Written by Roomana Logde, August 2026
Recently, I had the privilege of volunteering at Flynne’s Barn to lend help in hosting their first Muslim Women’s stay. Flynne’s Barn is a charity dedicated to supporting the young cancer community through online counselling and residential stays in the Lake District. I, myself, had visited Flynne’s Barn in October 2025 and it had been a deeply transformative experience. When I visited the barn, I was granted time to rest from all that my life had been reduced to: relentless treatment cycles, listening to the clocks tick in uniform waiting rooms, intrusive scans, rattling medication boxes, cola-flavoured anti-sickness sweets and mostly self-imposed social isolation.
There I was, only a month out of my treatment (twelve rounds of chemotherapy) and plagued by endless fatigue. At this point, my body felt unrecognisable in the mirror and I had lost all sense of physical confidence. Inside, I was riddled with anxieties about my identity post cancer, my future and whether I could even step into socialising again. My whole life had become reduced to survival after signing over my consent to be injected with poison. Every day was a fight. So there wasn’t any time to process the emotions that had piled up inside of me. Fear, grief, anger… They were all stacked up and had stagnated. My walk had slowed, my eyes avoided meeting others’ and my mind had become foggy. All that pain was becoming increasingly harder to bear.
Flynne’s Barn offered a space for those pent-up emotions to enter – because it demanded nothing. I was in the middle of a valley, surrounded by mountains and greenery. In a barn with others who had suffered differently but the same. There was no pressure to join in with activities, or any pressure to discuss the very thing that unified us all. All that was really expected from me was to pause. It was a space designed to be a rest stop. In that pause, everything that I was forced to bury naturally unearthed itself over the span of a few days. Suddenly, I had the permission to breathe and let the stillness of the mountains absorb any heaviness. I could let any anxieties dissipate into the vastness of the valley. Inside, I could wrap myself in a blanket and occupy a corner quietly to look back on the months before. Slowly, I began to relate my experiences with my peers and felt relief to be validated. Finally, I was seen and could just exist. I was a young person dealing with this awful life-altering traumatic illness and I could just exist. And that is where my rest had come.
When came across an Instagram post advertising a stay designed specifically for young Muslim women who had suffered from or were currently in treatment for cancer, it was a pleasant surprise. I had already felt so grateful to have had my experience and never conceived that this support could be refined further and extended to an inclusive group that I belonged to. Like many other individuals from minority groups enduring the illness, or the scar it leaves, there are certain nuances within that lived experience that are unique to them. I immediately picked up my phone to contact the team to express my interest in volunteering for the group. They were pleased to hear from me, because they had someone that could bridge the gap in their knowledge to provide the best experience for these women, and they were always eager to hear back from previous guests. I was excited to be taken on board, connect with other Muslim women on their individual experiences with the illness and create a space for healing.
When we first met our small group, I could recognise the same trepidation and nervousness that followed me post-treatment. A few of the girls expressed their hesitance to even sign up for the stay, the thought of socialising filled them with dread. They felt weary and had a lack of self-confidence similar to what I had felt before I visited. Most of us, however, clicked almost instantaneously, largely because there was an immediate overlap of religious and sometimes cultural identity. This initial connection coupled nicely with the characteristic homely feeling at the barn. There was no fear of judgement or discrimination or a feeling of not fitting in. Careful to remove any barriers to rest and recuperation, the team also provided halal food in their always accessible kitchen. Even the garden was a dedicated female-only space. It was nice to feel the breeze in our hair when we stepped outside and when the time for prayer came, we silently and unanimously decided that the cosy corner upstairs would be our makeshift spiritual centre.
For myself, prayer had become a primary coping mechanism during my treatment and recovery. By integrating our faith within the space, it created a sense of peace and safety. There was time to meditate and reflect on all that had happened because of our shared illness. An interesting conversation emerged with one of the women who queried whether the illness had brought me closer or away from God. Personally, my journey had brought me closer to Him, which she, herself aligned with. A sense of belief, whether to a God, the universe, or yourself feels integral when life challenges you the most. We both felt inclined to feel that there was a reason for the unfortunate cards we had been dealt and that there were lessons in our struggle. For me, it was being able to confidently advocate for my needs and honour them going forward. This rang true for a few others who felt they, too, were raised to prioritise others’ needs before theirs. Our conversation led to the importance of rest and taking it without guilt, it was an act of worship in itself to respect the body we had been gifted. From this perspective, the space designed for our relaxation now held some spiritual significance. And naturally, this aligned well with the hosted activities offered: painting, mindfulness exercises and plenty of time within nature.
As the days progressed, the women’s ability to display emotional vulnerability had strengthened immensely. We began swapping stories and experiences that were specific to our individual cancer journeys. When we were out at the neighbouring river, it was heartwarming to see some young women perched on the rocks engaged in deep discussion. From my view, I could see them expressing comfort for each other and imparting advice where needed. At the same time, me and a few others had felt it necessary to take a cold plunge in the water with Jenny and face our fear of the initial bodily shock. It seemed, while different, both activities had required an amount of courage and bravery that ultimately benefited us. Both had affirmed a safety to do the action again until it was no longer scary. Maybe it would need one more time, or a few.
When our final day came, Jamila and Katherine held us all at the breakfast table and requested a few words if anyone felt comfortable. I had felt my throat constricted and had already known that my tears would come. I listened to the girls express their thank yous, their relief and their personal experience over the four days. When it was my turn to speak, I expressed how proud I was of every other young woman in that room for getting through what they had. It was as if I was speaking to a past version of me. I told them that they were exactly where they needed to be and that God had chosen them to endure this test. And from this test, they would emerge as changed women. They might feel lost, nervous, confused about their place in the world but they would emerge better. They would come to know who they are. I had always struggled to be emotionally vulnerable but I could see when I looked at their faces why it was important to be. I had brought their emotions into the light too, some for the first time. With our tearful goodbyes and tight hugs, I felt hopeful that these young women would leave with a renewed mental resilience.
Here, we didn’t have to break our identities apart to appease other. We were young women, we were Muslim, we were South Asian or Black (or both!) and we were dealt with the cancer card. Our value wasn’t compromised and we didn’t have to give up anything for the chance to heal at the Barn. I am so incredibly thankful to the Flynne’s Barn team for including me in this special experience and I am happy to report that the first Muslim Women’s stay was a huge success!
