I died when I was nine. I lay on a bed and I closed my eyes. And I wished for my mother. And died . It didn’t hurt to die like it hurt to live. It was a relief.

What began months ago with a passionate conversation after an event with a fellow panelist, grew into a kitchen-table meetup in Rochdale. This week we convened in Bloomsbury with practitioner allies. Tea, shortbread, and shared experience...