Perfectionism often presents itself as something admirable. It can look like care, ambition, and pride in doing things well. Many of us have been rewarded for these traits, told they will help us succeed or earn respect. But beneath perfectionism, there is often a quieter story. It can carry anxiety, fear of judgment, and a constant feeling of not being enough, no matter how much we achieve.

Trying to conceive is often imagined as a joyful and exciting chapter. For many people, it becomes one of the most emotionally painful and isolating journeys they have ever faced. Fertility struggles can affect every part of life, including your body, your relationship, your friendships, your future plans, and your self-esteem. It is often a silent kind of suffering. You might carry the weight of it while still showing up to work, attending baby showers, smiling at well-meaning advice, and holding everything together.

There are times in life when you realise you’ve gone quiet. Not in a peaceful, content kind of way, but in a lost, disconnected, slightly aching kind of way. Maybe it’s in relationships where you always keep the peace. Maybe it’s in family dynamics that silence you. Maybe it’s in a job that no longer fits, or a friendship where you’re constantly editing yourself. Maybe you’re surrounded by people but feel deeply unheard, even by yourself. And the thought starts to creep in: Where did my voice go? Therapy can be the beginning of finding it again.

On the outside, you’ve got it together. You’re juggling work, family, responsibilities, maybe even making it look effortless. You’re the one people rely on, the one who gets things done. You smile. You show up. You cope. But inside? It’s a different story. You’re wired, overwhelmed, constantly overthinking. You never quite feel like you’re doing enough, and if you’re really honest, you’re tired. Bone-deep tired. Not just from doing too much, but from being too much all the time. This is the quiet, hidden face of high-functioning anxiety. And if this feels familiar, you’re not alone.

A question I hear a lot, sometimes in emails, sometimes in the first few minutes of a session, and often sitting quietly between the lines, is this: “I’m not even sure what’s wrong. Can therapy still help?”. The answer is simple: yes. And more than that, it’s normal not to know.

Pregnancy, birth, and early parenthood bring huge emotional changes. It’s a time that can be joyful, yes, but also one that can feel disorientating, exhausting, or even deeply painful. The transition into parenthood is rarely straightforward, and for many people, it stirs up a wide range of emotions that are not always easy to speak about.

Sometimes in therapy, something seemingly small happens in the room. A pause. A sudden change in tone. A flash of emotion that catches both of us off guard. And in that moment, something old has arrived. Psychodynamic therapy helps us notice those moments. Not just to name them, but to explore what they might be pointing to. Because so often, our present-day difficulties are tangled up in our past. And once we start to gently trace those threads, something starts to unravel.

When you first start looking for a therapist, the number of options can feel overwhelming. Different titles, approaches, qualifications, it’s hard to know what actually matters. One thing you might see mentioned often is the BACP. You might notice that your therapist is “registered with the BACP” or that they “work within the BACP ethical framework.” But what does that actually mean? And why should you care?

When I started my counselling training, I remember hearing the phrase “person centred” over and over again. At first, it sounded like jargon. But as I began to experience it in practice, both as a trainee therapist and in my own personal therapy, something clicked. This wasn’t just a theory. It was a way of being with another human that felt deeply respectful, accepting and healing.

When we think of grief, we often think of death. A loved one passes away, and we grieve, there’s a funeral, a sympathy card, time off work. But what about the losses that go unseen? The quiet heartbreaks, the endings that no one names, the hopes that didn’t materialise? These are known as disenfranchised or unrecognised griefs, and they can affect us just as deeply.

In a world where self help books line every shelf, mindfulness apps are at our fingertips, and talking to friends is just a text away, it’s fair to ask, what is therapy really for? When people first come to work with me, they sometimes begin with an apology. “I know other people have it worse.” Or “I’m not even sure if I need therapy.” But needing therapy isn’t about having the most dramatic story. It’s about wanting space to grow, feel, and understand yourself more deeply. So let’s talk about what therapy is, and what it is not.

People often imagine starting therapy only at a point of absolute crisis, during heartbreak, trauma, depression, or loss. And while therapy is undeniably important in those moments, it's also valuable far beyond them. The truth is, there's no perfect or "right" time to begin therapy. But there are some signs that you might be ready to take that step.

You have probably heard someone say, “Why pay a therapist when I can just talk to my friends?” It is a fair question, and on the surface, a conversation with a friend and a therapy session can look quite similar. Both involve talking, being heard, and sometimes even receiving advice or support.

When most people think about starting therapy, they imagine something big has to happen first — a relationship breakdown, the death of a loved one, burnout, or a mental health crisis. And while therapy is an essential lifeline during those moments, it’s just as powerful when life is ticking along “normally.”

Starting counselling can feel like a big step—sometimes exciting, sometimes nerve-wracking, and often a little bit of both. Whether you’re seeking support for a specific issue or simply exploring the idea of personal growth, knowing what to expect in your first session with me can help ease anxiety and set you up for a positive experience.

One of the most beautiful and humbling aspects of being a counsellor is the profound truth that the learning process is never one-sided.

In our everyday conversations, silence often feels uncomfortable. We rush to fill gaps with words, fearing awkwardness or misunderstanding. But in counselling, silence holds a very different kind of power—one that invites depth, reflection, and profound connection.

For years, I thrived in the fast-paced world of corporate life—meeting deadlines, climbing the career ladder, and chasing the next big achievement. On the surface, everything looked great: a successful career, financial stability, and the sense that I had “made it.” But beneath that polished exterior was a growing feeling of disconnect.