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Feeling Safe in Therapy: What the Body Knows Before the Mind Does

John Walter | NCPS Accredited Counsellor & Psychotherapist | johnwaltercounsellor.com

Feeling safe in therapy is the cornerstone of successful practice. I knew that long before I could explain it, from fifteen years working with drums, rhythm, voice and connection. Now the neuroscience is catching up.

There’s a moment I’ve never quite been able to explain away.

I’m leading a singing workshop with a group of ten-year-olds. An Ofsted inspector walks in, clipboard ready, pen moving. Standard inspection posture: detached, evaluative, looking for the evidence. At some point I glance across and she’s put the clipboard down. By the end of the session she’s close to tears. She catches my eye on the way out and offers me a single word.

“Wonderful.”

She wasn’t watching a performance. Something in the room had got to her.

For fifteen years I ran facilitated drum circles and rhythm-based group work, trained by Arthur Hull in Hawaii, whose influence runs through schools, hospitals, and organisations worldwide. I’ve seen a lot of rooms. I’ve seen a lot of moments like the one with the inspector. What I didn’t have then was the understanding to say why it works. Now I do. And it’s changed how I think about everything I do in the therapy room.

The girl who picked up the drum

A primary school, somewhere in England. A child sits at the edge of the circle, arms folded, watching. She hasn’t joined in with a group activity since arriving at the school several weeks earlier. The teacher knows. The SENCO knows. Everyone in the room is quietly aware of it, which is part of the problem.

The circle has been running for fifteen minutes. The room has found its pulse. Something shifts in the quality of the sound, less self-conscious, more collective. And then, without announcement, without anyone noticing until it’s already happened, the girl picks up her drum.

Her teacher tells me afterwards she’s never done anything like this before.

What I witnessed wasn’t a child making a decision. It was a body recognising that it was safe.

This is the thing about withdrawal: it’s almost never a choice. The nervous system has assessed the environment and found it unsafe, or not safe enough, and it’s pulled back to protect itself. That stillness, that folded-arms distance, is a biological response. And you can’t talk someone out of a biological response. Reassurance, encouragement, instruction: none of it reaches the part of the nervous system that made the decision to withdraw. That decision wasn’t made consciously, and it won’t be reversed consciously.

What can shift it is a change in what the body is actually experiencing in the room.

A different door

Hull’s approach to facilitation was built around a principle he called GOOW: get out of their way. The facilitator’s job isn’t to produce the outcome but to remove the obstacles to something that wants to happen naturally.

What the research now tells us is why this works. When a group finds a shared pulse, something measurable happens between the people in the room: nervous systems start to synchronise. Not metaphorically. The shared rhythm creates shared ground, and on that ground something like connection becomes possible, not because anyone decided to connect, but because the body found its way there first.

Slow, regular rhythm is one of the most direct signals of safety the nervous system knows. It communicates beneath the level of thought. It doesn’t ask the mind to do anything.

That’s the key. Most of what we offer people, in schools, in therapy rooms, in relationships, makes demands on the thinking mind: follow this, evaluate that, explain yourself, demonstrate that you’ve understood. For someone whose nervous system is running a protection response, those demands aren’t just difficult. They’re genuinely out of reach. The thinking mind is among the first things to go offline when the body feels unsafe.

A drum circle, properly held, asks none of that. You don’t need to know how to drum. You don’t need to perform or evaluate yourself or prove anything. You need only to feel the pulse and let your body move with it. That’s not a lowered standard. It’s a different door entirely.

The training director

A drum circle for 250 people in a corporate setting. In one part of the room I notice a man surrounded by four women. He’s demonstrating to them, showing them what to do, leaning in, gesturing at their hands. They’re watching him, not the group. Their attention is turned inward, towards him, towards their own performance, away from the collective pulse. The energy in that section is flat.

I signal that section to stop while the rest of the group continues. They lower their drums. Suddenly they’re listeners rather than performers. There’s nothing to get wrong, nothing to prove. The only thing available to them is the sound of 245 other people finding a groove. I watch their faces change. The self-consciousness drops. The heads come up.

I count them back in. All five are now with the group.

The man was the company’s head of training. His professional identity was so thoroughly organised around the role of teacher that it kicked in automatically the moment he held an instrument and had people around him. He couldn’t stop teaching long enough to join in. And his teaching, well-intentioned as it was, was the precise obstacle to the connection the exercise was designed to create.

What I did wasn’t correct him. I changed the conditions so that the mode he’d defaulted to became, briefly, impossible. And in that gap, something else could happen.

I think about this a lot in the therapy room. Not with training directors, but with couples who arrive locked in a loop they’ve been running for years: the same argument, the same positions, the same outcome. Both of them, in their own way, are doing what the training director was doing: performing a well-rehearsed role so automatically that the actual person in front of them can’t get in. The loop isn’t stupidity or stubbornness. It’s a survival pattern, usually learned long before this relationship existed, running on automatic because the nervous system hasn’t yet found reason to do anything different.

You can’t argue a couple out of that loop any more than you could have argued the girl into picking up her drum. The work, before anything else, is creating conditions in which the loop has less to grip onto.

What the inspector was picking up

Back to the woman with the clipboard.

What she was responding to wasn’t the children’s musical ability. It was the quality of the room. A group of ten-year-olds who had genuinely settled into something together, genuinely absorbed and at ease, were producing something that her nervous system could feel. Safety is contagious in that way. When people are truly present with each other, it extends beyond the group. It reaches the observer.

Her tears weren’t a sentimental response to a nice lesson. They were her body’s recognition of something real.

And that field had a source. It doesn’t arise from nowhere. It arises from a regulated adult holding the conditions carefully enough that the people in the room can find their way into it. That’s as true in a therapy room as it was in that school hall. Whatever I’m offering, my own nervous system is always part of what’s on offer. If I’m not settled, the room won’t be either.

Feeling safe in therapy: before the work, the ground

The girl who picked up the drum didn’t do it because someone had set joining in as a goal. She did it because something in the room had shifted enough that her body no longer needed to stay defended. Belonging followed safety. It didn’t precede it.

That sequence matters, and it applies well beyond children. An adult who’s spent decades managing relationships from behind a carefully constructed persona needs the same thing first: a room where the nervous system can gradually find it doesn’t need to be quite so vigilant. A couple who’ve been hurting each other with the same argument for years can’t access the tenderness that’s usually still there somewhere until the bodies in the room feel safe enough to put the armour down.

This is what I understood in those drum circles, and what I’ve carried into every room I’ve sat in since. Before narrative, before insight, before any of the work that requires a settled and thinking mind, the question is always the same: what is this room actually like for the nervous system of the person sitting in it?

Everything else follows from that.

If you’re wondering what it might feel like to work with me, you can read more about my approach here or get in touch for a free introductory call.

May 13, 2026
Why You End Up With No Ice Cream: On Decision Paralysis and Learning to Just Choose

How do you make decisions? Do you make them quickly, just choosing instinctively, without much fuss? Or do you take ages, weighing every option, asking everyone you know, going round and round until the moment has passed? Maybe you avoid decisions altogether and find ways to hand the responsibility to someone else.

There’s a story by Terry Jones, yes, the Monty Python one, in his book of Fairy Tales, called “Katie Make Sure.” Katie is offered the chance to visit Goblin City. She can take the short way, which is quick, or the long way, which is pretty. She can’t make up her mind. She goes back and forth, weighing the options, considering the merits of each. And while she’s standing there deliberating, she loses her chance. Goblin City closes. She doesn’t go at all.

The cost of not deciding, it turns out, isn’t the wrong choice. It’s missing the thing altogether. Katie didn’t choose the short way or the long way. But she did make a choice, by default. If you can’t choose between strawberry and vanilla, you end up choosing no ice cream.

On writer’s block

I’ve been thinking about this because of something that happened to me recently with my own writing. I write articles, usually about therapy and the things I notice in my work. For a while, I was writing one a week, and I enjoyed it. The articles were personal, sometimes messy, but they felt like mine. Then AI came along, and I started using it to help. At first, it was useful, generating headline options, suggesting structures, speeding things up without changing the voice much. But gradually it started to get out of hand.

The problem wasn’t that AI was writing badly. The problem was that it kept offering me choices. I’d get to the closing paragraph of an article and ask for some help, and it would give me seven or eight different approaches. Which one did I choose? I didn’t know. So I’d leave it and come back to it. And then I’d ask again, and get more options. Eventually, I realised I hadn’t finished an article in two months. I had three or four sitting there, almost done, waiting for the final flourish. I had given my power away, not to a person but to a process, and the process had no interest in helping me land anywhere. It just kept generating possibilities.

If you search online for help with decision-making, you’ll find plenty of advice, most of it perfectly sensible: determine the stakes, know your objective, minimise your emotions. It’s the kind of guidance that works well enough for business decisions with clear criteria and measurable outcomes. It doesn’t do much for the person sitting by the signpost, paralysed, wondering which path is quickest, which is prettiest, which is most likely to lead somewhere good.

Unsticking the stuckness

In therapy, I sometimes work with people who are genuinely stuck in this way. For some of them, the roots go deep, into childhood, into families where decisions were made for them, where their developing sense of agency was never encouraged or trusted. They arrive hoping for tips, a system, something they can apply. And I understand the impulse. But a six-step framework rarely touches the thing that’s actually in the way.

What I find more useful, and what seems to help, is a distinction between deciding and choosing. Deciding implies a process: reasons, justifications, criteria, a case to be made. When you decide, you owe yourself and others an explanation. Choosing is different. You simply choose. You don’t need a reason. You don’t need to defend it or explain it. Vanilla or strawberry, it doesn’t really matter, just choose. Red pill or blue pill, you can’t know what lies ahead, but you still have to pick one and step forward.

It sounds simple, and it is, but it’s also surprisingly hard. The time and energy that can go into the most straightforward choices are extraordinary, and for some people, genuinely debilitating. The shift from “I need to make the right decision” to “I’m just going to choose” can feel almost too small to matter. But sometimes it’s like taking the red pill: the earth moves, and you find yourself standing in a different dimension of space and time, wondering why you waited so long.

Space and freedom

The point isn’t to arrive at the perfect destination by the optimal route. The point is to keep walking. You can adjust as you go, make another choice, find your way back to the path. What you can’t do, if you want to get anywhere, is stay sitting by the signpost, reading it over and over, hoping it will eventually tell you something it hasn’t already said.

Katie never got to Goblin City. She never went anywhere at all. Maybe that felt safer. But is that the option you choose for your life?

February 25, 2026
A Tutu and a Football: What This Image Tells Us About Gender and Freedom

Is this a boy in a tutu, or a girl playing football?

Tutu and football created by the author

I created the image above and the short video GIF below after some parents had related to me stories about non-gender conforming children. The most powerful was a boy who is an expert on the BMX bike track but insists on wearing a rainbow-coloured tutu while he rides, regardless of the impracticality of such attire.

I am a Counsellor for adults and children, and as such, I spend a lot of time discussing identity and authenticity. I don’t care what a client has in their pants. They can dress as they like, speak as they want; all I am interested in is getting to know the person on a deeper level than the superficial aspects of gender, appearance, or any label imposed from the outside.

GIFs created by the author.

What matters to me is how they feel about themselves when they wake up in the morning. Whether they are living in alignment with who they truly are, or whether they are exhausted from performing a version of themselves that others expect. My work is about creating space where people can take off their masks and discover that, underneath it all, they are already enough.

GIFs created by the author

What is your reaction?

Do the images above make you smile or cringe? Do they bring some discomfort or a feeling of warmth?
Does your reaction surprise you? Is it in keeping with your attitudes? Is there shame, disgust, or a quiet sense of delight?

It’s worth noticing these first responses. They often arise from unconscious bias. These are quick, automatic judgments we’ve absorbed without ever choosing them. We all have them. They come from years of cultural conditioning. Stereotypes and inherited stories have taught us how boys and girls should look and behave.

The important thing isn’t to pretend these reactions don’t exist, but to get curious about them. To ask ourselves: Where did this feeling come from? Does it reflect my true values, or just the messages I was given?

When we examine our biases with honesty and compassion, we create the possibility of change. We can choose to loosen their hold and to respond to others, especially children, not with judgement, but with openness and respect for their unique expression.

Childhood Memories of Not Fitting In

As a small child, my mother worried that I cried too much. Social pressure led her to speak with her Priest.
“He cries too much, should I toughen him up?”
His reaction was immediate and firm.
“No! He could grow up to be a poet or a musician, let him be.”

From that point on, my mum was on my side, unlike most of the males in my life. Brothers felt they had to protect me or teach me how to be a proper man. Dad thought I was gay.

It was enough. There was at least one person who let me develop my creativity, my sensitive skills, piano playing, knitting, drawing and painting.

Additionally, it helped that I grew up in the 1960s, when sensitivity, peace, and love were popular ideals as a reaction against male aggression. Popular role models such as Jimi Hendrix and David Bowie inspired me to dress as flamboyantly as I liked without any sense that it was unmasculine.

In school and wider society, I felt out of place, like an alien, but at home, I could be myself, get lost in a drawing or learn all the Cat Stevens songs on the piano, be allowed to play the church organ and crack out a version of A Whiter Shade of Pale.

GIF created by Author

Culture and society create unseen pressure.

Psychologists have spoken about a Boy Code and a Girl Code, which society has passed on to children. This is beginning to break down. We are starting to appreciate the damage done to the mental health of both boys and girls by these rigid expectations.

The Boy Code teaches boys that strength means silence, that feelings are a sign of weakness, and that they must always be in control. Boys learn to wear a mask of invulnerability, to deny their softer emotions, and to measure their worth by dominance and performance.

The Girl Code is equally suffocating. Girls are taught to be pleasing, accommodating, and effortlessly perfect. They are rewarded for quiet compliance and punished, often subtly, for assertiveness, ambition, or anger. They learn early that their value is tied to how they look and how well they take care of others.

When we enforce these codes, whether consciously or not, we deny children the freedom to discover who they truly are. We push them to abandon parts of themselves that don’t fit the script.

But these scripts are only stories we’ve inherited. They aren’t truths. And they can be rewritten.

Every time we respond to a child’s authentic expression with curiosity rather than correction, we chip away at these old narratives. Every time we let them wear what they want, play how they want, and feel what they feel without shame, we make space for something freer and healthier to emerge.

We are not here to mould children into our idea of what they should be. We are here to help them unfold into who they already are.

Compliance has benefits, but it also incurs costs.

For me, Grammar School was a place I learnt to comply, but I had the benefit of a homespace where I could be myself. My first year there I was being sedated because I was hyperactive, mouthy and generally an energetic pain in the butt.

I learnt that no one was interested in my views or opinions, and creative ideas that flowed out of me didn’t fit in with the curriculum, so they were not valid.

I was a boy, so I was required to study the sciences. I was very clear that my main interest was in writing, drawing and playing music, but those were female pursuits. I was told I was too clever for that. My views were disregarded. I complied reluctantly.

The cost of that compliance was that I lost interest in all academic pursuits. I entered Grammar school as top of the class in most things. I limped out of the sixth form with a single A-level in Maths.

My compliance, however, was only partial. I survived the school system but gained very little from it. At 18, my true education began. I went to London and explored my passion for music, developing a lifelong career in creative pursuits.

Peers who complied with the system reaped the benefits of gaining university admission. The cost they often paid was that they found themselves in a career they had no interest in. All of their passions and interests had been relegated to hobbies, if they survived at all.

Looking back, I can see that compliance was never neutral; it was always a matter of perspective. It demanded that we trade parts of ourselves to fit in. For some, it was curiosity. For others, it is creativity or confidence. We learnt to measure our worth by how well we could follow the script, not by how fully we could live as ourselves.

This is why I feel so strongly that we must question the old codes, whether they come dressed as tradition, discipline, or common sense. Behind every child who “learns to behave”, there may be a young person quietly losing touch with what makes them alive.

GIF created by the author

Breaking the script

Many years ago, I worked alongside an inspired Reception class teacher. I worked in a Year 6 class. She had an outside space which I could see from my classroom. She was much more experienced than I, and one day we had a conversation about gender conformity.

I had a boy in my class who liked to wear his hair very long, all the way to his waist. He kept it beautifully combed and tied it back when necessary.

I had noticed a boy in the reception class who came out into the play space every morning wearing a beautiful Snow White dress. He stood tall in the dress and played happily with the other children.

I never saw any of their peers bat an eyelid. They were accepted. I raised it with the reception class teacher, wondering if there was anything I should do.
She said something along the lines of
“Don’t make it weird. They are both happy as they are.”

The changes in society in recent years feel to me like society is increasingly “making it weird” to express yourself in any way that moves beyond the binary stereotypes of male and female.

I go on a Couples counselling Course, and I hear an experienced Counsellor say

“Well, it’s true, in my experience, all men are like this and all women are like that.”
They don’t seem to realise how they are allowing their own and society’s expectations to walk into the room with the clients.

My experience is quite different because my expectations are different.

Our role, whether as teachers, parents, or therapists, is not to project our own discomfort or inherited ideas onto others, but to hold space for people to be exactly as they are.

When I think of that little boy in the Snow White dress, I’m reminded how unselfconscious children are until someone teaches them to feel ashamed. They don’t make it weird, we do.

Perhaps the simplest and most radical thing we can do is to stop policing the edges of what we think is acceptable, and instead learn to meet each person with curiosity rather than assumption.

When we let go of the script, we give others permission to do the same. And that, I’ve come to see, is where real belonging begins.

The golden key of acceptance.

Boys and girls suffer mentally from gender stereotyping. If you tell someone there is something wrong with them, their mental health suffers.

Their experience of themselves is not being accepted as true. It instils self-doubt and anxiety. Gender stereotyping is about control, not about caring.

The experience of belonging to a family, community, village, or school group is essential for mental well-being. True belonging does not come from compliance.

If you are masking, pretending, or hiding parts of yourself in order to fit in with your family or any other group, then you will never get a true sense of belonging.

A sense of connection comes when we are accepted exactly as we are, when we learn to accept ourselves with all our quirks and wrinkles and feel free to show our authentic selves to those around us.

“True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

― Brené Brown, Braving the Wilderness: The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone

How can we liberate ourselves and our children from the gender binary?

The tyranny of gender politics is plain to see. A small minority, Queer, Intersex and Trans people are subject to cruel and oppressive treatment.

Teachers, parents, and therapists may feel constrained in fully supporting the free expression of sexuality or gender identity. They mistakenly believe they are protecting children from harm.

Yet our silence or discomfort doesn’t protect anyone; it simply reinforces the message that there is something shameful in difference. We have a responsibility to examine honestly our own fears and assumptions, to learn from those with lived experience, and to offer children the unconditional acceptance they all need to thrive.

Stop making it weird.

A boy who likes to paint his nails or wear tutus is not weird. A girl who likes her hair short and wears clunky boots is not a threat to society.

The biggest threat to a healthy society is our insistence on policing the space between gender stereotypes. This insistence threatens our own fragile sense of certainty about how the world should look.

When we cling to rigid categories, we lose our ability to see people as they truly are. We flatten their complexity into something easier to label and control. But human beings are never that simple.

If we want a healthier, more compassionate culture, we have to be willing to step into the discomfort of not knowing, of letting others define themselves in ways that may unsettle us.

Because in the end, it’s not children’s freedom that endangers us. It’s our refusal to allow it.

Let’s stop making it weird. Let’s start making it normal to accept each other exactly as we are. Our children are watching and learning from everything we do.

Further Reading

Cordelia Fine — Delusions of Gender
(Debunks myths about innate gender differences)

Lise Eliot — Pink Brain, Blue Brain
(Explores how experience and culture shape brain development)

Julia Serano — Whipping Girl
(Looks at the policing of gender expression)

Bell Hooks — Teaching to Transgress
(On liberatory education and honouring difference)

Ken Robinson — The Element
(On nurturing creativity rather than conformity)

July 7, 2025
The Art of Kintsugi: Healing Through Acceptance
How the Japanese Practice of Golden Repair Guides Us Toward Wholeness and Transformation

First Published on Medium 18/12/2024 John Walter 📣Therapy and creativity

Image created by the author using Midjourney

Kintsugi is an art form that celebrates breakage and repair as part of an object’s history rather than as something to disguise.

As a therapist specializing in trauma, I often work with individuals who have reached a crisis point after trying to hide or suppress their traumatic experiences.

Healing begins when we explore the emotions surrounding these events and understand that embracing our authentic selves involves acknowledging the learning and growth that come from processing these feelings.

Like with Kintsugi, we acknowledge our history as an integral part of ourselves.

I had the experience of losing my daughter to suicide six years ago. It catapulted me into almost constant therapy for recovery, but it also became a wake-up call and launched me into training as a counsellor. An act of extreme trauma also became a point of transformation in my personal journey.

What is Kintsugi?

screenshot from wikipedia re Kintsugi

Behind Kintsugi is Wabi-sabi, a Japanese philosophy that finds beauty in imperfection, impermanence and authenticity. Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken pottery with a lacquer mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. Something broken becomes celebrated as an art form.

We can learn to see our “cracks” and “scars” not as defects to be ashamed of or hidden but as unique parts of ourselves which have contributed to our growth.

The process of healing ourselves can be compared to repairing broken pottery with precious metals. By celebrating the scars that come from healing trauma, we honour our history as an integral part of who we are. This perspective allows us to embrace our imperfections, recognize our resilience, and find beauty in our journey toward wholeness.

Image by the author

What are your broken pieces?

Do you hide them away or accept them as part of your rich history? Have you a trauma, a loss or a significant life transition point that could do with being re-examined and polished up?

There is a perceived stigma in society around imperfections and vulnerability. Social media promotes a particular idea of perfection, flawless appearances, unerring decisions and emotional invincibility. This becomes a pressure that leads us to hide parts of our true selves, fearing judgement and rejection.

We use terms like “dark secrets” or “skeletons in the cupboard” to describe parts of ourselves that must be kept secret from others.

Being abandoned

My first wife left me in true abandonment style back in the 70s at the ripe old age of 24. No note, no attempt at contact, just an empty flat when I returned home one night and the bizarre experience of being contacted by a local solicitor a year later to sign divorce papers.

My confidence was knocked for six. I had no idea anything was wrong. We ate food together, slept and had sex together. What was missing? Obviously, something was missing for my wife, but she chose to leave without explanation rather than articulate it.

I quickly drowned my sorrows with excessive drinking and fairly wild sexual adventures. I was ashamed of not being what a husband should be, yet I had absolutely no idea of what that was. I tried to put a brave face on as if I was having the time of my life, but the truth was I was broken and struggling from day to day.

Images created by the author.

Kintsugi and the therapeutic process

Kintsugi:
1. Find the broken pieces
2. Prepare them for repair
3. Apply the gold lacquer and glue them back in place
4. Allow time for drying and setting
5. Polish the finished article
Therapy:
1. Recognise the hidden and broken parts of ourselves
2. Seek help through therapy, support groups or self-reflection
3. Accepting our history, developing self-compassion, and choosing a new pathway.
4. Allowing time and space for healing to take place
5. Get used to living as your new authentic self
The things to watch out for

Unlike Kintsugi, the therapeutic process is not singularly linear. With a ceramic pot, you would gather everything together at the start and work through each stage with all the parts.

In therapy, it is more likely to be a process where each broken part becomes visible and is processed individually to some degree. Spurred on by your success with one issue, you reach back, and another becomes visible.

Is it ever complete?

There is usually a constant supply of difficult circumstances in life. With each episode, we develop resilience and self-awareness. The more we work towards living authentically, the more we notice places where we unconsciously hold ourselves back.

Looking at My School Days in a New Light

One piece of my life that remained unexplored for many years was my journey through grammar school. Society viewed it as a failure, and so did I. Now, as I pick up those memories and polish them off, I see them quite differently, much like a Kintsugi repair that transforms brokenness into beauty.

I entered Year 7 at age 11, was at the top of my class and was captain of the rugby team. However, I was also hyperactive and quite confrontational, always wanting explanations for everything. At the time, these behaviours were seen as symptoms of anxiety, and I was treated with strong sedatives that effectively switched my brain off. Even when the medication ended, I remained disengaged. It seemed that was what they wanted: a compliant student who didn’t question the system.

I went through the motions, attending classes but not truly participating, and left school at 18 with a tattered collection of qualifications. For years, I saw this as a personal failure. But now, reexamining this “broken” piece of my past, I realize that I inadvertently gave myself space to explore my interests and passions by not fully engaging with the socially prescribed education system.

Those seven years, once viewed as a time of struggle and failure, were when I developed my artistic vision and sensibilities. My musical passions were forming, and I was reading widely — unfettered by the need to adhere to curriculum guidelines. While some school friends who were fully engaged with the system found themselves locked into debilitating career paths and yearning for retirement, I have happily bounced around in teaching, musical facilitation, and psychotherapy.

Now, past retirement age, I ask myself why I would ever retire. I love my passions: work, music, and writing. Like a piece of pottery repaired with Kintsugi, the cracks and imperfections of my past have been filled with the gold of experience and self-discovery. Because of these so-called flaws, I have become more whole and authentic, and I will continue pursuing what I love for as long as I can.

Using the lessons

In the end, Kintsugi teaches us that our brokenness doesn’t diminish us, it defines us. Each crack is a testament to our struggles, how we have survived, the lessons we’ve learned, and the strength we’ve gained.

These moments, though painful, give our lives depth and texture, just like the gold-filled veins in a repaired pot. Looking at my own life, I see that every failure, every loss, and every misstep has shaped me into who I am today.

It’s not about erasing the past or pretending the cracks aren’t there; it’s about honouring them as part of our story. So, as we gather our broken pieces, let’s remember: the beauty isn’t in perfection but in the courage to keep piecing ourselves back together, over and over again.

www.johnwaltercounsellor.com

Get in touch if you want help piecing yourself back together.

Image created by the author

An in-depth study of the connections in this article is found in Tomas Navaro’s Book (link below)

Navigating Emotional Healing in Therapy

Navigating Bereavement: A Counsellor’s Personal Journey Through Loss and Healing
December 18, 2024
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?
October 10, 2024
Reaching for Color: Embracing My Creative Self in a Monochrome World

How Therapy Helped Me Uncover the Vibrancy of My True Identity Beneath the Weight of Conformity

Published in Very Personal Growth 18/08/2024

Reaching out Reaching in — A digital drawing by John Walter 2024

This is a digital painting I have recently created, which partly came from conversations with my therapist about the struggles and successes of my teenage to 20-year-old self.

It represents a significant shift in how I view those years and how I choose to live the rest of my life.

I was and still am a vibrant, colourful, creative being. In my youth, I embraced this in myself, but as shown in my drawing, I seemed to be reaching out into a bland and monochrome world.

There is a sense in the image that my other arm is being held back by some invisible force.

The balcony overlooks a vibrant world of playfulness and energy — a world I felt too afraid to enter. By not depicting anything beyond the balcony, I symbolized my reluctance to even acknowledge that world’s existence.

I know I don’t belong in the bland, monochrome world of conformity and compliance, but I also fear I will be rejected by the creative world because I am not familiar with its rules.

Therapy and creativity go hand in hand.

I discovered how closely linked my creativity and emotional healing are through therapy. This connection became clear in the creation of ‘Jack,’ an embodiment of my inner child, captured in the following image.

Jack is screaming at the thrill of being hit by a cold Atlantic wave. Jack has been a creative manifestation of my inner child for the last six years.

Jack and the Wave — A digital drawing by John Walter 2022

He emerged when a student counsellor was working with me and tentatively suggested we do some inner child work. Guided by her supervisor, we worked carefully over several weeks. We talked during the sessions, developing a number of characters representing parts of myself, and I drew images at home and tried to bring the characters to life.

To take the rational mind out of the process, I was asked to draw only with my non-dominant hand and not try to refine or process the images, just keep them raw. The focus was on the emergence of the inner child from the subconscious rather than any artistic aims.

Images arose of Jack, who lived on the beach and was free and wild, exploring rockpools and the limits and possibilities of his physical body.

The older teenager emerged on a balcony built into the cliff. He was trapped with no way out. He lived alone in a single room lined with books. He read about marvellous worlds and explored the creative world of the mind but would not stray beyond the confines of his balcony.

I began to see these two characters as parts of my authentic self. Both had difficulty connecting with societal expectations. They were strong-willed and protective of the freedoms they embraced but not so aware of the limitations they placed upon themselves by exercising those freedoms.

Societal expectations and Authenticity

As I reached secondary school age, societal expectations began to show up. I was expected to wear a uniform, sit still, and learn all the things I needed to know to get a job and be productive in this world.

My teenage self managed this by masking every day. For my teachers, I did my best to behave; I took on the things that interested me and daydreamed through the rest.

For my peers and family, I allowed my creative self to thrive. Drawing, reading, writing, and playing music were daily activities. They tolerated my obsessions with rock music, songwriting, obscure poetry, existentialist writing, intricate pop art, and art nouveau drawing.

This is how my authentic self managed to survive. Although my parents found it difficult to understand why I didn’t want to follow the path of stability and a steady career, they supported me in pursuing a creative life.

It is only very recently that I have been able to separate those two things. I had long believed I was an outsider in my family and school. Now I realise that school as an institution always leans towards compliance and conformity, and only some of us manage to escape its stranglehold and live creatively.

Rediscovering my creative voice.

I am 70 years old, and reclaiming my creative voice has been a long journey. It has not been linear. At times, I have been living a life I love, and then I can sink into periods of depression where all my creative juices seem to disappear.

There has been constant fluctuation between creative expression and productive employment. Sometimes linking, at others pulling against each other.

Image created by the author for this article.

After some major life traumas, I seemed to have settled into a period where creativity and productivity could coexist. Recognising the two parts of myself, as imagined above, has played a major part in this sense of stability without compromise.

Honouring my creative spirit.

Creativity is my self-care and therapy and part of expressing my authentic self. My adult functioning economically and socially in the world is also part of my authentic self.

I have learned that balancing the two has brought me the fulfilment I have sought and a deeper understanding of my whole self.

My Invitation

Do you feel your creative child and responsible adult are in balance? Is your path harmonious or filled with tension?

I invite you to creatively explore these aspects of yourself. Where might your journey lead?

See where it takes you. Maybe explore places you have been afraid of entering, Moving in ways that give you freedom even though that freedom may be accompanied by fear.

I would love to hear your responses to my journey and how they might resonate with you.

Catch up with Jack on Webtoons

https://www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/jack-the-beach-and-freedom/list?title_no=888096

Navigating Emotional Healing in Therapy

August 18, 2024
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.

May 13, 2024
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:

May 10, 2024
Unlocking the Potential of Your Unique Mind

How One Psychotherapist’s Self-Discovery of ADHD Challenges Conventional Diagnosis and Celebrates Neurodiversity

All Images created by the author using a variety of drawing, editing and AI tools.

Neurodiversity has only been a concept since the turn of the century and has been commonly used by professionals since 2010. This suggests that most education or mental health professionals have had to and, to a large degree, are still playing catch-up.

The only training they will have had will have been firmly rooted in the medical model of diagnosing autism, dyslexia, ADHD and other neurodevelopmental conditions in order to treat, cure or mitigate the symptoms.

The professions have had to make a massive shift in their thinking to embrace the neurodiversity model. As with any paradigm change, there will be dinosaurs and pioneers.

Some pioneers may have had their wings clipped by being taught by dinosaurs. Some major educational and mental health institutions are still controlled by dinosaurs, who may well temper the enthusiasm of new recruits flushed with pioneering spirit.

Before sharing my personal journey, I will outline a research conversation I had with ChatGPT, OpenAI’s language mode, which clarified how and when neurodiversity appeared as an idea. I asked questions regarding the history of the term Neurodiversity.

Before 2000, the professional training regarding neurodiversity, particularly in fields such as psychology, education, and healthcare, was primarily influenced by a medical model of disability. This perspective framed neurological differences — such as autism, ADHD, dyslexia, and other neurodevelopmental conditions — as disorders or deficits that needed to be treated, cured, or mitigated. The focus was often on identifying symptoms, diagnosing conditions, and implementing interventions aimed at helping individuals to adapt to societal norms or to “overcome” their differences.

The medical model has existed for around a century and still persists in some sectors despite a huge shift in understanding and research.

By the 2010s, “neurodiversity” had become a significant and recognized term in discussions about autism, ADHD, dyslexia, and other neurodevelopmental differences, extending into fields such as education, employment, and mental health. It emphasizes the understanding that neurodevelopmental differences should be recognized and respected as a social category, akin to ethnicity, socioeconomic class, sexual orientation, gender, or disability.

In my work as a psychotherapist, I am constantly aware of the friction between this medical model of dysfunction and the neurodiversity model of celebrating uniqueness.

On my own self-awareness journey, I have begun to recognise that there are parts of myself and my patterns of behaviour that could easily be interpreted as ADHD; however, these symptoms could also be interpreted as a trauma response, General Anxiety Disorder or a number of other diagnoses.

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

I scored high on an online ADHD test.

I took several online ADHD tests and consistently scored medium to high. It reaffirmed my suspicion that these tests were as reliable as gauging opinions over tea and scones with my mother and her friends.

While it wasn’t shocking to score high, I don’t feel the need for validation from a supposed professional. The whole process of diagnosis and labelling feels like it belongs to an outdated medical model when it comes to addressing mental health.

Image created by the author using a variety of editing and AI tools

Back in 1965, at the age of 11, I was taken to the doctor. While I was considered bright at school, I couldn’t sit still. I was hyperactive and found it challenging to focus during dull lessons. This was two decades before ADHD was recognised in the UK.

In the eyes of the medical model, my behaviour probably appeared to be some form of anxiety disorder. I don’t recall feeling anxious, but how else could they explain this restless, nervy kid? So, they opted to sedate me, a treatment that, in modern terms, seems completely inappropriate and verging on barbaric.

What’s even more astonishing, however, is that despite these traits now being viewed through the lens of neurodiversity, 60 years later, there are still mental health practitioners and educators who only possess tools aligned with that outdated medical model, which tends to pathologise people, including those who are autistic or neurodiverse.

Recognising uniqueness

The alternative approach to diagnosing, putting into boxes, pathologising, judging and dismissing is to recognise and celebrate uniqueness.

This has always been the case with humanistic and holistic counselling or psychotherapy. We treat every client as a unique individual. We help to uncover and celebrate the authentic self. Diagnosis has no part in this process.

Clients often come to us previously diagnosed by professionals aligned with the medical model. It can be useful for the client as it gives them some search terms for internet research, but there is also a danger that they might focus solely on the pathologised parts of themselves.

It’s like they have been stamped with a barcode for easy internet access, and they slowly morph into a walking, talking version of that barcode.

Or, a gardener gives you an extensive list of all the weeds in your garden but neglects to mention all the beautiful, thriving plants that are also there. Armed with their list, you get a weedkiller that will destroy all the weeds, and your treatment takes down all the beautiful plants with it.

How I preserved my uniqueness

Teachers saw my creative leanings as a bunch of weeds. At options time, they refused to allow me to do Music, Drama, and Art. I was forced to study science and academic subjects. The result was that I gave up trying and left school with a miserable handful of mediocre results.

Twenty years on, I taught myself jazz piano to a professional standard, became a music technology teacher, worked professionally as a performing storyteller, and began creating my business as a drum circle facilitator. Forty years later, I am earning money by writing about therapy, art, and creativity.

No matter how I look at it, the whole school system seemed designed to prevent me from fulfilling my full potential. It invalidated my creativity and passion in training me to comply with societal norms.

I am very grateful that my creative leanings and passion were supported at home and in the community through Drama clubs, Choirs, and youth Club talent competitions. We had a beautiful baby grand piano that I spent much time with, and my need to emulate Jimi Hendrix’s guitar playing was mostly tolerated.

So, free from the constriction of school, I was able to fly a little freer, but the legacy of that time was that I have always felt that society would frown upon my need to go my own way, create my own path, and ultimately be myself—until now, of course.

Embracing Neurodiversity: Celebrating Uniqueness and Unlocking Potential

In my work as a counsellor, I come across children and adults of all ages who are diagnosed, self-diagnosed, and undiagnosed with a whole range of things related to Neurodiversity.

They are all unique and have a clearly individual understanding of how their minds and bodies work a little differently from what they perceive to be the societal norm. They all also have unique and different perceptions of societal norms.

People often fixate on discovering what’s wrong with them. But when did we lose sight of what’s right? Imagine if we redirected that energy towards uncovering and nurturing our unique talents instead of striving to fit into an arbitrary ‘normal.’ Such a shift could propel humanity forward in a gigantic evolutionary leap.

Turning an ocean liner around.

Shifting paradigms from viewing people as problems in need of fixing to valuing their unique differences is a monumental undertaking. It’s akin to steering an ocean liner in a new direction — a slow, laborious task demanding patience, persistence, and substantial effort.

When trying to redirect something as vast and entrenched as societal perception, there will be challenges from all sides. In Mental Health and education, challenges persist, and outdated models have been engraved into the DNA of our mental health and educational institutions.

Where can we begin?

As with any massive process of change, we have to start with ourselves. Are you celebrating your own uniqueness or constantly trying to fit in? Once you appreciate what it looks like for yourself, you can begin to recognise environments where it is happening for others.

Is your local school an environment that nurtures creativity, individuality and diverse ways of thinking? Does it foster growth and success for all individuals or just those that fit in?

Does your workplace plod along a well-worn path of expectations, or is it open to flexible working patterns and accepting diverse approaches?

Our uniqueness is a source of strength

I hope I have been clear that I am not claiming to have ADHD or not to have it. I really am not bothered about the boxes the medical profession tries to force us into. I am not an advocate for getting or not getting a diagnosis that is entirely up to the individual.

We shouldn’t need a certificate to show that we should be accepted for our strengths and diversity. I can see a future where neurodiversity is fully embraced and individuals are empowered to thrive authentically, contributing their unique talents to a more inclusive and understanding society, but I can’t predict a timeline for that.

I caught a glimpse of this paradigm shift 35 years ago while working at The Cotswold Community, a therapeutic children’s home for boys. There, a child-centred approach permeated every aspect of care and education. Tailored programs were created for each individual, both in their daily care routines and academic curriculum.

I witnessed children flourishing in this carefully managed environment. The work was held fast by a highly skilled therapeutic team working on psychodynamic principles headed up by Barbara Dockar Drysdale. Any sniff of behavioural principles, punishment or reward was swiftly banished under her watchful eye.

Sadly I had to leave for family reasons and I have been searching in vain for a similar environment in the intervening time. I have seen behavioural approaches take hold in all sectors of education and mental health, often for economic reasons, and the results have been catastrophic for many.

My hope is that the neurodiversity movement is at the forefront of a period of profound change where the medical, evidence-based approach to mental health is eclipsed by humanistic, experience-based models where individuals are empowered to thrive authentically, contributing their unique talents to a more inclusive and understanding society.

Each step towards embracing neurodiversity brings us closer to realizing the full potential of every unique mind.

April 21, 2024