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Tag: emotions

  • Your Child Doesn’t Need Fixing. They Need You.

    A collage of a young person on the theme of Helping struggling teenagers. Caption "I don't know who to be or what to do"

    If you’re a parent trying to reach a struggling teenager, that blank stare is probably familiar. Have you ever wondered about the meaning of it, that look you get when you ask, over spaghetti bolognese on a Tuesday evening, what they did at school today? You’re hoping to hear about an inspiring lesson, a breakthrough moment, something that tells you they’re okay. But what comes back is nothing. Just the stare.

    Here’s what’s behind it.

    Their day has been consumed not by physics or history but by the social minefield of being young. Who said what to whom. What that message actually meant. Whether that look was hostile or just distracted. Whether they fit in or didn’t, and what to do about it either way. By the time they walk through your door, they’re not withholding from you. They’re exhausted. And now you’re asking them to explain something they don’t have words for, to someone they suspect might try to fix it, or panic, or both.

    That’s not a criticism. It comes from love. But it lands as pressure.

    The world a young person navigates is genuinely relentless. They’re trying to work out who to be with this friend and who to be with that teacher and who to be at home, and none of those versions quite match. The image that opens this article carries a phrase that I hear underneath a lot of what young people bring into a room with me:

    I don’t know who to be or what to do.

    That’s just what it feels like to be young and trying to make sense of a complicated world without quite enough self to do it yet.

    When helping makes it worse

    When we see a young person struggling, the instinct is to do something. Sort it out. Speak to the school. Have a word with the other parent. Make it stop.

    I worked with a boy who was being bullied because other kids had decided he was gay. He hadn’t told his parents. When I asked him why, he said he knew what would happen: his mum would go into school, and then everyone would know, and it would be worse. He was right to be cautious. His mum did find out, and she did go in, and within days there had been a school assembly on homophobia. She’d acted from love and genuine concern. But what she’d inadvertently done was force her son to come out, publicly, before he was ready.

    That’s not a story about bad parenting. It’s a story about what happens when the urge to fix overtakes the capacity to stay. The boy didn’t need the problem solved. He needed someone to sit with him in it first.

    Connection happens in the body, not just the mind

    We tend to think of connection as something that happens between minds. Words exchanged. Thoughts understood. But that’s only part of it, and probably not the most important part.

    When two people are genuinely present with each other, something happens at a physical level. Breathing. Heart rate. The whole nervous system begins to settle, or doesn’t, depending on the quality of the contact. A young person who is flooded with stress or shut down with exhaustion can’t think clearly, can’t find words, can’t make sense of their own experience. What they need first isn’t a conversation. It’s a body to be near that isn’t also alarmed.

    Think of a parent and child doing something together without any agenda. Building something. Kicking a ball about. Cooking. Fishing. Not talking much, just doing. That shared activity does something that conversation often can’t: it creates a kind of contact that doesn’t require explanation or performance. The young person doesn’t have to produce anything. They just have to be there. And in being there, something settles.

    The parent has provided a connection without strings, without pressure.

    What you can offer that no strategy can

    Connection needs the right conditions. It can’t be rushed, demanded, or scheduled into a twenty-minute slot between homework and bedtime.

    If mealtimes are where you want to reach your child, the quality of that time matters more than what’s said in it. No phones, not because it’s a rule, but because anything that breaks the contact breaks the possibility of connection. A slowed-down, unhurried atmosphere. Taking it seriously without making it serious. You’re not trying to extract information. You’re just being together.

    And here’s what the research on this suggests: a young person who experiences that kind of safe, unpressured presence with a parent carries it with them. It becomes part of how they understand what relationships can feel like. It gives them something to return to.

    If they mention something they saw on the way home, or something a friend said that confused them, let that be enough. You don’t need to solve it. You just need to receive it.

    There is no getting it right

    If you’re reading this and thinking you’ve been getting it wrong, I want to say something directly: there is no right or wrong in parenting. There’s only the question of whether you can be present with your child.

    As they get older, that becomes harder. They’ll push you away. Your presence will irritate them. They’ll seem to want nothing to do with you. But the truth is that knowing you’re there, without pressure, without control, without judgement, gives them something they can’t get anywhere else. It gives them somewhere to come back to.

    What young people are doing, all through adolescence, is moving back and forth between you and the world. They step away, make mistakes, figure things out, and step back. What makes that possible is knowing that you as the fallback exists. That you’re still there when they return.

    You don’t need to put them on the right path. You don’t need to fix what’s going wrong. You just need to be there, steadily, as they work out who they are.

    That image of the boy, not knowing who to be or what to do, isn’t a permanent state. It’s a question the young person is living. Your steady presence is part of how they find the answer.

    Children & Young People — Therapy in Bude
    The Garbled Handbook

  • Anxiety: Your Body Is Trying to Tell You Something

    Right now, as I write this, I am picking my nails, pulling at my beard, pushing my thumb into the palm of my hand. This is the first paragraph of an article on anxiety, and my body knows it. Something is building, something I am not quite sure about, something that could be hard. And yet I know that once I get going, I will be fine.

    That is anxiety. Not a disorder. Not a malfunction. Information.

    If you have arrived here after searching the word “anxiety,” you will have passed through an overwhelming wave of diagnoses, categories, techniques, potions, mindfulness scripts and breathing exercises, all of them premised on the same assumption: that anxiety is something wrong with you, something to be reduced, managed or cured. This article is not that.

    A natural phenomenon, not a disorder

    When we name something a disorder, curiosity stops. We label it, file it, fix it. We begin to relate to it from a cognitive distance, as though it were happening to us rather than in us, as though it were an intruder rather than a messenger. Every nervous system response is a natural phenomenon. Anxiety is no exception. It is your body doing something for a reason, and the most useful question you can ask is not “how do I make this stop” but “what is this telling me, and is it still relevant?”

    It starts in the body, and it starts early

    My earliest memory of anxiety is vivid. I am three or four years old, in my aunt’s garden, digging with a red-handled metal fork. A bee appears. I know bees sting, so I step back. Flight. But the bee seems to follow me, so I pick up the fork and wave it in front of me. Fight. I end up running around the garden, fork raised, a bee apparently in determined pursuit. My nervous system was doing exactly what nature designed it to do: read a signal, generate a response, and move me towards safety.

    Not long after, I refused to go to the school canteen. It was noisy, full of older children, nothing like the warm familiarity of home. I sat down in the classroom and cried. Eventually, my father came. He took my hand and walked me into that tin-shed of a room with its hundred children and crashing acoustics. He sat me next to a girl I felt safe with, and that was enough. My nervous system settled because the relational context had changed. I was not broken. I was responding. And what settled me was not a technique or a strategy; it was the felt safety of another person.

    How a response becomes a pattern

    Well into my twenties, I was still having a physical reaction to bees and wasps. I would freeze, shut my eyes, try to pretend I was not afraid, though my body told a different story entirely. It had logged that early experience and kept the file open.

    Then, as a primary school teacher, a bee got into the classroom. Children were shouting, running, and screaming. I was the adult in the room. I found a glass and a piece of card, captured the bee, opened the window and let it go. From that day on, my body stopped reacting as it once had. The pattern broke, not through a technique or a course of treatment, but through action in a relational context, being the person someone else needed me to be.

    This is how anxiety works. It begins as a genuine response to something real. Over time, the nervous system learns to anticipate, to fire early, to stay on alert in situations that echo the original one, even when the actual danger is long gone. It is not irrational. It is a pattern, wired in for good reasons, and it can be rewired.

    When anxiety takes over

    I have been a performer most of my adult life, and I learned early on to recognise performance anxiety as excitement, energy I could channel rather than suppress. But I have also had social anxiety so severe that I could not easily speak to people. My response was cigarettes and a great deal of beer, enough to get me through the door. It helped in the short term, but it did not touch the anxiety itself. If anything, the anxiety grew, became less predictable, harder to read.

    And then there was The Gambia.

    The breaking point

    I was leading a group on an African drumming trip when one of the group members became seriously ill and died. After contacting the insurers, arranging accommodation, and ensuring everyone got home safely, I was calm, practical, and present, the person the situation required. That evening, I sat in the bar with a friend, and we talked it through. Everything felt steady.

    Then I got up to walk to the toilet, and I fainted.

    I came round to find four men carrying me through the streets, aloft, running, shouting, taking me to the nearby hospital, the same hospital where she had died. Passing that room again felt surreal. The rest of the night passed in that same ward. When the doctor discharged me the following morning, I asked him whether I was going to die. He said no. He said I had had a panic attack.

    My nervous system is wired for movement, organisation and decisive action under stress. That is what it did, and it did it well. But it has an overload point. What I understand now, looking back, is that I might have reached that point later, or not at all, had I allowed myself to share the weight with my friend that evening rather than holding it alone, telling him not just what had happened, but how it felt to be the one responsible. The nervous system settles in the presence of another person. That is not a weakness. That is how we are built.

    What actually helps

    There are no universal techniques. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.

    What matters is noticing: noticing what your body is doing, and finding a way to shift the energy in whatever way works for you in that moment. Scrolling on your phone is a mild anxiety symptom. What can you do as you swipe through that essential video of a dog rescuing a duck from a raging river? Notice it, stop, go for a walk in the park. When you find yourself checking your emails every thirty seconds, bake a cake. When your attention scatters, try focusing on one thing or one person, completely and without distraction.

    As a pianist, I used to shake my hands and flex my fingers for a full minute before sitting down to play. It was my way of moving the energy through rather than sitting on it. More recently, in Zoom training sessions, I found my attention drifting, my hands rubbing together, unable to engage with what was in front of me. I bought a fidget toy. It worked: a small, quiet outlet for the energy, and I could stay present.

    The question worth asking yourself is this: Is the anxiety pulling you into the present moment, or is it pulling you out? The answer usually tells you something about what it needs.

    A word, if you have been given a diagnosis

    A doctor may have diagnosed you with an anxiety disorder, recommended CBT, or prescribed medication – or all three. I am not here to dismiss any of that. What I am suggesting is something that can sit alongside it: a more personal curiosity about what is actually happening in your body, and what stories your mind is constructing around it. Anxiety is often protecting you from something. It is worth asking what that is, and whether the protection is still necessary, or whether it belongs to an earlier chapter of your life.

    What your body already knows

    For most of us, most of the time, anxiety is not a disorder. It is a nervous system doing its job, a body that learned something once and has not yet been shown that things have changed. It is information, sometimes urgent, sometimes subtle, always worth attending to.

    Your body generated this anxiety. It is quite capable of living with it, channelling it, moving it on.

    You do not need to make it go away. You need to listen to what it is telling you.

  • Survival Holding: When Safety Flattens a Relationship

    When nothing can be fixed, something may still be held.

    Relationships are a shared journey. They often begin with excitement, closeness, and hope, but over time, they also meet moments of struggle and uncertainty. There may come a point when that early sense of promise is questioned, when things feel stuck, or energy begins to fade.

    Cracks may appear, and external pressures such as loss, stress, or change may start to strain the relationship. Children may join you, bringing new emotional demands. You may find yourself navigating a terrain you never anticipated or desired.

    As intensity builds, difficult questions often arise. Should I try harder? Should I pull away?

    Is it possible for all of these tensions to be held within the relationship?

    When a couple make the often difficult decision to come to relationship therapy, they may arrive looking for answers. They may hope that the therapist can fix things, that the other person will change, or that they themselves will need to change, even though they have little sense of how that might look.

    Often, there is also a feeling of crisis. A sense that something has to shift quickly, that one of them may have to leave, or that something dramatic needs to happen for the relationship to survive.

    What I tend to see as the first stage of relationship counselling is something quiet and containing. It is about me getting to know the couple as they are right now, and helping them to hold their relationship safely.

    This means slowing things down, not making rash decisions, not jumping too quickly into action, and not remaining trapped in cycles of blame or shame. Instead, it is about holding the relationship steady and taking the time it may need to find some stability, and with that, the possibility of a renewed sense of hope.

    We live in a world where many societies and cultures tend to see things in binary terms. Black or white. Male or female. Ill or well. Whole or broken.

    Relationships are often understood in the same way. They are either fine or they are broken. If something feels wrong, then the assumption is that it must be fixed, or that the relationship itself must end.

    It is worth remembering that not every culture in the world understands human experience in these terms. There are far more fluid, layered, and nuanced ways of thinking about mental health, physical health, and relationship health. Ways that allow for difficulty, contradiction, and change over time, without immediately deciding that something is wrong.

    From this perspective, one of the first steps in coming to couples counselling may be to question the idea that the relationship is broken at all. With time, care, and attention, it may be possible to allow things to settle, to be held, and to move towards a different kind of balance, rather than rushing to fix or decide.

    Can a relationship become dysregulated?

    When my nervous system becomes dysregulated, I tend to go into fix-it mode. I organise things, I problem solve, I look after others and try to protect them from harm. None of these are bad things, but they can move me away from connection.

    It may look like connection, but it feels like I am one step away.

    When my partner’s nervous system is dysregulated, she tends to withdraw. She seeks ways of regulating herself that give her space and room to breathe. It can feel as if stepping back creates the conditions she needs to settle herself.

    With both of these survival patterns in place, can it be that the relationship itself becomes dysregulated, and that we arrive at a point where regulating ourselves begins to threaten the relationship?

    Are we incompatible?
    Are we tearing each other apart?
    What is the point of staying together?

    These questions arise in a state of urgency. I am feeling pain. I am feeling it now, and I want it to stop. These are nervous system responses. They need regulating, not fixing.

    How do you regulate a relationship?
    Can you find a way to stay connected to the relationship and to create some safety?
    Can you find a way to hold differences and disconnections without trying to resolve them?
    Can you, together, find a way for the relationship to survive?

    I can recognise a state of holding in my own relationship. When we lost our daughter several years ago, we both moved into dysregulated states, yet found a way to hold the relationship safely. What I am recognising now is how much we protect each other. The relationship is in survival mode.

    It is a strength that we have been able to hold the relationship in this way. It has kept us safe. And yet I am starting to notice how much of our energy has gone into protection. The relationship feels steady, but muted. I find myself longing for more vitality, more spark, more aliveness between us.

    Can a relationship be held too tightly?

    A relationship can move into a state of holding, which I would describe as survival or protection holding. This often happens in response to loss, trauma, betrayal, or rupture. In these moments, holding becomes necessary. It is oriented towards safety, steadiness, and not making things worse.

    This kind of holding can look like care. It can feel very comfortable. It can involve patience, thoughtfulness, and a mutual effort to protect what remains. And in many ways, it is care.

    But survival holding can also feel as though the relationship is being held too tightly. As if something is being braced or contained. What can quietly go missing is a sense of risk, a sense of desire, and a sense of movement. The relationship survives, but it stops inviting either person to step forward.

    This is where I find myself wondering what holding space can make possible.

    A different kind of holding might be described as holding space for each other, or for the relationship itself. This form of holding is less focused on protection, and more on staying in contact.

    In this kind of holding, safety may come not from containing things tightly, but from a growing sense that the relationship can tolerate difference, uncertainty, and movement. There can be room for each partner to step closer or further away, without the relationship immediately feeling at risk.

    This does not remove difficulty, and it does not guarantee ease. But for some couples, it can begin to feel as though the relationship has a little more space to breathe. Safety may be experienced less as bracing against loss, and more as a quiet confidence that tension, misattunement, and repair can be survived.

    In my own relationship, I really value the time we have spent holding things gently and safely. That period of holding has mattered. It has given us somewhere steady to stand, and something to rest into.

    I am also aware that we are beginning to move, almost quietly, into a more differentiated place. Not in a dramatic or decisive way, but through a growing acceptance that we may have different directions we need to explore.

    What feels new is not the difference itself, but a sense of being able to allow it, and to be comfortable enough to stay connected while we do.

  • Does Online Therapy Work?

    Man speaking with online therapist via video call on laptop, in a relaxed home setting

    What I’ve learned after years of working with clients across the UK and Europe

    My first-ever therapy client wasn’t in a room with me. It was March 2020. They were too frightened to leave their home following a traumatic local event, and the pandemic made meeting in person impossible. We worked by phone.

    Neither of us knew if it would work.

    Twelve months later, when we ended well, I knew something I hadn’t known before: the room isn’t what makes therapy real. The relationship is.

    The honest answer: yes, with the right therapist

    Online therapy works. The research backs this up, and so does my clinical experience. Studies consistently show outcomes for online counselling are comparable to in-person work across a wide range of concerns, including anxiety, depression, relationship difficulties, and trauma.

    But the research also shows what practitioners already know: the single most important factor in any therapy isn’t the modality or the platform. It’s the therapeutic relationship. Whether you’re on Zoom or sitting in a consulting room in Cornwall, what heals is being genuinely met by another person.

    Online therapy doesn’t change that. In some ways, it deepens it.

    What changes online, and what doesn’t

    When clients work with me online, I can’t read the room in the same way. I’ve learned to listen more closely to tone, pace, and timing. Small shifts in how someone is breathing. Hesitations. The moment someone’s voice changes.

    The body is still present, even through a screen. And often, clients are more settled in their own body when they’re at home: on their sofa, with a favourite mug, with their cat nearby. Small things that help the nervous system feel safe. When safety increases, therapy deepens.

    What doesn’t change is the quality of attention, the pace of the work, or the depth of what can be explored. I work with the same relational, depth-oriented approach online that I use in person. Psychodynamic. Person-centred. Attentive to how the body holds what the mind hasn’t yet found words for.

    Who tends to do well with online therapy

    In my experience, online therapy suits people who:

    • Have chosen their therapist deliberately, often after searching and reading carefully
    • Want to work without travel time eating into their week
    • Live somewhere with limited local options, as many people in rural Cornwall do
    • Feel more able to open up from a familiar environment
    • Are managing a busy life and need the flexibility

    That deliberate choice matters more than people realise. When someone has searched, compared, reflected, and then decided to work with a particular therapist, they arrive already invested. That investment shapes the work from the first session.

    What online therapy can’t replace

    I’ll be direct about the limits too. Some clients need in-person work, at least to begin with. If someone is in acute crisis, or if their trauma responses are strongly somatic and they need to feel another regulated nervous system physically present, in-person sessions may be more appropriate. We’d discuss that in an initial consultation.

    For couples, the picture is more nuanced. Online couples work is possible and I do it regularly, but the dynamics require careful management. I’ll always be clear about whether it’s the right fit.

    A note on how I work online

    Sessions are on Zoom. I don’t record sessions. If a client wants a written summary after a session, I can create one using secure, ethical tools, and only with their explicit consent.

    I’m based near Bude in North Cornwall, and I work with individuals and couples across the UK and Europe. If geography has been stopping you from accessing the kind of therapy you’re looking for, it doesn’t have to.

    The short version

    Online therapy works because therapy has always been about the relationship, not the room. What matters is finding a therapist whose approach fits what you’re carrying, who you feel you can trust, and who will stay with you as the work gets harder.

    If you’re wondering whether online therapy might be right for you, the best next step is a short introductory call. No commitment, no pressure, just a chance to see if it feels like a fit.

    Book a free introductory call

    Online sessions for couples and individuals across the UK and Europe.
    Contact

  • Mind, Body, Soul, and Emotions: Finding Harmony in the Pieces of Yourself

    A Personal Journey to Balance parts of myself

    Published in ILLUMINATION on Medium John Walter 📣Therapy and creativity

    An image created by the author in tribute to Mark Hartshorn — the four parts of self.

    In creating the title image, I considered each tile to represent a different aspect of myself: my mind, my body, my soul, and my emotions. Some days, the pieces fit together perfectly. On other days, they feel jagged, disjointed, and hard to reconcile.

    Over the years, I’ve realised that we comprise these four elements, each playing a vital yet distinct role. The challenge is figuring out how to give them all space to breathe, interact, and support each other without letting one dominate the others.

    We live in a world that heavily emphasises thinking. From our early education to our professional lives, we’re taught that logical thought, intellect, and rationality are the ultimate tools for navigating life. However, I don’t believe that this was always the case.

    In contrast, there are cultures deeply rooted in spirituality, where the seeker, someone who connects with something beyond themselves, takes centre stage. These traditions value intuition and transcendence as pathways to understanding.

    Similarly, some communities prioritise action, the doers who trust their bodies to lead the way. They value experience and physical engagement as the primary means of comprehending the world around them.

    Emotions are universal, yet how we experience or express them varies widely. For some, feelings are the lens through which life is understood, and connections are made.

    This isn’t about choosing one modality over another. Rather, it’s about recognising that each of these aspects

    the feeler, the thinker, the action-taker, and the seeker

    plays a crucial role in the fabric of who we are. Embracing all these dimensions allows us to navigate life more fully and authentically.

    It’s Not a Battle

    Have you ever read those personal growth articles that make it seem like your emotions are the enemy? The ones that tell you to “master” or “control” your emotions as if they were wild animals needing taming? It reminds me of the stoicism of Victorian Britain, where showing weakness was seen as a failure. But emotions are not a battle to be won. They’re not something to conquer. They are part of who we are, woven into the very essence of our being, linking us to generations past.

    Image Created by the author

    The Feeler

    I used to think acknowledging my emotions meant giving them power over me, but I’ve learned that tuning into my feelings allows me to live more fully. Emotions are messengers, little whispers from my ancestors, reminding me of the long, shared human experience. By listening, I gain the benefit of choice. Ignoring them, on the other hand, only keeps me disconnected from an essential part of myself.

    Grief, sadness, joy — they all come from the same place. If you can sit with your pain, you open the door to experiencing joy in a deeper, more meaningful way. It’s not always easy, but it’s worth it. Acknowledging the trauma in your life enables you to embrace life more completely in the present.

    All images created by the author.

    The Thinker

    Rational thought has become a cornerstone of modern life. It’s what distinguishes humans from other species, right? But here’s the thing: while thinking can help us plan, strategise, and reflect, it can also lead to overanalysis, anxiety, and burnout. We’ve put too much weight on the mind, letting it dominate our decisions at the expense of the other parts of ourselves.

    Mindfulness has taught me to observe my thoughts without letting them consume me. I’ve found that the most profound insights often come when I stop overthinking and simply experience life.

    Image created by the author

    The Action-Taker

    The action-taker in me loves to get things done. It’s the part that thrives on energy, momentum, and progress. But there’s a trap here, too, one I fell into more times than I care to admit. In our productivity-driven culture, it’s easy to equate being busy with success. I used to think that I was falling behind if I wasn’t constantly moving forward.

    What I’ve come to realise, though, is that even the strongest action-takers need rest. Athletes know this. Without proper recovery, their bodies can’t function at peak performance. In the same way, our drive and motivation need space to recharge. Action doesn’t always mean doing. Sometimes, the most significant progress happens when we allow ourselves to pause.

    Image created by the author

    The Seeker

    And then there’s the seeker — the part of me that looks for meaning, purpose, and connection to something greater than myself. In a world focused on tangible successes and external validation, it’s easy to neglect the seeker. But I’ve found that I start to feel lost if I neglect nurturing this part of myself.

    The seeker in me doesn’t always need answers. Often, it’s the questions themselves that matter. Why am I here? How can I contribute to something bigger than myself? Seeking isn’t about finding a destination; it’s about embracing the journey and understanding that searching for meaning is a lifelong process.

    Image created by the author

    Harmonising the Four

    Balancing these four aspects

    feeler, thinker, action-taker, seeker

    is an ongoing process. It’s not about giving one more importance than the others; it’s about learning to let them all have a voice in my life.

    When I feel overwhelmed by emotion, I remember the value of connection and expression. When I get lost in my thoughts, I remind myself that thinking is a tool, not a ruler. If I push myself too hard, I step back and give the action-taker a break. And when life feels empty or aimless, I listen to the seeker and allow myself time to explore, reflect, and reconnect.

    Image created by the author

    Practical Tips for Daily Balance

    • Start your day with intention: Ask yourself, How do I feel? Where is my energy today? Set a simple goal for which part of yourself needs attention.
    • Create space for reflection: Whether it’s five minutes of journaling, meditation, or simply sitting in silence, give yourself time to listen to what each part of you is saying.
    • Practice conscious action: When you take action, ask yourself, Is this aligned with my purpose? Or is it a reaction to external pressure?
    • Balance thinking with feeling: After a long day of mental activity, spend time reconnecting with your emotions. Whether through art, music, or conversation, let yourself feel.

    You create harmony by bringing all these parts together.

    mind, body, soul, and emotions

    None of them need to be suppressed or overpowered. They all deserve to be seen and heard. And in that balance, true growth happens.

    Image created by the author

    All images here were created by me using both traditional and AI tools to bring these ideas to life visually. It’s a way to express the balance I’m constantly striving for between

    creativity, logic, action, and reflection.

    Which part of yourself needs the most attention today?

  • Deciding in a Heartbeat: Embracing Intuition Over Indecision

    A Personal Journey Through Music and Therapy: The Moments That Define Us

    John Walter 📣Therapy and creativity Published in Very Personal Growth 10/05/2024

    All images created by the author using traditional and AI tools.

    I once made a seemingly irrational decision that puzzled everyone, myself included. It wasn’t thought through or premeditated, and there were no logical justifications, but it changed the course of my whole life.

    The moment comes back to me on many occasions, particularly on my self-awareness journey through therapy. It was a peak experience, and I chose to step away. Why would I do that?

    I have worked with several clients who cannot decide what they want to work on in therapy. I suddenly realised that what they needed to work on was obvious. They were unable to make decisions. They knew something was not right but had no idea what it was. Their body was screaming out to them to make a change, but they could not access what was causing them pain.

    So, I will tell my story and see if it helps me to help them choose—to decide something for no reason, to choose because not making a choice consumes vast amounts of energy and keeps us in a place of stagnation.

    Choosing to step away from my career as a musician.

    I walked into the Green Room after the best gig of my life. I was playing a duo gig with someone who became an International star. An audience of over 1,000 people were still clapping us. I had been playing an exquisite Grand Piano, and Andy soared alongside me on tenor and soprano saxophones.

    We danced through our set of spontaneous improvisations held together by pieces I had composed. I wallowed in the care, integrity and undivided attention Andy was giving me through the music. I recently attended one of his concerts with his European Trio, and I went straight back to that place, reliving those extraordinary feelings by observing him interact with his current musical collaborators.

    My wife greeted me with glowing smiles, and we hugged around our one-year-old daughter, who was strapped to her front and sleeping peacefully. She poured a cup of chamomile tea from the silver Thermos, knowing I would need something to bring me down from the giddy heights I had been scaling.

    We shared with her our mystical experience of feeling as though the audience was guiding us as if a greater creative force had swept through and was playing the music through us. She handed me a doorstep sandwich of some kind as if she were the only person on the planet who knew exactly what I needed at that point.

    It was then that I made the decision. On the surface, I decided to stay with my wife and daughter and drink herb tea rather than ride this adrenalin wave and run around the City bars chasing further excitement. I can see it was much deeper than that from a distance of nearly forty years.

    The Build-up

    I left home at the age of 18 and went to London to become a Rock Star. It didn’t work out. I became obsessed with improvisation and jazz music, which was already declining as a popular art form. I found top London jazz musicians willing to give me piano lessons. I wallowed in the jazz scene, frequented clubs and pubs, and spent many nights at Ronnie Scott’s.

    I worked in a 10-piece function band to earn some money from music. My relationships were a mess, and I was drinking too much. My soon-to-be wife rescued me from all this and drew me to Bristol.

    I went back to University to train as a teacher, and I loved being part of the Bristol Jazz scene playing wine bars and hotels, teaching courses in jazz improvisation and helping set up a jazz club.

    Eventually, I began teaching and started a family. Soon after that concert, I accepted a job in a residential therapeutic community for boys with serious behavioural difficulties. By accepting that job, with long hours, including evening and weekend work, I had made it impossible to continue any Jazz career.

    The legacy

    I eventually found my vocation in therapeutic work, although it took me on a roundabout route until I qualified as a psychotherapeutic Counsellor thirty-five years later.

    Jazz composing and piano playing are still regular hobbies. Teaching music became my main career thread in many manifestations, and I have mostly been living the life I love.

    At first, I felt resentment that I had given up on my jazz performing career, but I found creative ways to make a living from music that fit better with family life. Now, I have nothing but glowy, warm feelings about the way I have woven music into a stable career.

    Embracing the Maverick: A Journey of Self-Discovery and Acceptance

    The power of intuitive choices

    That night forty years ago, my heart was giddy with emotion and potential, yet I could listen to my inner voice. I embraced my intuition and ignored my excited, rational mind, which was screaming at me to go with Andy to meet promoters and soak up the praise and acknowledgement that was sure to come my way.

    At the height of what could have been a bustling International music career, I chose the warmth and stability of family life. This decision, made in a heartbeat over herb tea and a comforting sandwich, was a pivotal moment defining my future.

    It wasn’t just about choosing to stay physically present with my family that night; it was about choosing a life where I could continue to be emotionally present for my loved ones.

    How Music and passion has driven my personal growth

    Music never left my life. It transformed from my profession into a way of being in whatever I chose to do. In therapeutic work and teaching, I have deeply intertwined those principles I loved in music — Spontaneity, improvisation, sensitivity and unscripted connections with others.

    Personal growth often requires us to forgo immediate rewards for deeper, more fulfilling sustenance.

    Embracing the Intuitive Leap

    It is not always easy to listen to your intuition and connect to that inner voice that whispers quietly behind the incredible racket of the rational thinking mind, but that moment of quiet reflection can shape your destiny as it did mine.

    From that moment, I crafted a life rich with fulfilment and purpose, balancing passion with responsibility. If you stand at a crossroads, unsure of which path to take, weigh up the logical chattering of your mind and the whisperings of your heart. Sometimes, the best decisions we make are those we cannot explain. We cannot put our finger on the logical reason why, but we know we have been guided by our intuition.

    An article from the Association for Psychological Science states:

    Great leaders make smart decisions, even in difficult circumstances. From Albert Einstein to Oprah Winfrey, many top leaders ascribe their success to having followed their intuition. New research shows how going with our gut instincts can help guide us to faster, more accurate decisions

    Life is unpredictable, and I hope my journey inspires you to ride those unpredictable waves spontaneously. Know that following the pathway that is yours exclusively, following unexplainable currents, and sometimes drifting in the unknown can lead to profound personal growth and unexpected happiness.

  • Navigating Your Personal Depths

    Embracing Long-Term Therapy for Lasting Change

    First Published in Age of Empathy 10/05/24

    All images created by the author using a variety of editing and AI tools.

    We live in a quick-fix culture, from fast food to having access to instant gratification of our sensory needs. Music, videos, and art are all becoming available at the touch of a button. Instant solutions to every need are prized above putting in the work to experience these things in greater depth.

    One of my greatest pleasures is cooking a Sunday roast for my family. Occasionally, when time is very limited, I may get a takeaway from the local curry house. Both approaches to family mealtimes have their place, but cooking a Sunday roast has so many more layers of pleasure for me and is much more likely to create lasting memories.

    As with the choice between fast or home-cooked food when it comes to mental health, quicker is not always better. Why bother with months of expensive therapy when you can get everything you need in six sessions? Some therapists even offer single-session treatment.

    Looking at it from the perspective of fast vs. home-cooked food, you get a quick hunger fix that requires little effort or engagement with fast food, but the satisfaction is fleeting and often leaves you feeling unsatisfied in the long run. Similarly, short-term therapy might seem efficient, providing a quick fix to psychological issues, but it often only scratches the surface of deeper emotional needs.

    In contrast, long-term therapy is like preparing a home-cooked meal — it takes more time and effort, but the process itself is deeply satisfying and nourishing, often leading to more profound self-awareness and lasting emotional well-being. Just as a home-cooked meal can foster connection and create cherished memories, long-term therapy offers a space to deeply explore and understand one’s life, building emotional resilience that sustains through all life’s challenges.

    Where quick-fix therapy has its place

    Some psychological needs only require a brief intervention, and plenty of approaches are available to meet that need. CBT, EMDR, Hypnotherapy, and others are great for addressing a single identifiable issue.

    This clip from a Psychology Today article sums it up

    Drive-By Therapy

    A Single Session Could Help If You:

    Have a very specific problem, such as a new health diagnosis.

    Wonder if a particular situation and your reaction to it is normal.

    Have dealt successfully with life problems in the past.

    Have faith that your troubles could be addressed by a brief intervention.

    Longer-Term Therapy Is a Better Bet If You:

    Want to understand your patterns of behavior and how they developed.

    Have had repeated difficulties with family and romantic relationships.

    Would like to accomplish more, but consistently shoot yourself in the foot.

    Are suicidal, psychotic, or suffer from a condition requiring medication.

    Like medicalised approaches, quick-fix therapy is about symptom management and does very little to avoid recurrence or deal with causes or deeply embedded emotional issues.

    The deeper journey of long-term therapy

    A wide range of therapeutic approaches could be described as “Depth Therapies” and it is impossible to list them all here. They largely fall under the umbrella of Psychodynamic, Humanistic and Holistic therapies. Behavioural approaches are mostly but not exclusively quick-fix.

    In my Private Practice, I use an integrative approach, which means I have experience working with many modalities. As I work with a client, I bring in what they need. It is usually evident in the first session whether the presenting issues can be dealt with over a few weeks or whether many layers obscure deep underlying problems.

    With agreement, we delve into all areas of an individual’s life history, their belief systems and how they began, their relationship patterns and a timeline of their emotional landscape.

    Through this process, clients begin discovering the root causes of their psychological unease. We lay everything out, unearthing a long-buried overview of their life patterns. This process can facilitate transformational insights and enable the integration of complex emotions.

    Client X (fictional) hadn’t left the house for three months. We worked over the phone for a year with no change in this presenting symptom of agoraphobia. It finally shifted through identifying undiagnosed autism, which gave a clear insight into their life choices, which had led to isolation and a solitary lifestyle. This transformational insight enabled the client to seek specific support and accommodations, eventually leading to re-entering the world of work and a richer social life.

    Entering into a therapeutic relationship

    The key element of most modern long-term therapy is the relationship you build with your therapist, and this will always take some time to develop. It is an essential element in the healing process for you to develop trust and feel safe to explore your innermost concerns without fear of judgment or criticism.

    In long-term therapy, the counsellor slowly helps you build a psychological map of your inner world through the relationship. When you have developed an overview of your life-long patterns and emotional journey, you can work with your therapist to develop bespoke strategies to facilitate a transformation in the way you live your life.

    One client used the metaphor of a spider web to describe how the relationship worked for them.

    “When I arrived I was anxious about everything. I was only aware of a tiny section of the spider web where I sat cowering. If a leaf brushed past the web the whole thing would vibrate and I had no idea what it was causing the vibrations. I shrunk back further into a tiny limiting space. Over time in therapy I developed an overview of my whole life. I could see the whole web and how things interacted. The anxiety just disappeared by becoming aware of the causes.”

    Sustainable Change and Personal Growth

    The changes clients go through in long-term therapy are not predictable or the result of targeting specific issues. A sex addict may begin therapy thinking their addiction is the source of all their problems. Soon, they may become curious about why their obsession has diminished, but all the other issues in their life and relationships persist.

    This realisation could prompt a much deeper dive into their underlying emotional landscape and past traumas. As they peel back the layers of their behaviours and motivations, they may discover that their addiction was merely a symptom of deeper unresolved conflicts. This exploration can lead them to confront painful memories and challenge entrenched beliefs about themselves and others, which have shaped their relationships and self-image for years.

    In the safety of the therapeutic environment, they can begin to reframe their identity, moving away from seeing themselves solely as an addict and towards a more holistic view of themselves as a complex individual with unique strengths and vulnerabilities. This shift often brings about a profound transformation, not just in how they manage their addiction but in their overall approach to life and relationships.

    This is the opportunity long-term therapy gives you. Changes made on a deep level will endure and evolve over time. You have not just managed some anxiety; you have set in process a phase of personal growth that is irreversible. Persistent depression is not just alleviated. You have opened up a doorway into self-awareness where you can make significant life choices more freely.

    Making the choice for personal growth

    If you view your challenge as a specific problem that needs solving, a short-term, targeted approach might be sufficient. However, if you recognize that, despite your best efforts, you are still limiting your own potential, exploring long-term therapy could offer substantial benefits.

    What are you seeking — immediate relief, a profound transformation, or perhaps a blend of both? Do you envision yourself grappling with the same issues five years from now, or can you imagine a future where you are free from the constraints of your past? How do you balance the need for immediate results with the desire for deep, lasting change?

    Remember, the first step on any journey is the most difficult. By taking that first step, your unique pathway will begin to reveal itself, leading you toward not just immediate solutions but sustainable, transformative growth.

    Building Connections in a Disconnected World:

  • Cartoons

  • Stop Asking “Why” Someone Behaves in the Way They Do

    I asked Bing AI to help me explore this dilemma.

    Image created by the author in Midjourney

    Your small child throws all of their toys out of their pram. You may be tempted to ask as the one who has to pick them up.
    “Why did you do that?”

    Your school-age child hides in a cupboard for three hours and reappears just as you are going to ring the police.
    “Why did you do that? Didn’t you realise how worried we would be?”

    Your teenager doesn’t eat anything for three days?
    “Why are you doing this? What do you hope to achieve?”

    Your Spouse walks off one morning, switches off their phone and doesn’t return for 24 hours.
    “Why?”

    What AI has to say

    A question asked of Bing AI

    NB. No other part of this article is generated by AI unless specifically stated

    The question “why?” is loaded.

    The question in itself brings a whole load of baggage with it. The person to whom the question is directed can feel it as a poison arrow. Let’s look at some of the possible imagined subtexts.

    1. criticism
    2. judgement
    3. intimidation
    4. social inadequacy
    5. inappropriate expression of feelings
    6. — — — — add your own in the comments below

    Why do you ask why?

    In my examples above, I was mainly looking at unconsciously driven acts that dissipate emotions. They are emotional outbursts. Feelings have built up over time; they have not been expressed and inevitably burst out.

    Asking ‘why?’ is problematic because it sits at the overlap of three inconvenient truths. Firstly, we are blind to our motivations. Secondly, our conscious mind creates plausible reasons for our often-unconscious choices. Thirdly, when we provide those reasons, we are deeply influenced by social conventions and use our answers to get along in the world. By Andrew Grenville, Chief Research Officer | April 23, 2019

    The effect of asking why

    This is the most crucial point to get. Someone is acting from an emotionally or unconsciously driven motivation, and the question “why” pierces that space and immediately forces them to access their thinking mind to give an explanation.

    As a counsellor, most clients I meet are plagued by their rational minds being too active. Being too emotional is not a thing in the counselling room. Accessing emotions and being able to express them in some way is a vital part of the therapeutic process.

    In modern Humanistic or Integrative practice, the rationalising mind often gets in the way of accessing emotions and exploring a pathway to the root cause of upset or discomfort.

    Some critics of behavioural approaches to therapy, such as CBT and DBT, which focus on working with the rationalising mind, argue:

    CBT is too focused on the thinking or rationalising mind, and that it neglects other aspects of human experience, such as emotions, intuition, creativity, spirituality, and social relationships. Some people may find CBT too rigid, superficial, or mechanistic, and may prefer other forms of therapy that explore deeper issues or offer more flexibility and spontaneity.

    [The above is another AI response which makes reference to these 4 websites 1. psychologytoday.com 2. mind.org.uk 3. nhs.uk 4. medicalnewstoday.com]

    In my counselling room if I were to ask a client at any point
    “Why did you do that?”
    I would break the spell of the session. The part of them that was comfortable talking about emotions would immediately disappear back inside, leaving their rationalising mind in control.

    This is most people’s default.

    The “why?” question is like pressing the reset button. The default programme regains control. They may be coming to counselling because they are repeating patterns learnt in childhood, and these are no longer working. Asking “Why?” can trigger these habitual responses.

    The Shopping trolley incident.

    A young client gave me permission to share this anecdote about something that happened to him. Let’s call him Nathan.

    He began by telling me he had been in detention and was put in a second detention because he couldn’t control his laugh when a peer let off an amazingly musical fart.
    “It started low and went high!”
    He explained with sound effects and hand gestures.

    He then described how he got the first detention.
    “I don’t know how it happened, really. It just happened.”

    Nathan and his friends went into the playground at break and discovered an abandoned shopping trolley. This caused some excitement, and they started pushing it towards the school building. Once inside, they entered the corridor, a gentle slope all the way through the school.

    Nathan then found himself sitting in the trolley, and his peers were launching him down the corridor. Quickly, it picked up speed. Coming towards the double doors, he was terrified of the impact as he was going at such speed. He passed a staircase just before the doors and grabbed onto the handrail, lifting himself out of the trolley seconds before it smashed into the locked entrance doors.

    “A teacher asked me why I did it, and I had no idea. I felt I had to make something up, so I said I had accidentally fallen into the trolley as it passed.”

    “He knew I was making it up. I knew I was making it up, but what else could I say?”

    Any of those boys involved in the shopping trolley incident could make up something when asked, “Why?”. They could blame someone and say they were trying to stop the others.

    One might try: “We were taking it to reception for safety, and the other boys got hold of it.”

    Now they have blamed others on top of lying, all because the young people feel threatened. There is a threat of judgment and punishment, all contained in the question “Why?”

    By asking “why”, you have permanently moved yourself away from understanding what has occurred.

    Because of the strong therapeutic relationship between Nathan and myself, he knew I was not interested in “why” he had done it.

    He didn’t need my prompting to explore his feelings around the incident. He didn’t attempt to justify his actions or blame others. He doesn’t regret his actions but recognises it was foolhardy.

    His main concern was that he felt a little out of control and almost like he was observing himself getting whipped up in the excitement.
    “it just happened.”

    Together, we both gained some understanding of what had occurred. From my experience, I am confident that in a future session, he will be relating something, and I will be able to say

    “Does this feel similar to the Shopping Trolley incident?”

    By not asking “why?” we may gain some understanding of the root causes or motivations behind some of his behaviours

    Can you stop asking yourself the “Why?” question?

    My most potent example of the uselessness of this form of personal enquiry centres around my daughter taking her own life. I will never know why, and my only way of continuing with a life of my own is to accept that I will never know why.

    Like some before me, I could make it a life’s mission to find out why. But I know that will simply tear me apart mentally and emotionally. I could blame myself, her workplace culture, her boss, her husband, the NHS, the makers and distributors of pharmaceuticals, society, the academic education system… Once I started writing that list, I realised I had to interrupt it before the end because otherwise, the end would never come.

    Why did I train to be a teacher? Why did I leave teaching? Why did I drink too much? Why did I stop? The questions are endless.

    These things and questions like them used to occupy my thoughts constantly. When I first entered therapy, I thought the purpose of it was to answer some of these questions.

    I realise now that the purpose of therapy has been to get me to a point where I no longer need to ask these “why?” questions. I accept that these things happened. That is enough for me now. I don’t need to make up a big story about why it happened to appease myself or others, to apportion blame or point fingers.

    I can still explore those events in my life, but I am not asking why. Instead, I might be asking:
    “What did it feel like when I finally left teaching or heard of my daughter’s death? How long did I have that feeling? If I experience that feeling again, might I be able to react more quickly or differently?”

    Exploring the answers to all those questions has contributed to my training as a Counsellor. I now have very clear access to my intuition. I can follow that intuition from moment to moment without the interference of my rational mental process. (often, sometimes, most of the time.)

    Explore asking what or how questions.

    Whether you are having a conversation with yourself, your child, spouse, parent or anyone else, you can explore watching out for those “why?” questions:

    1. Why did you throw your toys out of the pram? What would you like me to do? Leave them there? Pick them up for you? Give you a hug? How are you feeling right now?
    2. Why did I just say that? How can I apologise for any upset caused? What was I feeling to have said that? How can I express my feelings more appropriately?
    3. Why am I still in this job that I hate? How can I find a job I would enjoy more? What is the fear that is keeping me here? How can I accept that this job is a means to an end and not my whole life?

    To stop asking “Why?” questions, there must be some acceptance that random shit happens. You could spend vast amounts of energy asking, “Why?” or you could spend that energy more productively asking:

    “How can I adapt to this situation? What do I need to nurture myself in these circumstances? How can I rebuild my life from this point?”

    Thanks for reading to the end. I appreciate claps and will always respond to comments. You can follow me for future articles or to read previous ones.

    First Published in Age of Empathy a Medium publication.