How I found my inner fire in Thailand
Chapter 15: Turns out my stomach had something important to say
Welcome! If you’re new here, every two weeks I share a chapter from my memoir about what I learned on my round-the-world solo travels.
After a month in India, I'd just arrived in South-East Asia for the second stop of my adventure. Here, a spontaneous side-trip helped me discover what was really burning inside. Clue: it wasn’t just the food poisoning.
The sound erupted from the centre of my being—a primal, guttural roar that shocked even me. I swear it echoed around the wooden beams of the yoga shala, while birds on the roof scattered in alarm. It was as if years of suppressed rage was suddenly making itself known. I didn't even know I was angry.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
City of jewels
After the sand, dust and dirt of Goa, I was craving rooftop cocktails and glamour in the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur.
The city pulsed with energy, the glittering Petronas Towers piercing the night sky like diamond earrings. With new friends from my hostel, we wound through streets lined with gleaming shopping malls and market stalls selling sizzling satay and rows of yellow durian fruit. We ended at a buffet of colourful curries and rice dishes that glowed under fluorescent lights.
Despite the city fun, I longed to return to my favourite place in Thailand. It hadn't been in my round-the-world plan, but something in my gut was pulling me there. I craved somewhere familiar where I could relax. Strange how your body sometimes knows what it needs before your mind catches up.
Discovering the power centre
Finally having reliable WiFi in Kuala Lumpur meant I could catch up with my online chakra course. As I'd moved from India to South-East Asia, our lessons had progressed from the sacral to the solar plexus chakra.
This energy centre sits in the upper abdomen, our teacher explained, and it governs our self-esteem and confidence. It's our inner fire, forging our identity and values. A colleague once mentioned sensing my 'fire', but I'd always seen myself as easygoing.
When this chakra is imbalanced, I learned, we can become overly passive or struggle with low self-esteem. Women often default to the undemanding 'good girl' role.
That night, a dull pain lurked in my belly as I fell asleep. Probably just excitement about Thailand, I thought, setting my alarm for 4.30am to catch my early flight.
Emotional baggage
When my plane landed on Koh Samui, warm air engulfed me as I stepped onto the tarmac. I followed the winding path past the palm trees to the tiny, thatched-roof terminal building.
A staff member holding my name on a placard told me my backpack was on the wrong plane, heading 300 miles north to Bangkok. My achy stomach now twisted with worry. I had nothing but the jeans and hoodie I wore and a small cross-body bag that felt pathetically light against my hip. No towel, no toothbrush, no flip-flops.
They promised to send my backpack on the next flight and transport it to me on the neighbouring island of Koh Phangan. But I was staying on a resort on a remote bay only accessible by boat. How long would this take? But instead of voicing my concerns, I forced a smile.
"I understand," I heard myself say. "I'm sure you're doing your best."
As I walked away, my trainers squeaked across the polished floor, echoing like my frustration. So much for my relaxing side-trip.
Lost and found
The speedboat to Koh Phangan slapped against waves, salt spray misting my face. From Haad Rin, I took a longtail boat to The Sanctuary. Returning to this tranquil beach resort set in jungle gardens was just what I needed, along with its yoga, meditation and workshops.
As I stepped off the boat, my rolled-up jeans got drenched in the waves. Sweating in my hoodie under the midday sun, I saw others in swimwear, relaxing on the sand. I longed for my flip flops, bikini and towel so I could join them.
By evening, there was no news about my backpack that had gone on an adventure by itself. Hearing my failed attempts to call the airline, the resort manager kindly sent his boat driver to the airline office in Haad Rin.
When I spotted the boat returning, my bag silhouetted against the golden sunset, I rushed to the shore with delight and relief, gratefully heaving its weight onto my back.
Over dinner, a fellow traveller asked when I’d arrived. I was so disoriented from lack of sleep and the day’s drama that I couldn't tell her if it was today or yesterday. Clearly, I needed an early night.
It had been a long day. Little did I know, the night would be even longer.
The belly’s revolt
In the middle of the night, I awoke with a jolt as pain shot through my stomach. Cold sweat broke across my forehead as I remembered with horror that the bathroom was in a separate building outside, in the dark jungle.
I tiptoed across the wooden floor of the dorm room, past ten people sleeping peacefully on mattresses, and raced down the stairs. Every step sent ripples through my gurgling abdomen as I headed for the light of the bathroom.
I'd spent a month feasting on food in India with no problems, but after two days in Malaysia, the dodgy buffet was exacting its revenge.
Each time I returned to bed, I curled in the foetal position, arms wrapped around my middle, only to be forced to return outside minutes later.
Why me? I wailed silently as my stomach lurched again. First lost luggage, now this? My perfect round-the-world trip was turning into a disaster.
Questioning my path
The next day, I lay in a hammock in the resort’s restaurant, as the sea breeze warmed my skin. Around me, travellers and yogis chatted happily. But, despite being in such a paradise, illness and exhaustion triggered my old anxieties.
Should I add Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam to my itinerary, like others suggested? Was I doing my trip the 'right' way?
My irritated intestines threatened to tie themselves into the familiar knots of worry I'd lived with for years in London. I was determined not to return to those dark days and make decisions from fear.
That evening, I joined a meditation session. Lying on our backs, the teacher asked us to put our hand on our belly and gently rub it in circles, transferring our hand’s heat as we breathed deeply. She said it would enhance digestion and reduce stress, as there are thousands of nerve endings in the stomach. It felt comforting and calming to give this area some care.
During this meditation, a feeling of strength rose from my core, flowing to my fingertips and toes. A voice inside told me to be fearless and stop fretting about perfection. I promised to listen.
The first spark
Walking through the moonlit jungle, my torch beam bounced on the narrow trail. I was going with new friends from the dorm to an overnight fire ceremony in the forest.
In a clearing, we joined fifty participants sitting cross-legged on blankets around a fire. Candles illuminated faces while wood smoke scented the air. The visiting healer led some singing, then asked if any of us would like to share our own songs.
To my surprise, I felt my hand rise. Speaking to crowds terrifies me and I’m definitely not a singer, yet a voice told me to go for it. The healer nodded for me to proceed, his eyes reflecting the firelight.
With a thin, wavering voice, I sang a simple song about the ocean that I'd recently learned at a yoga centre in London.
Everyone watched, their faces rippling with golden reflections. My heart pounded as I gripped the blanket, my mind screaming, What are you doing?!
But something inside me turned to steel, like the Kuala Lumpur skyscrapers. It encouraged me to keep going, to sing louder. A guitarist started accompanying me and people joined in until eventually the whole circle was singing together.
I had done it! I sat straighter, as if claiming more space in the world. By leading the circle in a song, I'd taken back control from my fear.
Walking back under the starry sky, a small flame of pride now burned inside me.
The fire unleashed
"Let whatever comes up, come up," said the workshop leader.
Twenty of us lay on our backs in the yoga shala, as late afternoon light striped through bamboo blinds onto the wooden floor.
A friend from the dorm had suggested we try this transformational breathing workshop. After my illness, I'd do anything to purge the last toxins.
Breathing rapidly into a small bag, I started to feel lightheaded. When the leader then invited us to scream to release tension, I smiled skeptically and let out a small squeal. He asked us to breathe into the bag some more, then yell again.
This time, memories surfaced. A colleague taking credit for my ideas. A friend's hurtful behaviour. A boss making unreasonable demands and denying support. Things I'd simply smiled through at the time.
From deep inside, something began to form. Not food poisoning any more. Something older, buried. It rose from my belly, hot and insistent.
Hearing others shouting, a roar erupted from my core. Years of swallowed feelings, of being the good girl, of putting others’ needs before my own—all of it came out in a raw rage that bewildered me. Where had all this come from?
With each round of breathing, the screaming felt more natural, our group creating a harmony of primal sounds.
Afterwards, we laughed it off as mere hyperventilation. But deep down, I knew I'd connected with something long-buried within me. Something powerful that I’d been squashing down all my life.
Drawing the line
Sitting in the open-air restaurant, I stirred my herbal tea. After a week of sickness, my stomach finally felt strong and settled.
At a nearby table sat a woman I'd befriended earlier in my stay. When I went to wave hi, she looked away and whispered to her companion. I felt the familiar urge to ignore it and tell myself it was nothing.
Back in the dorm, I realised it still bothered me. I was fed up of doubting myself and pretending my feelings didn't matter. I typed her a message explaining how her reaction had made me feel. My heart raced as I pressed send. This went firmly against my people-pleasing, conflict-avoiding nature. But I was leaving the island tomorrow, so I risked it.
When I woke from an afternoon nap, she had responded. She wasn’t upset with my directness as I’d feared, but apologetic that she hadn't seen me. She invited me for dinner. As we cleared the air and laughed over a pumpkin panang curry, I knew this was another lesson from the third chakra.
Burning bright
I stepped off the boat from Koh Phangan onto Big Buddha Pier at Koh Samui, my backpack's weight reassuring on my shoulders.
As I prepared to leave Thailand, I gazed at the bright yellow sunshine reflecting off the sea one last time. Despite—or perhaps because of—the challenges, I was glad I'd come.
At the airport, I met Jenny, a British woman who'd also been at The Sanctuary. We sat together on the flight to Penang, sharing stories like old friends. Before she continued to Singapore, we promised to meet again somewhere in Asia.
Travelling by taxi to my hostel in Penang, I reflected on the lost luggage, the food poisoning and the confrontations. They had been unexpected yet valuable teachers. Unlike the quiet intuitive whispers of Goa, Thailand had forced me to listen to my body's roar.
My stomach had spoken. Now I knew its power, its fire. And finally, I was brave enough to listen.
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Have you ever done something brave that was out of character? Do you think it’s easier while travelling? Let me know in the comments.
Curious about the song I sang at the fire ceremony? Click here to hear what it sounds like when performed properly!
Coming soon: Places to go in Portugal for a mindful journey, and why ‘soft travel’ is becoming popular in 2025.
I don't think it's a coincidence at all! I was having painful stomach issues for three weeks and doctors couldn't find anything... It was only when I went to an energy healer that so much emotion poured out of me and the stomach pain went away.
Sounds like you had a really powerful experience! I can relate to this on so many levels; silently suffering because of being 'the good girl' instead of speaking up, painful stomach issues when my solar plexus was being activated etc. I can't wait to see what happens next!