Waiting in the wind
Sometimes life carries us into a space where nothing feels steady. The ground beneath us seems to shift, the paths we once knew no longer guide us, and the versions of ourselves we have relied on no longer fit. We are caught between who we were and who we are becoming, suspended in that in-between place where fear, exhaustion, and possibility swirl together.
It is a place that asks us to wait without rushing, to breathe without resisting, and to trust without seeing the landing. I have been in that space, and I know what it feels like to be carried by the wind, unsure where you will land, unsure what parts of yourself will remain when you do. It is a place of both vulnerability and quiet power, of sorrow and awakening.
Waiting in the wind
I wait in this place of realisation.
A tear lingers on my cheek, witness to the pain of hiding, the pain of performing, the ache of feeling both too much and not enough.
I have been too nice, too outspoken, too direct.
I have shapeshifted into many versions of myself, each one a survival, each one a shield.
I am scared of my power.
I am lonely in it.
I do not yet know the way back to myself.
The safety nets that once held me, keeping me from falling, keeping me breathing, keeping me safe, have loosened. Now the wind carries me. And I wait to land somewhere grounded, somewhere whole.
I wait.
I breathe.
I allow myself to feel the exhaustion of this in between. I allow myself to sit with it.
And in this waiting, I realise: I am not lost.
I am transforming.
I am shedding what I no longer need so that the full, unshakable me can take root.
Here, in this pause, I honor the courage it took to survive and the courage it takes to let go.
Here, I rest in the wind and trust the landing will come.
For anyone else navigating that space between who you were and who you’re becoming, it’s okay to wait. It’s okay to feel the uncertainty, the fear, the exhaustion. It’s okay to just breathe and let yourself sit with it. The wind may carry you, but it is also teaching you. And eventually, you will land, steadier, stronger, and more whole than before.
How to Say No to a Loved One in Addiction Without the Guilt
If you’ve ever loved someone struggling with addiction, you know the tug-of-war in your chest.
They ask. You want to say no. But guilt whispers, “If you really loved them, you’d help.”
So you give in. You hand over money, cover up a mistake, or bail them out one more time. Later, resentment bubbles up. You feel drained, frustrated, and angry at yourself.
This is the cycle: guilt → rescuing → resentment.
Here’s the truth: love does not mean rescuing. In fact, the most loving thing you can do is act from love, separate with love, and say no with love.
1. Act from love, not fear or guilt
When guilt is driving, your choices will feel heavy and messy. You might say yes out of fear they’ll spiral or because conflict feels unbearable.
Acting from love looks different. It asks: What is truly best for them? For me? For the relationship in the long term?
Love might sound like:
“I love you, and that is why I cannot give you money.”
“I want you in my life, but not when you are using.”
Love leads to clarity. Guilt leads to chaos.
2. Recognise people-pleasing and co-dependency
Many family members fall into people-pleasing without even realising it. You feel guilty when you say no, so you keep saying yes. You bend yourself into knots to avoid conflict. You attend to everyone else’s needs while pushing your own to the bottom.
This often crosses into co-dependency. That means your peace depends on how your loved one is doing. You take on responsibility for their choices, try to fix their problems, and smooth over the damage.
But here’s the truth: when you do that, you take responsibility from them. You carry a burden that was never yours to hold. And the painful irony? It does not save them. It only delays the moment they may face reality and choose recovery.
Breaking that cycle means stepping back. Let the other adult be responsible for their own decisions, while you stay rooted in love.
3. Separate with love
Separating with love is not cutting someone off. It’s untangling yourself from the addiction. You do not need to carry their pain or fix their choices. You can love them deeply and still say:
“This is yours to face.”
Think of it as:
Separating the person from the addiction.
Separating your responsibility, your wellbeing, from theirs and their recovery.
That separation does not mean abandonment. It means keeping your heart open while protecting your sanity.
4. Say no with love
No is often the most loving answer you can give. It protects you from resentment and protects them from the false comfort of being enabled.
A loving no might sound like:
“No, I cannot do that, but I am here when you are ready for help.”
“No, I will not rescue you this time, because I believe you are stronger than that.”
“No, I cannot carry this for you, but I will walk beside you as you carry it.”
Boundaries can be soft and compassionate. You are not rejecting the person. You are rejecting the addiction’s hold on both of you.
Final thought
When you act from love, recognise people-pleasing and co-dependency, separate with love, and say no with love, you stop fueling the cycle of guilt and resentment.
Love says:
I care too much to keep rescuing you. I will not support your addiction, but I will never stop believing in you.
And that kind of love is not weak. It is the strongest love of all.
The Invisible Contracts We Carry: Breaking Free in Recovery
Have you ever felt like you were living by rules you never agreed to? As if someone handed you a contract early in life, and without noticing, you signed your name at the bottom?
In my work with clients, we sometimes call these “invisible contracts.” They are unspoken agreements that shape how we live, love, and cope.
What Are Invisible Contracts?
Invisible contracts are not written down, but they quietly guide our actions and choices. They can form in families, friendships, romantic relationships, or even society at large.
Some examples might sound familiar:
“I will always keep the peace, no matter what it costs me.”
“I have to be the strong one so no one else has to be.”
“I will give myself away so you don’t have to face your pain.”
These agreements may once have helped you survive. But over time, they can become cages, keeping you in roles that no longer serve you.
Reflection Prompt
Take a moment and consider: What agreements are you still living by that may not belong to you anymore? Where did they come from, and who wrote them?
Invisible Contracts and Addiction
For many people in recovery, invisible contracts are closely tied to substance use. You might carry a belief like:
“I have to numb myself so the family secret is never exposed.”
“I must take the blame so others don’t have to feel guilty.”
These contracts can feel unbreakable. The courage to question them can be uncomfortable, even scary. But recovery is not just about putting down substances, it’s about reclaiming your right to choose your own agreements.
Rewriting Your Contracts
What would it feel like to tear up the old contracts and write your own? You can create agreements that reflect who you truly are becoming, like:
“I agree to choose myself.”
“I agree to be honest, even when it is hard.”
“I agree to stop carrying what is not mine.”
This is not selfish. It is a reclaiming of freedom, self-respect, and agency.
Reflection Exercise
Take a notebook or your journal and answer:
Which invisible contracts are keeping me stuck?
How do these agreements show up in my daily life?
If I could write a new contract for myself today, what would it say?
Even small steps toward acknowledging and rewriting these agreements are acts of courage. You are giving yourself permission to live life on your own terms.
Remember, recovery is more than letting go of substances. It is about stepping into your own life, unburdened by invisible contracts, and choosing what truly serves you.
From Fairy Tales to Being Human: A Counselling Journey
A Childhood of Fairy Tales
Once upon a time, before I truly knew what it meant to see another person, I believed in magic. Not the sparkly kind, but the quiet kind, the magic that lives in hope, in stories, in the safe corners of imagination.
Fairy tales were my refuge. When the world felt heavy or unpredictable, I could step into forests and castles and find a rhythm that felt safe. Heroes and heroines faced trials, but there were always rules. Always endings that promised light. Somewhere in those stories, I learned to hope. Somewhere, I learned to survive.
And yes, I liked knowing that even when things got messy, someone, somewhere, would wrap it up neatly.
But those tales were more than childhood fancy, they were companions through shadows I could not yet name. Trauma, loss, fear, they all had a quiet presence in my early years. Fairy tales offered a secret scaffold, a way to carry what I could not speak aloud.
If you have ever found comfort in stories during dark times, know that you are not alone. Therapy can help you carry and understand those hidden pieces of yourself.
Answering the Call to Counselling
When I first heard the call to counselling, it felt like a whisper from a hidden doorway in a familiar forest, a place I had always known but never entered. I imagined the path would be gentle, lined with light, with understanding and clarity at the end.
I soon realised the forest had its own rhythm. The magic was not in rescue, it was in being met, in being seen.
Guides Along the Path
Along the way, I encountered guides. My college lecturer, quiet yet fierce, carried her own light like a hidden lantern. My supervisor, the trickster of the forest, reminded me that models are constructs, rules could bend.
The first time I sat in the client’s chair, my heart fluttered like a thousand tiny birds. I still clung to the hope of a fairy tale ending. But the forest had other plans.
Each encounter stretched me, sometimes wider than I thought I could bear. Yet it taught me the courage of simply being present. And sometimes, presence is all the magic you need.
For anyone considering therapy, know this, transformation is often subtle, quiet, and human. It does not happen in neat endings, but in moments of being truly seen.
The Magic of Being Seen
As I took up my role as a guide, I thought my task was to show others the gentle light. And I still do. But I also came to see that my lens was changing. The tidy endings I once sought became less important. What mattered was sitting with both shadows and light, holding pain and hope in one hand.
The heroes and heroines I meet are layered, alive, tender, flawed, brave, and occasionally stubborn, absolutely human. And that is the point.
Sometimes I still imagine a little sparkly magic sneaking in, just because it likes to. And sometimes, if I close my eyes in the forest, I swear I can see it glowing faintly at the edge of the trees, waiting for me to notice.
Next Steps for You
If you have ever felt lost in your own forest, know that counselling can help you find the light again. Explore your own journey with curiosity, courage, and support.
If you could see
A Reflection on Worth and Visibility
Sometimes, we fail to see the value in ourselves. We dim our light, quiet our spark, and give pieces of ourselves away, believing we are less than we are.
This poem grew from my work as a therapist and from what I so often witness in others, the strength, courage, and quiet wisdom that can go unseen, even by the person who carries it. It is a reminder that even when self-doubt whispers otherwise, your presence, insight, and contributions matter deeply.
If You Could See
You paint the air with colours bright
yet hide your canvas out of sight
You give away your crown, your flame
then tell yourself you are not the same
But I have seen the light you throw
the way you make the small things grow
the spark that flickers in your eyes
the truth you hold, the quiet wise
If you could see the view I see
you would wear your heart more fearlessly
You would keep your colours, let them stay
and never give yourself away
This poem is for anyone who feels unimportant, overlooked, or like their contributions do not matter. My hope is that it reminds you of your inherent worth and that the world, even if you cannot always see it yourself, is brighter because you are in it.
In counselling, one of the most powerful things I can do is witness someone fully, reflecting back their strengths, courage, and value. Sometimes we just need someone to see us so that we can begin to see ourselves.
As you read, I invite you to pause and ask: What light do I carry that I might not always see?
What kind of relationship do you have with yourself?
The Mirror Within
The way we see ourselves is not just a reflection in a mirror. It is the lens through which we experience the world. For many, this lens is clouded by early experiences of trauma, whether emotional neglect, abuse, or abandonment. These formative years shape our self-worth, emotional regulation, and interpersonal dynamics.
The Question That Stopped Me
I remember the first time my supervisor asked me a question that stayed with me. We were reflecting on my work with clients, and he looked at me and said, “Katherine, what kind of relationship do you have with yourself?”
At first, I did not know how to answer. I had never been asked that question directly. It made me pause and reflect in a way that nothing else had. I realised that the way I viewed and treated myself shaped not only my own life but also how I showed up for others.
The Roots of Self-Perception
Research underscores the profound impact of childhood trauma on adult self-concept. A study published in Frontiers in Psychology highlights that individuals with a history of childhood trauma often develop a negative self-concept, which can make it difficult to form and maintain healthy relationships.
This negative self-view is not just about feeling “bad” about oneself. It is about internalising beliefs like “I am unworthy,” “I am unlovable,” or “I am broken.” These beliefs can manifest as people-pleasing, difficulty setting boundaries, or choosing partners who reinforce these patterns.
Why Old Patterns Keep Showing Up
Trauma does not only affect how we see ourselves. It influences how we engage with others. According to Psychology Today, people who grew up in abusive environments may normalise unhealthy behaviours like manipulation or volatility in adult relationships. Some may even be drawn to partners who echo their early caregivers, keeping the cycle alive.
Finding New Ways to Relate to Yourself
The good news is that healing is possible. By recognising the impact of early trauma on our relationship with ourselves, we can begin to rewrite our stories. Therapeutic approaches, such as Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT), offer pathways to understanding and transforming these deep-seated beliefs.
For those with a history of trauma, EFT can help in naming and expressing vulnerable emotions, building secure bonds, and creating new possibilities for self and relationships.
A Gentle Invitation
If you find yourself caught in patterns that no longer serve you, whether in relationships, self-worth, or emotional regulation, know that you are not alone. Your past does not have to dictate your future. By nurturing a compassionate relationship with yourself, you can begin to heal and transform.
Sometimes all it takes is a question like the one my supervisor asked: What kind of relationship do you have with yourself? Reflecting on this can be the first step toward a more meaningful and fulfilling connection with yourself and others.
Reflection Prompt
Take a few quiet minutes today and ask yourself:
How do I usually speak to myself?
Do I treat myself with the same compassion I offer others?
What kind of relationship do I want to build with myself moving forward?
Write down what comes up without judgement. Notice if there’s a small, gentle shift in how you see yourself.
Reconnecting Through the Body: How Somatic Experiencing Strengthens Relationships
Intro:
Connection begins in the body. Before words, before thoughts, we experience ourselves and others through the sensations of our nervous system. Trauma can disrupt this natural flow, leaving us disconnected, guarded, or reactive. Somatic Experiencing (SE), developed by Peter A. Levine, offers a way to notice, release, and regulate these stored tensions, creating space for more authentic engagement with ourselves and others.
The Nervous System as a Bridge
Trauma isn’t only psychological. It is stored in the body. Tight shoulders, racing hearts, shallow breaths, these are messages from the nervous system. SE teaches us to attend to these signals, not with judgment, but with curiosity. As tension is released, the body feels safer, and relational capacity grows.
From Survival to Presence
When trauma keeps us in survival mode, fight, flight, or freeze, connection can feel unsafe. We may avoid intimacy, overreact in conflict, or shut down emotionally. Through gentle, incremental exploration of bodily sensations, SE helps the nervous system reset. This creates the internal safety needed to show up fully in relationships.
Practical Ways to Embody Connection
Tune into your body before difficult conversations to notice tension early.
Use grounding techniques like slow breathing or pressing feet into the floor to regulate stress.
Pause and identify bodily sensations during emotional moments to communicate with clarity.
SE and Empathy
By learning to notice our own internal experience, we cultivate awareness of others’ states. This somatic attunement strengthens empathy, patience, and deeper understanding, making relationships more resilient.
Conclusion / Reflection
Connection is more than conversation, it is embodied. Somatic Experiencing invites us to listen to our bodies, release tension, and return to presence. In doing so, we don’t just heal ourselves; we create the conditions for richer, more authentic relationships with the people who matter most.
Who Am I Without Addiction? Exploring Identity in Recovery
Recovery from addiction is often framed in terms of stopping substance use, learning coping strategies, or avoiding relapse but there is another dimension that is just as crucial: identity. Who are you when you are not defined by substances? Who do you want to be? How do you see yourself?
In my work as a counsellor, I have sat with men and women who carried immense shame, who defined themselves entirely by their addiction. One client once said, “I don’t know who I am without this.” It is a common, heartrending experience. Identity is not fixed; it evolves over time, shaped by relationships, trauma, and choices. Understanding this can be transformative for recovery (Howard, 2004).
The journey often involves moving from an “addict identity” toward a “recovery identity.” This is not simply quitting substances; it is about reshaping your sense of self in relation to the world and to others. Research on social identity in recovery shows that the communities we engage with, whether peers in recovery or supportive networks, play a pivotal role in this transformation (Best et al., 2016).
Yet it is essential to honour the “addict” identity, even as it is left behind. Many clients carry shame and stigma from their past actions. In therapy, acknowledging this identity without judgement allows people to integrate their experiences and move toward a healthier self (Pickard, 2021). I have seen clients shift from self-condemnation to self-recognition simply by exploring what their “addict identity” has taught them, the resilience, the survival, the lessons embedded in pain.
Practically, identity work in recovery can include reflective exercises, dream exploration, peer support, and connecting with communities that reinforce growth. It is about reclaiming agency, understanding how past experiences shaped who you are, and discovering who you want to be.
Recovery is not just about abstaining from substances. It is about reclaiming your story, reshaping your identity, and stepping into a life that is whole, resilient, and authentically yours.
Couples therapy online
Navigating Love from a Distance: The Power of Online Emotionally Focused Therapy
You’ve been arguing about the same thing for weeks. You feel unheard, and your partner seems distant. In today’s fast-paced world, many couples experience this silent drift. Miscommunication, unresolved conflict, and emotional disconnection can leave both partners frustrated and isolated. But help is closer than you think. Online Emotionally Focused Therapy (EFT) offers a path to reconnect and rebuild trust, even from a distance.
What is Emotionally Focused Therapy?
EFT is a structured, short-term therapy designed to help couples understand and reorganize their emotional responses. Developed by Dr. Sue Johnson and grounded in attachment theory, EFT focuses on creating secure emotional bonds. It provides a safe space for partners to express their needs and vulnerabilities, fostering understanding and deeper connection.
The Benefits of Online EFT
Online EFT has been shown to be highly effective. A comprehensive meta-analysis revealed that approximately 70% of couples undergoing EFT reported meaningful improvements in relationship satisfaction, with many achieving symptom-free status by the end of therapy. Another study in the Journal of Marital and Family Therapy found that online EFT also reduces depressive symptoms and relationship distress, demonstrating its effectiveness beyond the traditional therapy room.
Beyond the research, online EFT offers practical benefits:
Accessibility: Attend sessions from home, eliminating travel stress.
Flexibility: Accommodates different time zones and schedules.
Comfort: Familiar surroundings can encourage openness and honest expression.
From My Experience
In my practice, I’ve seen couples regain trust and closeness even after years of feeling disconnected. Often, the smallest shifts, learning to notice and validate each other’s emotions, can spark profound change.
Taking the First Step
If you and your partner are struggling, online EFT could be the supportive, structured approach you need. Taking that first step whether reaching out for therapy or trying an EFT exercise can be an act of courage that transforms your relationship.
Love and connection are possible, even across distances. Online EFT provides the guidance to rediscover them.
Meeting the Shadow Within
We all carry parts of ourselves we prefer not to see, feelings, impulses, or traits we deny, suppress, or act as if they do not exist. In my work as a counsellor, I often meet clients who insist, “That is not me,” when confronted with patterns of self-doubt, avoidance, or overgiving. Carl Jung (1953) called these aspects the shadow, the parts of our personality we reject or disown. Shadow work, then, is not about eradicating these parts but about seeing, acknowledging, and integrating them.
I have faced my own shadow through therapy, supervision, dream analysis, peer feedback, and reflections sparked by clients. One dream stands out. I was standing on a high, narrow bridge. Below, the water roared, and a small, trembling version of myself clutched the railing, whispering, “You cannot do this. You are not enough.” At first, I tried to push that voice away, but the longer I stayed, the more I realised it was a part of me I had long ignored. That small, fearful self held truths I needed to acknowledge to grow.
The shadow carries more than fear, anger, or guilt. It also holds traits we admire but have not claimed, assertiveness, confidence, ambition. Often, these hidden parts show up as perfectionism, avoidance, or self-sabotage, quietly shaping our choices, emotions, and relationships even when we deny them.
Meeting the shadow begins with noticing discomfort, shame, or anger. Pause. Ask, “What is this part of me trying to tell me?” Through repeated reflection, curiosity, and self-compassion, we slowly integrate these hidden selves. The journey is ongoing, but each step brings more resilience, awareness, and wholeness.
The shadow is not a threat but a companion. By welcoming it, we grow braver, wiser, and more human.
Takeaway Invitation: Today, notice one part of yourself you usually avoid. Name it, observe it, and see what it can teach you.
Citation:
Jung, C. G. (1953). Collected Works of C.G. Jung, Volume 9 (Part 1): The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. Princeton University Press.
I Sit with Forgotten Men
When I was training as an addiction counsellor, I was often told by other professionals, “That’s a hard road. Are you sure you want to go down it?”
And yes, it is hard. I have seen men turn their lives around, only to end up in prison despite their efforts. I have seen systems fail them, society judge them, and opportunities slip away. Yet it is in that very difficulty that the work matters most.
This poem captures what I witness every day:
I sit with forgotten men
I sit and hold the hands of men
Not saints, not villains, just human again
The ones tossed out like broken tools
Discarded by polite, clean rules
I hold the weight the world will not see
The trauma wrapped in secrecy
The pain that does not wear a name
The histories soaked deep in shame
They say, “Why help them? What is the gain?
Aren’t you tired of all that pain?”
But they do not see the sacred ground
Where sobs are swallowed and truths are unbound
I rage against the system's game
That dresses justice up in shame
The courtroom speaks in cold decree
But I see men fight to break free
They label, lock, and throw away
The very men who chose to stay
To face the mirror, bare and raw
And climb up through the jagged flaw
Redemption lives in every scar
In trembling hands and prison bars
I have seen the moment something shifts
When self-respect begins to lift
You think they lie? Sometimes they do
But lies are masks for bleeding truth
You think they are dangerous? So be it
But I have seen courage you just do not see
These men have fought the hardest wars
Not ones with guns, but inner doors
They have faced their pasts with shaking breath
And dragged themselves back up from death
And still the world says, “Not enough”
Still we punish. Still we bluff
As if remorse cannot spark rebirth
As if some souls have lost their worth
So no, I will not look away in fear
I will sit beside them. I will be here
Not as saviour, not my role
But as witness to a rising soul
I will sit in rooms where silence screams
Where men rebuild their broken dreams
Where hands once clenched in rage and shame
Now reach for something with a name
Hope
Self-worth
A second chance
A life that is not circumstance
I do not do this for praise or pay
I do it because I cannot look away
Because I know what it is to fall
And how it feels when no one calls
So call me soft or call me mad
But I will keep showing up like that
Because I have seen what others miss
The power in the fracturedness
I sit with men the world condemns
And I refuse to forget them
Addiction counselling is a road that asks for stamina, compassion, and courage. It asks you to sit with the complexity of human lives, the victories, the setbacks, and the often unseen progress. My role is not to save, but to witness. Not to control outcomes, but to hold space for possibility, healing, and self-discovery.
Even when the system punishes, even when the world seems indifferent, the simple act of being seen matters. Those moments of recognition, of someone truly witnessing a person’s struggle and growth, can be transformative.
If you are reading this as a client, colleague, or someone curious about this path, know this: the work is hard, but the human connection you cultivate can be a lifeline. The people you sit with, their resilience, courage, and capacity for change, will stay with you long after the session ends.
Remembering Songbird
Remembering Songbird
There are people we meet who stay with us, not because their time was long but because their presence was unforgettable. Songbird was one of those people.
He once described himself as a songbird, and that image has never left me. It captured both his fragility and his strength, the rare quality of a voice that could carry sorrow and beauty in the same breath.
After his passing, I found myself writing. The words came out as a poem, a way of honouring his life and the gift of his song. His story was not easy, and his melody was not always simple to hear, yet within it there was truth, honesty, and a quiet courage.
I had hoped to show him that life could be good, that his story could stretch further. But his song was his own, and perhaps the most I could do was listen. And so I listened, to his pain, his hopes, his doubts, his laughter. I listened for the meaning between the words.
Though his voice has fallen silent, the echo remains. Some songs are brief, but never wasted. For those who loved him most, I hope they know that his song carried, that it mattered, and that it will not be forgotten.
And for me, he will always be Songbird.
Songbird
Songbird came
and sang his beautiful song.
A song that was difficult
to sing along.
His tune held many verses
of a life filled with pain and hurt.
He had good rhymes to sing, of course,
yet this failed to ease his remorse.
You see, the songbird’s song
was short and fast.
He was not sure
if he could make it last.
I hoped I could show him
that life was good.
But he knew something
I never could.
That the song he sang
was the gift he gave,
a song that I was never
meant to save.
He sang a wonderful lament
with great feeling.
I listened to his song
and its meaning.
And the pain that is left
after his song is gone
is of a song
that was difficult
to sing along.
Welcome to My Blog
This is a space for reflection, research, and real conversations about healing and growth.
Here I write about therapy, identity, recovery, and connection. Sometimes through personal stories, sometimes through research, sometimes through poetry. Always with the aim of making complex ideas feel human and alive.
What You’ll Find
Reflections on Therapy and Growth
Questions that open doors to self-understanding and new ways of living.
Relationships and Connection
How we build trust, heal disconnection, and nurture love.
Addiction, Healing, and Recovery
What research and lived experience reveal about identity, resilience, and the recovery journey.
Poetry and Personal Writing
Fragments of the inner world, captured in words that move and ground.
An Invitation
These blogs are not about fixing. They are about noticing. They are about seeing yourself with more compassion and recognising that your story is still unfolding.
Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t. And maybe carry one question with you: What kind of relationship do you have with yourself?