent most of the time thrashing around in a less-than-zen-like state because a bit of salt-water condensation dropped into my eye. I have sleepy tea every night. Any herbal pill with the word ‘stress’ on the bottle is probably in my cupboard. I downloaded all the meditation apps that compete for space on my phone with pictures of my babies.

Netflix is set to release a TV show of Brigid Delaney’s Wellmania, starring Celeste Barber, which Annabel Crabb described as an “entertaining semi-colonic”, just in time for all our New Year’s resolutions. Delaney volunteered herself for a range of treatments and experiences to find out why we’re so obsessed with this idea of wellness (even the word sounds like a marketing executive’s invention).

Matt GoldingCredit: Fairfax

According to the Global Wellness Institute, the Australian wellness industry is ranked 10th in the world with a total spending of $US84 million. 

We get all sorts of scammers pimping out the only product you’ll ever need again. And why wouldn’t they, with such a plentiful market? Wellness scammers have been operating since the dawn of time, ever since the fountain of eternal youth (which Paltrow tried to bottle: gel water, anyone?)

The latest one is microdosing psilocybin mushrooms (or magic mushrooms). The ’70s called and they want their trend back. I guess magic mushrooms are a natural follow-on from the return of flares. (Can we get Burt Reynolds back, too?) I mean, it sounds appealing; I’d rather get lost in the floral pattern of the tablecloth than Harry and Megan’s new documentary.

I often wonder if we’re looking for shortcuts to good health because we’re so time-poor. It’s way too easy to believe that some pill, treatment or experience is going to make us feel better.

We can’t always get rid of discomfort. As the world becomes more cut adrift from sanity, maybe it’s time to turn our attention inward, to that quiet, unchanging place that will never be improved by a colonic. If we could just find some peace, we wouldn’t keep looking for all these ways to buy it.

At the end of the day, I’d probably be right if I just drank more water, made sure I had a piece of fruit every now and then, and went to bed early, but what benefit is that to anyone else?

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