‘I used to be scared of being alone': Charlotte Church on burnout, boundaries and building a new kind of wellness

Independent

3 days ago

There was a time not too long ago that Charlotte Church 's mornings began in hotel rooms, ears still ringing with the roar of arenas from the night before, days run in tight schedules of gigs, press junkets and backstage chaos. Once life was fast, loud, unrelenting – a whirlwind that thrust Church into the spotlight aged 12 and swept her into global stardom.
Things look a bit different now.
Today her morning began in silence, save for the birdsong ringing in the muddy, wooded hills of south Wales. This is the landscape she says 'called her home' after pop stardom left her seeking something deeper. Now, at 39, she's never felt so rooted.
'I never would've seen this path for myself,' she says with a soft laugh, speaking from her home just outside Cardiff, where she lives with her partner and three children. 'But now I look back, it all makes sense. I've always been this person; someone who wants people to feel calm, to feel held.'
Church now leads The Dreaming, a wellness retreat nestled in 47 acres of woodland near the Elan Valley. Rhydoldog House – the former home of interior designer Laura Ashley – officially opened in 2023 and is, according to recent reports, the reason that Church is no longer a millionaire, since she spent 'pretty much' her life savings on the eco-development project.
Unlike so many celebrity wellness ventures, hers is free of gimmickry and influencer gloss. While guests are served vegan meals and encouraged to avoid technology and alcohol, there are no chakra-aligning face mists, no press trips to Bali. Instead, Church is building something grounded, radical, and distinctly Welsh.
'I see the planet as a giant school,' she says. 'And wellness, for me, is about learning how to be with the almost intolerable – grief, burnout, injustice – and still find joy, love, and strength.'
Church's pivot from singer to wellness facilitator may seem surprising, but in her telling, it's a natural evolution. A long journey towards living 'closer to [her] values and ethics'. Her early fame brought extraordinary success, but also invasive tabloid attention, ridicule, and intense pressure. She hasn't exactly shied away from that world entirely: this autumn, she'll star in the next series of BBC One's Celebrity Traitors. But, she says, it's about finding the right balance.
'There was a time I didn't want to be alone – maybe I was even fearful of solitude,' she admits. 'But now? I delight in it. I need it.'
That shift has been hard-won. Over the past few years, Church has cultivated what she calls 'non-negotiable boundaries'. 'I've got ADHD. Phones, notifications, scrolling – it's like constant dopamine hits. I block social media for five, six days at a time now. It's the only way I can function.'
She's also swapped her jam-packed paper diaries for minimalist wall planners and small notebooks, 'just to see the shape of my life.' This might sound like a small detail, but for Church, it's been transformational. 'I used to overwork constantly. Now I'm asking: where is the rest? Where's the solitude? Where's the fun?'
In conversation, Church often returns to joy as a political and spiritual act – one that begins in the body. 'I regulate through singing, dancing, walking in nature,' she says. 'I pray to my ancestors. I make rituals. None of this is expensive. Most of it is free.'
That matters to her. She's deeply critical of what she calls the 'snake oil' side of the wellness industry – the curated products often with huge price tags attached with little grounding in actual care. 'Wellness has been co-opted like everything else. But we try to keep it simple, accessible, and real.'
At The Dreaming, every retreat offers 'pay what you can' spaces. Some guests pay £5 a night. Others more. She works with experienced facilitators from psychotherapists to somatic bodyworkers and is intentional about who leads each residency.
'We're not a mental health facility,' she clarifies. 'We're not here to 'fix' anyone. We're here to remind people: you already have what you need. You are your own best healer.'
It's a philosophy that's infused in every aspect of the retreat. 'The word we use is 'remembering',' she says. 'It's not about newness or reinvention. It's about returning to what was already within us.'
That doesn't mean it's without boundaries. 'I'm passionate about my work, but I've learned how easily that passion can tip into burnout,' she admits. 'My nervous system tells me. I start to feel fizzy, obsessive, overly neurotic. That's my cue to slow down.'
Though she doesn't speak Welsh fluently, she's drawn to the pre-Christian, Druidic traditions of her homeland. 'There's so much richness in our stories, in the way our language connects to nature. I think that's why The Dreaming had to be here.'
Does she think the wildness of the land influences the people, or the other way around? 'It's both,' she says. 'The health of the land shapes the people. And the health of the people shapes the land. That's community. Not just humans. All of it – the web of life.'
One of the most progressive aspects of The Dreaming is its 'kindred series' – residencies tailored specifically for marginalised groups: queer people, Black and brown women, Muslim women. They're designed, Church explains, around the principles of liberation psychology.
'A lot of therapy focuses on the individual, as if it's all your fault, all your trauma. But context matters. Systems matter,' she says. 'Sometimes people need to heal in spaces where they don't have to explain themselves.'
This is particularly evident in 'returning to the queer heart', a retreat for LGBTQ+ people that Church calls 'deeply moving'. 'So many queer folks come carrying so much and leave lighter. Not because they've 'fixed' anything, but because they've had space to be fully seen.'
So is she done with showbiz? Not quite. 'I want to keep my platform,' she says. 'I'm using it in a way that feels conscientious now. I've got shit to say.'
Her next music project, she hints, will fuse her two worlds – art and ritual, performance and healing. 'I'm taking everything I learned from [live show] Late Night Pop Dungeon and using it to build something new.'
And yet, there's no mistaking where her soul lives these days: on the land, in the stillness, in the early morning silent discos where guests dance up the dawn under a Welsh sky. 'People cry,' she says. 'People say they haven't danced without alcohol in years. They haven't watched a sunrise in years.'
She pauses. 'And I think – yeah. This is it. This is the work.'