I’ve sat with a lot of couples where one partner’s anger doesn’t fit the moment. The row is about something small: dishes left in the sink, a plan changed at the last minute, and the reaction is enormous. The partner on the receiving end genuinely can’t work out what just happened. Often, neither can the person doing the shouting.
I’ve come to recognise this as one of the clearest signs of compliance trauma showing up in adult life.
What compliance trauma actually is
Compliance trauma comes from growing up having to fall in line, not because you agreed, but because the alternative was worse. Maybe that was outright punishment. Maybe it was a parent going cold and withdrawn until you fell back into line, or a household where the mood could tip without warning and the only safe move was to comply before it did.
It doesn’t need to look dramatic from the outside. Plenty of people carrying this grew up in homes that looked perfectly ordinary. What made it compliance trauma wasn’t the severity of any one incident, it was that saying no, or even just having a visible reaction, was never really an option.
Where the explosiveness comes from
A child in that position doesn’t stop having a reaction. They just stop being able to show it. The anger, the protest, the “this isn’t fair” doesn’t go anywhere; it gets swallowed because expressing it was too costly.
What gets swallowed in childhood doesn’t stay swallowed forever. It tends to surface later, in adulthood, often with the people who feel safest, which is usually a partner or close family. That’s why the shouting can look wildly out of proportion to the dishes in the sink. The dishes aren’t really what it’s about. The nervous system has been carrying an old, unresolved protest, and something small has finally tipped it over the edge.
What it’s like on the other side of it
If you’re the one living with this, it can be genuinely disorientating. You raise something minor and get a reaction that feels like it belongs to a different, much bigger argument. Over time you start managing around it: choosing your moments, softening how you say things, sometimes staying quiet altogether rather than risk it.
That’s a form of compliance also. Two people can end up in the same pattern from opposite directions: one complying as a child and exploding as an adult, the other complying now, in the relationship, to keep the peace.
This isn’t about blame
I want to be clear that understanding where the anger comes from isn’t the same as excusing its impact. Both things are true at once. The explosive reaction has a history and a logic to it, and it still lands on the person in the room, who didn’t cause it and doesn’t deserve to carry it.
Relational therapy holds both of those at the same time. It doesn’t ask you to forgive the anger before you’ve named what it’s actually costing you, and it doesn’t ask the person doing the exploding to just try harder without understanding what’s actually happening.
Where change actually happens
The work isn’t about learning to suppress the anger better, that’s just compliance again, dressed up as progress. It’s about building the capacity to notice the reaction as it’s rising, understand what it’s really protecting, and find a way to have the protest, the no, the disagreement, without it needing to detonate.
For the partner or family member on the other side, the work is often about recognising where they’ve been complying too, quietly, out of habit, and finding their own way to say what actually needs saying.
Look at the image at the top of this post. Have you ever felt stuck in a pattern, just like this image suggests?
On the left, a skull, chained and padlocked, sealed inside a glass case. On the right, a living brain, richly coloured, roots trailing like a nervous system still reaching, perched on a surfboard.
I’ve been sitting with that image all week. It does something that a thousand words of neuroscience struggle to do. It says it in one frame.
What neuroscience is telling us about trauma and the brain
Recent advances in our understanding of the brain have given us a useful idea. In a healthy mind, neural networks move fluidly between states, integrating, separating, reconfiguring in response to what’s happening. The system is flexible. It can be surprised, moved, changed by experience, and return to itself afterwards.
Neuroscientists call that metastability.
Trauma destroys it. The brain locks into a narrow loop, stuck on one channel, unable to shift. Not because something is stored in the tissue, but because the system has learned that movement itself is dangerous. Stay still. Stay defended. Stay right.
That’s the skull in the glass case. And the padlock, if you look carefully, is on the inside.
The ocean, the board, and what I learned before I had words for it
I grew up in Bude. The sound of the ocean was a constant companion; I could just peek it from my attic window. I learned to read weather in it before I knew what I was doing: the ebb and flow, the change in rhythm before a storm. There was information in that sound, and something settling in it too. I didn’t have the word for it then, but I was learning something about what it means to move with what’s coming rather than brace against it.
Many of my clients surf. It would surprise me if they didn’t. We live on the North Cornwall coast, and the sea is always there. I understand the flow state they’re describing, that quality of complete absorption where thinking stops and something else takes over. For me, it’s jazz piano. Facing the technical demands of the music, at a certain point, I’m no longer planning or deciding. I’m simply in it, and whatever wants to come out comes out. The board and the keys are different instruments for the same thing: the brain finding its way back to the freedom of childhood imagination.
When guilt becomes the padlock
Can you imagine a client whose flow state is surfing, and yet he can barely get to the beach? Not because of injury or illness. Because the responsibilities of work and family have slowly closed around him, and somewhere in that closing, pleasure started to feel like selfishness. The paddle out, the hour in the water, the thing that restores him most reliably, now arrives wrapped in guilt. So he doesn’t go. The padlock goes back on, this time not from trauma in any clinical sense, but from the accumulated weight of obligation and the gradual withdrawal of giving himself permission to be fully alive.
That’s metastability collapsing in ordinary life. The system can’t move toward what would restore it because moving has come to feel dangerous, self-indulgent, and wrong.
When being right becomes a matter of survival
And then there’s a different kind of locked brain. Can you imagine a client who must never lose an argument? Not because they’re arrogant, but because somewhere along the way, losing ground came to feel like losing themselves entirely. The self is too fragile to risk contact without armour. So arguments get created where none exist. Positions get defended past the point of reason. And the people around them, partners, friends, colleagues, gradually stop trying to reach them. The very rigidity designed to protect the self ends up isolating it.
That’s the glass case with the padlock on the inside. The system can’t be moved, can’t be influenced without feeling annihilated, and can’t lose an argument and still find itself intact on the other side.
Two very different people. The same image.
What the therapy room actually offers
What the therapy room offers, when it’s working, is a place where movement becomes possible again. Where the client who’s locked out his own pleasure can sit with someone who takes his aliveness seriously. Where the client who can’t lose an argument can be genuinely met without being beaten, and discover that the ground doesn’t disappear when they yield a little.
That’s not technique. It’s not cognitive retraining or processing stored content. It’s the therapist being present enough, free enough in themselves, to model what metastability actually feels like in a human body, in a room, in a relationship. The surfer who knows how to ride uncertainty rather than lock it away.
Healing isn’t excavation. It’s the return of movement.
Neuroscience is catching up with what relational practitioners have always known. Flexibility, genuine contact, the productive uncertainty of real relationship: these aren’t nice extras. They’re the thing itself.
The brain on the surfboard isn’t free because nothing bad ever happened to it. It’s free because it has learned to move again.
A personal account of what personal therapy makes possible in the consulting room
Eight years ago, my daughter died by suicide. That fact sits in the room with me every time I work with a client. Most of my long-term clients know it. It’s not something I hide, and it’s not something I’ve resolved. It’s something I carry, and part of my job is to know, at any given moment, how I’m carrying it.
This article is about one session where that carrying became difficult, what happened next, and why I believe the answer to the question “Do I really need personal therapy?” is, for most therapists, yes.
Something in the room
A client I have worked with for some time was talking about the circumstances around her partner’s suicide. She knows about my daughter. That’s part of how we work; I use disclosure as a relational tool, and she had found it useful to know that I had some personal proximity to the kind of loss she was carrying.
As the session progressed, I became aware of growing anxiety in my body. Not thought-level anxiety, the kind you can reason with, but something lower and more physical. I realised she was building towards telling me the specific details of how her partner was found.
I asked her to stop, just for a moment. I needed to regulate. I sat with what was happening in my nervous system, and then I was honest with her: I asked whether we could skirt around those particular details, at least for now. She understood immediately. She was not distressed by the request. Because we had a relational contract, because she knew something of my history, and because I had named what was happening rather than trying to manage it covertly, we could make a joint decision about how to proceed. That’s how I work.
But the session left something unfinished in me.
The next morning
I had a fortnightly appointment with my personal therapist the following morning. I’ve been seeing her for five years. I didn’t know what I was going to bring; I rarely do. What was most alive when I woke was a dream.
In the dream I was in a war zone. There was chaos around me. I was carrying a large assault rifle and being pursued. I took shelter in a cafe. A few minutes later one of my pursuers came in and sat down, ordered coffee, appeared to settle. I was standing in the corner, my rifle propped beside me, and I had to remain still and upright in order to keep it concealed.
My therapist asked me how I had felt on waking from the dream. I told her: calm. Not relieved, not shaken, calm. In the dream I had known what I needed to do and I had been doing it. She asked whether there was any present-day connection. I went straight back to the session the day before.
What the body was holding
We began to look at my nervous system response in that session: the anxiety, the physical signal, the decision to stop. The obvious thread led to my daughter’s death. And as we followed it, I realised something I had not consciously registered before: I had never told anyone the specific details of how she was found. Not my own therapist, not my supervisor, not anyone.
I’m not going to tell you those details here. But I want to tell you what happened when I told her.
I asked my therapist if it was all right to go through it. She held the space. With a great deal of shaking and trembling, I told her everything. As the account came out of me, something began to shift in my body. By the time I had finished, it was as though something in my nervous system had dissolved, or at least loosened its grip. The weight of those specific images, held silently for eight years, had been witnessed.
My supervisor cannot do that work with me. Supervision holds the work; it is where I bring clinical material, ethical questions, and relational dynamics I cannot see clearly. But when something is lodged not in my thinking but in my body, supervision is not the right container. My supervisor has said to me on more than one occasion: “You should take that to personal therapy.” She is right to say it.
What this makes possible
After that session with my therapist, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be able to offer my client the quality of listening I had withheld. Not because I had been wrong to stop, I had been right to stop, but because I now had more capacity than I had before. Something had been processed that had been blocking me. Next time we meet, I’ll share something of that process with her. We will decide together, as we always do, how to proceed.
This is what personal therapy makes possible. Not the absence of response, therapists are human beings, and we respond, but the ability to stay present with what is difficult rather than being pulled under by it. The difference between a nervous system that can be with a client’s account and one that cannot is not intelligence or training. It is the degree to which our own unprocessed material has been worked with.
If you’re carrying something and you haven’t given it a proper place to land, it will find one in the room. It will show up in what you cannot hear, what you deflect, what you subtly redirect. Your clients will feel it even when they cannot name it.
A professional necessity, not a personal indulgence
There are therapists who treat personal therapy as a requirement to be fulfilled during training and then quietly set aside. I understand the logic: time is limited, fees accumulate, and once you’re qualified the external pressure disappears. But the argument for continuing is not about compliance. It’s about what you’re actually offering in the room.
I have been in practice for a number of years. I still carry material that surfaces unexpectedly. I still dream things that turn out to be directly connected to my clinical work. I still need a space where I’m the client and someone else is holding the frame. That’s not a sign of inadequacy; it’s a sign of ongoing engagement with the work.
I don’t go to therapy purely for my own benefit. I go to be in a position to serve my clients better.
If this article has brought up difficult feelings
This article discusses suicide and suicide bereavement. If you’re struggling, please reach out.
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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.
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:
Find the broken pieces
Prepare them for repair
Apply the gold lacquer and glue them back in place
Allow time for drying and setting
Polish the finished article
Therapy:
Recognise the hidden and broken parts of ourselves
Seek help through therapy, support groups or self-reflection
Accepting our history, developing self-compassion, and choosing a new pathway.
Allowing time and space for healing to take place
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.
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?
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.
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.
One father’s reflection on finding resilience, purpose, and connection after tragedy
Image created by the author
Trigger warning — This article mentions suicide, although it focuses on my reaction and how my life has changed since the event.
My daughter Holly took her own life six years ago. What felt like staring into or being consumed by a black hole has become quite different.
A black hole is only known to exist because of the presence of light around it. Or, as NASA put it:
A black hole is a place in space where gravity pulls so much that even light can not get out. The gravity is so strong because matter has been squeezed into a tiny space. This can happen when a star is dying. Because no light can get out, people can’t see black holes.
The moment my wife put down the phone, and I heard the words Holly and suicide in the same sentence, I felt that pull of gravity sucking all the light out of my world. Six years after the event, I can still feel that pull of gravity towards dark despair, but I can take a step back and notice how the black hole allowed me to appreciate the light around me more than I ever have before.
My Birthday Story
It was a joyous day. We awoke in our campervan in South Cornwall in brilliant sunshine and below-zero temperatures. After a glorious walk along the coast, we settle into a pub next to a log fire. What was billed as the best Sunday lunch in Cornwall is just that. We review the details of previous birthday and anniversary meals as always.
Top of the list is always the one Holly instigated at Ronnie Scotts on my 60th. We can now reminisce and think fondly of this and other events where Holly’s big personality features strongly. Arriving home midafternoon, my whole mood seems to change.
I am cold and exhausted. I warm up in the shower and then crawl under the duvet with a hot water bottle. Experiencing the light for a few hours has drawn my attention to the black hole that is constantly there. No one else can see it, and I know by now that it will not consume me or suck all the light out of my world. I am keenly aware of the light because of the black hole. If the black hole were not there, I would not be aware of the glorious light surrounding it.
Becoming self-aware became a necessity.
I have been on a self-awareness journey for 40 years from when I first went into therapy as a requirement for my job. It is never complete. It has stalled and faltered but went into overdrive the moment Holly left us.
Now, it seems like the only way I can hold myself together, and at the same time, it has become my passion and purpose. I was drowning in the strong currents of the ocean. Holly’s death has become the raft I cling to for riding the currents safely and steering my way into the future and the unknown.
Image created by the author
On her birthday
This is when we come together as an extended family—focused on a meal together, visiting the burial ground and standing high in the wind watching the river far below.
Our two children grew up in a little extended family group with an auntie and two cousins living a few doors away. Some of my strongest memories are of all seven of us around a meal table. Whether it was Sunday Lunch or a celebration, it was a precious time for me.
With children leaving home and leading their own lives, these gatherings became reduced to maybe once a year, with all seven of us plus occasional partners. In addition, we would occasionally get our two girls to join us for an anniversary or birthday.
Holly was always a strong force in uniting us for a celebration, and she still is. She draws us in to celebrate her birthday, and I, for one, revel in this excuse for this celebration of her glorious life.
Her death has not diminished my life
I am grateful to Holly for coming into this world and spending 28 years with us. Her birth and her death were both traumatic but a necessary part of her existence.
Illustration created by the author
The wound is the place where light enters you — Rumi
The first morning after she died, I felt the light entering but found it difficult to let it in. I stepped out of her flat into brilliant sunshine. I asked myself, “How can I feel joy in the sunshine after what happened?”
This was my first lesson in holding joy and sadness in the palm of one hand. Of course, the nature of her death will permanently devastate me. I will always have questions and doubts about my actions as a father. However, I cannot allow her leaving us to overshadow the amazing experience of living with her for 28 years.
Holly’s memory remains a guiding beacon, like the flash from a lighthouse reflecting on the surface of the ocean, simultaneously guiding the way and warning of danger.
When I sit with clients in my counselling room I can be a guide because I have experienced what it is like to crash upon the rocks or become overwhelmed by the waves. I have also experienced what it is like to take the helm of my craft and to purposefully and intentionally steer it into safer waters.
I am filled with gratitude to Holly for sharing her brief life with us, to family and friends for their support in navigating the treacherous waters of grief and to everyone in the Counselling Community who has swum alongside me whispering or shouting encouragement.
Also in the early years connecting up with groups such as The Compassionate Friends and Survivors Of Bereavement by Suicide was vital. I am also grateful to the charities Clarity and Cruse for giving me free or low cost counselling. (Links Below)
Thanks for reading to the end. Do get in touch if you are affected in any way by my writing and artwork. The links below my website are organisations that helped me in the early stages of grief.
Exploring definitions, differences, and how therapy can help you heal
All illustrations created by the author
Anxiety is the body’s response to a perceived threat and part of the inbuilt and natural fight, flight and freeze response.
Trauma is the result of experiencing or witnessing something which is a threat physically or emotionally. The fight or flight responses persist even when no threat exists.
In this article, I will delve deeper into the differences and the connection between anxiety and trauma, helping you make informed decisions on your path to healing and well-being.
It’s essential to understand that not all anxiety is caused by trauma, and it would be overly simplistic to assume that anxiety is always a direct response to trauma.
We will explore therapeutic approaches for anxiety that can be helpful for trauma sufferers, although these approaches focus on managing symptoms rather than addressing the underlying trauma.
Finally, I will highlight the distinctions between long-term trauma treatment and addressing anxiety that may not be trauma-related, ensuring you have the knowledge to seek the appropriate support.
What is Anxiety?
Anxiety is a natural response to stress, meeting new people, public speaking, sitting exams and major changes in our lives. It is a reminder to us to prepare ourselves in some way. Are you anxious or excited? Is there any difference that you can distinguish?
Anxiety becomes a problem when it induces panic or stops us from doing things we could normally do. If we suffer from panic attacks, phobias or Social anxiety, this can begin to limit our lives in many ways.
OCD is a condition where anxiety results in repetitive, compulsive behaviours.
Understanding Trauma
There are many different definitions of trauma coming from the medical, psychological, philosophical and social sciences perspectives. I’ll leave you to do your own research on them, and here, I will discuss trauma in terms of my own and my client’s experience. My own conception of trauma probably encompasses a wider range of experiences than a single official model.
What I look for in clients is the sense that a fight, flight or freeze mechanism stays in place even when the threat no longer exists. If you were beaten up at a bus stop in town and you now experience anxiety and maybe panic attacks when you are anywhere near that bus stop or even any other bus stop, that is trauma-induced anxiety. The unconscious memories are affecting your normal functioning in your life somehow.
Typical effects of trauma are having nightmares or flashbacks, becoming aggressive, being unable to sleep well, and being avoidant or dissociating. Often, there are triggers to this behaviour. The connection of these triggers to the trauma may not be obvious on a conscious level.
An example of a secondary traumatic experience
Trauma is not necessarily something that happens directly to you. I have had traumatic responses to an incident with family friends when I was 14. I used to babysit for them. One evening, I came home to the news that their 2-year-old had been murdered. The impact of that evening has followed me through life and many therapy rooms.
Often, it is not the event itself which has the long-lasting effect but what happens before and after the event in terms of your relationship with yourself and others. I can remember feeling shame and guilt because I had been in a park fooling around with a girl when I could have been babysitting that night.
I was never able to express my feelings to anyone at the time. The bereft couple spent a couple of nights at our house. I didn’t get to go to the funeral. A silence descended. I packed it all up inside, afraid to speak in case it was all my fault.
Types of Traumatic Experience.
Consider life from birth to death. There are many opportunities for traumatic experiences. Your conception could be under traumatic rather than loving circumstances. Your months in the womb could be traumatic if your mother smokes, drinks, takes drugs or is subject to abuse of some kind. Maybe your pre-verbal years were traumatic and you have no visual memory of them. All of these experiences can be embedded in your subconscious.
As a child, you may suffer prolonged trauma. It is traumatic to a child not to have their basic needs met in terms of physical, emotional, conceptual and spiritual needs. A child normally learns self-control and independence under good enough circumstances. Excessive control by a parent, whether it be through physical, financial, emotional, or psychological abuse, can leave a child without the skills to develop into a self-confident and independent adult.
As an adult, trauma comes in many forms. Military personnel do not need to be in direct armed combat to experience trauma. Witnesses to violent or catastrophic events can suffer long-term trauma. People have experienced trauma through watching news of major disasters. Relatives and friends of those who take their own lives often relate long-term trauma responses. The death of a loved one can be traumatic, which is why it is so important to give people the time and space to grieve.
Key Differences between trauma and anxiety.
Anxiety is the body’s response to a perceived threat and part of the inbuilt and natural fight, flight and freeze response.
Trauma is the result of experiencing or witnessing something which is a threat physically, emotionally or existentially. The fight or flight responses persist even when no threat exists.
Illustration created by the author
Trauma begins in the body and emotions and affects the thoughts — Anxiety exists in the head and affects the body and emotions.
When we talk about anxiety, which is unrelated to past events, we see it as a concern or worry about something in the future. It may be seen as a cognitive response. Your thoughts and concerns about a future event begin to spiral out of control, which can induce emotional and physical responses such as difficulty breathing or panic attacks.
Trauma, on the other hand, begins as feelings in the body or emotions. It may be a feeling of unease which you cannot explain. You might find it difficult to concentrate, or your mind shuts down in certain situations. Anticipation of these feelings may, in turn, cause anxiety.
We will look at the treatment approaches below. I appreciate you may not be able to distinguish whether your anxiety is trauma-related or not. A trauma-informed therapist will be able to help you clarify this for yourself and assist you in creating an approach to healing that suits your specific circumstances.
Treatment Approaches
Therapy Options for Anxiety:
Every qualified counsellor or therapist should be able to work with anxiety, as it is one of the most common mental health issues.
The UK NHS suggests that CBT is particularly effective, but not everyone takes to this directive and prescriptive approach, and some suggest they recommend it for cost reasons because it is often offered in time-limited sessions. Many clients have approached me saying they tried CBT, and it didn’t work.
Therapeutic Approaches for Trauma:
Trauma-Informed Talk Therapy: Many qualified talk therapists have experience and/or training in working with trauma. This is likely to be long-term work, but it is able to plumb the depths of your experiences and create significant change in your life. Humanistic, Integrative, holistic or psychodynamic therapists all take slightly different approaches, which are best discussed with the therapist to see if you connect with them.
Somatic Therapy and Focusing: These approaches focus on exploring the experience of your body and emotions in the here and now. The energies released in trauma can become trapped in the body. You may explore physical exercises to release this energy. This may be a good place to start if you are already familiar with yoga and mindfulness approaches.
EMDR and CBT: are often recommended for PTSD, but I would approach these with care. They are very directive and can require you to relate or re-experience the details of your traumatic experience. This inherently holds the danger of re-traumatisation, and this could have the effect of shutting you down emotionally.
Co-occurrence and Dual Treatment:
Trauma survivors may resort to self-medication with alcohol, drugs, sex or other addictive pursuits. These issues can complicate therapeutic treatment for trauma and anxiety. You could be advised to undertake dual treatment with Rehab approaches and talk therapy alongside each other.
It is also true that anxiety in various forms can be associated with neurodiversity. If you are diagnosed or self-diagnosed as neurodivergent, it might be worth checking outThe Association of Neurodivergent Therapists.Many therapists are experienced in working with neurodivergent clients, but some are not experienced in this area, so it is worth checking this out while you select a therapist.
Image created by the author
Seeking Help
Recognizing When to Seek Therapy:
Many people live a perfectly stable and comfortable life with moderate levels of anxiety and or mild effects of trauma. It is time to seek therapy when you feel your normal functioning in life is being compromised.
Maybe your anxiety levels are getting out of control, affecting your sleep or compelling you to avoid events or situations which are stressful. You may be taking time off work, losing any sense of joy or purpose in life.
People often seek therapy when a bereavement or other major life change has triggered depression or the onset of anxiety symptoms. Something may have triggered deeply buried trauma responses and these now need attention.
The Role of a Therapist
A trauma-informed therapist will begin by being a compassionate listener and aim to create a place of safety for you, the client. They are likely to engage in some level of psychoeducation in order to collaborate with you in creating some plan around your healing journey.
The therapist should prioritise safety, empowerment, and holistic well-being. They will allow you to lead the pace of the work while guiding you to explore those hidden areas of your life which may be difficult to access and explore.
Finding the Right Therapist
Qualifications and experience
A trauma-informed therapist can be well-qualified but not very experienced or, alternatively, very experienced with little or no specific training. You might want to explore their experience and training to see if it is very generalised or more specific. Possible specialisms are:
Physical
Emotional
Sexual
Interpersonal
Developmental
Complex
Does their specialism fit in with the issues you are bringing to therapy?
Safety and empowerment
You might want to ask about their approach to safety, boundaries and consent. Empowerment and collaboration are key aspects of successful trauma therapy. When seeking a therapist, pay attention to their communication style. Do you feel validated by their communication, as if they will be open to sharing your journey rather than pressuring you down a pathway you don’t want to go?
Compatibility and connection
A strong therapeutic relationship is essential for effective trauma therapy. Trust your intuition; you need to find a therapist with whom you feel safe, supported and understood. If you feel uncomfortable and challenged in the first session, like you don’t feel you can trust them with your deep secrets, then that is unlikely to develop into a useful relationship for trauma work.
Conclusion
Navigating trauma and anxiety can feel overwhelming, but seeking therapy is a courageous step towards healing and growth. Whether you’re grappling with past traumas or struggling with overwhelming anxiety, finding the right therapist is essential for your journey towards well-being.
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If you’re ready to take the next step in your healing journey and are interested in online therapy or face-to-face sessions in Bude North Cornwall, UK. I invite you to book an initial session with me through my website:
If you feel some connection with me, we can explore your experiences together, build resilience, and work towards a more fulfilling life. Don’t hesitate to reach out — I’m here to support you every step of the way.
