During Black History Month, Michelle Albert writes about the lack of inclusion in the mindfulness space. Michelle is a volunteer Adovcate with the Sussex Mindfulness Centre and recently featured in our My Journey with Mindfulness series.
The theme of this year’s Manchester Mindfulness Festival was the dream theme for me — inclusion! And now during Black History Month I felt inclined to speak up. It felt like it was meant to be, especially as this year Black History Month seems to be quietly slipping under the radar. There’s been a lot of conversation online sharing this sentiment.
But what does true inclusion look like — especially in the mindfulness and wellness space? I have strong opinions about this, particularly as someone from a demographic that too often feels the weight of being excluded or unwelcome.
Mindfulness shouldn’t require us to create separate spaces
In 2025 I can still walk into a wellness space and be the only one or at best the other one, and I live in very multicultural west London, not a secluded island in the middle of nowhere with 20 inhabitants. So why is this? A deep-rooted feeling of not belonging there, because for so long we’ve been shown we are not welcomed?
During the festival, I found John Newton’s talk about his experience of racial trauma and his wonderful work with the Black Men’s Emotional Space (BMES) truly inspiring. BMES offers a monthly online course for Black men of African ancestry — exploring identity, emotional wellbeing and the legacy of racialised trauma. But it also showcased something deeper — that minority groups are still having to forge out their own safe spaces where they can feel comfortable and welcome. As beautiful and needed as those spaces are, it raises the question: does that really demonstrate inclusivity?
That said, I completely understand why they’re needed. Just recently, while looking for a retreat, I found myself actively searching for “retreats for people of colour.” Because feeling welcome in a space like that, was a genuine concern for me. At 47, I’m tired. Tired of pretending I’m not phased by being the only one, not feeling included, not feeling welcome.
I share this not to be sensationalist, but because I believe that by sharing these lived experiences, we can start truly doing the work of cultivating inclusion. We’re not all privileged enough to ignore this topic or pretend it doesn’t exist simply because it feels uncomfortable. Maybe it’s time to lean into that discomfort — to sit with it, to learn from it, and to respond with compassion. Maybe it’s time to lean into allyship, too — because inclusion isn’t just the responsibility of those who are excluded. It’s something we all have a role in creating.
The reality: Not everyone feels included
Recent research supports what many of us already know — wellness spaces often don’t feel like they’re built for everyone. According to EXHALE’s 2023 State of Self-Care for Black Women report, 77% of black women said there needs to be more well-being resources that reflect their lived experiences — particularly those that acknowledge the impact of racial bias, microaggressions, and cultural pressures. Six in ten Black women reported difficulty accessing formal mental health or wellness support, and over half (52%) said they would feel more comfortable with a Black provider due to concerns about cultural understanding and bias.
Broadly, this experience isn’t limited to Black women. A Gitnux Market Data Report (2023) found that over seven in ten (72%) people from marginalised communities feel underserved by current wellness and mental health services. Together, these figures highlight a clear message: while wellness is often marketed as universal, it is not always experienced as such.
What does true inclusivity look like?
For me, inclusivity isn’t only about race — though race is an essential part of the conversation. True inclusivity means creating environments that feel welcoming for all. It’s ensuring that people don’t feel excluded, overlooked, or out of place.
It’s about adapting our teaching styles so that the neurodiverse person who needs a fidget toy doesn’t feel like they’re “doing it wrong.” It’s recognising that what feels safe or comfortable for one person or culture may not feel that way for another.
She was met with icy glares and stony silence. She left the lunch in tears.
At its heart, inclusivity is about operating from kindness and non-judging — the very foundations of mindfulness itself. A friend recently shared an experience at a mindfulness event. Completely alone and not knowing any of the other attendees, she approached a table of strangers with her warmest smile and a cheerful hello. She hadn’t realised the lunch was to be held in silence. Instead of a welcoming smile back, she was met with icy glares and stony silence. She left the lunch in tears. Not very welcoming. Not very compassionate. Especially from people sharing the benefits of mindfulness.
Inclusivity is more than a policy or a theme at a conference— it’s a daily practice. It’s how we treat people. It’s how we embody kindness and presence in real-world interactions.
Why this matters
If wellness and mindfulness are to remain relevant, healing, and truly transformative, they must reflect the people they aim to serve. For too long, many groups — particularly Black women and other marginalised communities — have been underrepresented, underserved, and sometimes even excluded.
As teachers, facilitators, and practitioners, our responsibility isn’t just to invite people into these spaces but to shape them so that everyone feels they belong there. Because wellness, at its essence, is about wholeness. And there is no wholeness without inclusion. Or, as Jon Kabat-Zinn so perfectly put it at the end of the Manchester mindfulness festival: “There is no white mindfulness or Black mindfulness — there is just mindfulness.”
Michelle Albert is leading a workshop on inclusion at our next annual conference. More details on all the workshops coming soon.
