I am sitting in a small room with my eyes closed, listening to my own breathing. On the 10th exhalation I hear a soft voice, gently telling me: “Come back, slowly, slowly.”

But I have not actually gone anywhere. It’s not for want of trying, but how can I relax enough to slip into semi-consciousness on a hard chair in front of a woman I have only just met?

I am one of the least likely candidates you can imagine for mindfulness meditation, the alternative therapy I am trying. I am sceptical in the extreme about any relaxation method that requires more work than simply flexing a corkscrew. The last time I was in any clinical setting, aside from a GP’s surgery, was when I was in agony with neck pain and saw an osteopath. The time before that, some years ago, was a visit to a therapist at a time of acute stress and insomnia. I was obviously not happy on either occasion. Nor was I happy when I left.

According to fans such as Oprah Winfrey and Arianna Huffington, however, mindfulness meditation can make us happier by teaching us how to focus on what is going on inside and outside ourselves, moment by moment. It can be an antidote to the preoccupation with instant communication, especially when we are busy, stressed or tired. It is easy to become trapped in our thoughts and lose touch with the here and now.

Many of its devotees have described mindfulness as a “revolution”. It is seeping into schools to help students concentrate and the NHS offers it as a solution to anxiety. In this world of limitless distractions, I admit I am not always in tune with exactly how I am feeling, or the world around me. But do I need to be? Do I want to be? Is mindfulness merely another fad?

I’m hoping to find some answers at Highgate Holistic Clinic in north London. It is a haven of peace and tranquillity, offering courses on reiki, colour therapy and soul plan reading (whatever that is). The smell of incense immediately distinguishes it from a mainstream counselling centre, as does the sunny receptionist with a big smile and sing-song voice.

“We are going to do some mindfulness meditation,” says my coach Nathalie, a delicate Frenchwoman wearing the kind of brown uniform generally sported by physiotherapists. “We are going to sit quietly and pay attention to the sensations of breathing and of all the parts of the body. Don’t worry if your mind wanders,” she whispers. “Just bring it back.”

I am scared. The last time I sat without talking, reading, using my mobile or watching TV is a distant memory, and the last thing I want is to get all emotional in front of a total stranger.

“It is all about choosing one activity, once a day, where you focus only on one thing. Like eating. Really be with your food. I sometimes give a raisin to those on my course, and say to eat it very slowly, savour the raisin, take your time with it. Appreciate it. When you are eating you are nourishing your body. It can make you happy. You are training your brain to be present.”

Actually, I am thinking about the breakfast and lunch I missed. And it is not a raisin, but a massive burger and fries I hope to inhale as soon as I get out.

I am told to sit up straight in my chair and not to cross my legs. “Close your eyes and let’s pay attention to your natural breathing.” We do what Nathalie calls a “full body scan”, which sounds terrifying. But it is simply a relaxation exercise where I focus on my toes, then my left ankle, and work my way up to my neck. I am bored. I ask what happens if I discover a fire in my kitchen. Do I have to breathe mindfully before calling the fire brigade? Nathalie serenely says no, I should just try to put out the fire.

“When something happens that would normally throw you straight into stress, if you have taught yourself this new way, you will react differently. You will be more peaceful and deal with it better. It is training your mind to get some distance from the problems or crisis you are dealing with.”

I would not describe myself as a happy person. I laugh a lot, am glad to be alive, am loved by friends and family, but my stress and anxiety levels are through the roof. I campaign against sexual and domestic violence, and find myself listening to horror stories of what women and children endure. Their pain seeps into me. How can I let go of these thoughts?

Then there’s my hypochondria. When Nathalie tells me to take notice of every bit of my body, I am terrified to see how many aches and pains pop up to the surface of my consciousness. “Think about your thighs, your stomach …” My mind starts identifying symptoms of terminal illnesses.

But I am determined to try to be happier. Perhaps in the future, rather than worrying in the middle of the night about bad things that could happen, I might try a bit of mindful breathing? When I panic at realising my deadline is an hour away and I still have 500 words to write, could it be beneficial to banish all thoughts from my mind and concentrate on nothing but the toes of my left foot for three minutes?

Looking at Nathalie, and envying her calm and focused appearance, I honestly don’t know if mindfulness is for me. I am not being wilfully resistant, but it seems so self-indulgent and a bit too simplistic to be effective. How easy is it to put rogue thoughts and worries aside? The simple fact is that it depends on what it is you are dreading, and how much you have to worry about. Many of those who have defended mindfulness to me, when I have been slating it and writing it off as yet another middle-class hobby, are privileged and relatively stress-free. But then I hear about torture victims and asylum seekers, as well as child abuse survivors and rape victims, who find mindfulness invaluable.

A number of my friends and colleagues thought it hilarious that I was trying mindfulness. They know me as someone for whom the glass is not just half empty but also cracked and laced with poison. But some desperately wanted it to work, for me to come out of that session a changed person. It did not happen, but I felt happier after my session than before it. I promised myself I would take Nathalie’s advice and do one thing mindfully each day - whether breathing, eating, or travelling in my head to a peaceful place, free from stress, responsibility or deadlines.

So far, however, I have not seemed to manage it. Now, excuse me while I open a bottle of wine. Mindfully, of course.