What I Want You To Know About Your Counselling Journey With Me..

Starting your counselling journey can feel like stepping into unfamiliar territory. Even if you’ve seen therapy in films, socials, read about it online, or heard about a bad experience, that's still not your experience. The real experience is far more personal, gentle, and human than most people expect. Movies often show someone lying dramatically on a couch, spilling their deepest secrets to a silent counsellor with a clipboard.

In reality, you don’t lie on a couch, unless you genuinely want to, and even then I only have a two‑seater sofa. You’re welcome to curl your feet up, get cosy, and settle in however feels right for you. You’re not being analysed from across the room, and there’s no silent figure with a clipboard judging your every word. I’m not peering over my glasses or waiting for you to say the “right” thing. I do keep a small notebook, but only to jot down practical things you’ve asked me to remember, a change of session time, something you want me to update, or details that matter to you.

The room itself is designed with comfort and care in mind. There are blankets and soft cushions so you can feel grounded and supported. A small side table is set up just for you during our hour together, with water, tissues, fidget toys, and sensory items you’re welcome to use whenever you need them. This isn’t a clinical or intimidating space, it’s a gentle one, created so you can breathe, settle, and simply be yourself.

And while our work together can feel deeply connected, it isn’t a friendship or a romantic relationship. Those boundaries aren’t about distance, they’re about safety. They create a space where everything is centred on you, where you don’t have to take care of my feelings, and where the focus stays on your healing rather than on managing a relationship outside the room. There’s no dramatic music, no sudden cinematic breakthroughs, and no “tell me about your childhood” in the first five minutes.

Counselling isn’t a performance. It’s a steady, compassionate process where you get to unfold at your own pace, with someone beside you who’s fully present, fully human, and fully committed to supporting your growth. Instead, counselling is collaborative. It’s two people sitting together, working things out at a pace that feels safe. It’s pauses with curiosity, and moments of honesty that unfold naturally rather than theatrically. You don’t have to arrive with a perfect story or a clear goal. You don’t have to perform or impress. You just get to be you.

If you’re thinking about beginning therapy, or you’re simply curious, here are some things I want you to know, it’s okay to be nervous, it’s okay to not know what to expect, and it’s absolutely okay to take your time. This space is built for you, not for the clichés.

It’s okay if you feel unsure, scared, awkward, or “not ready”

It’s completely okay if you feel unsure, scared, awkward, or “not ready.” Talking about yourself, especially with someone you’ve just met, can feel strange. Many people sit down in their first session and think, “Where do I even start?” or “What if I get this wrong?” There is no wrong. You don’t need a perfect opening line or a polished story. You don’t need to have everything figured out — that’s what the space is for. And it’s also okay if your body reacts in ways you don’t expect. Some people laugh when they’re nervous. Some laugh in silence. Some laugh in the middle of a hard story because the emotion underneath feels too big to touch directly. Others go blank, ramble, freeze, or apologise for “not making sense.” All of this is part of being human, and none of it is a problem in therapy.

I’ll help you find your footing, one step at a time. We’ll go at a pace that feels manageable for you. Giving yourself a little space before and after sessions, a quiet moment, a walk, a deep breath, can help you settle, process, and ease into the work. You’re not expected to arrive calm or confident. You’re allowed to arrive exactly as you are.

Counselling is less about the story and more about the meaning beneath it.

You might come in wanting to talk about something specific, a breakup, work stress, a difficult family situation, or whatever is weighing on you that day. We can absolutely start there. But often, the deeper work happens underneath the surface, in the patterns, emotions, and long‑held beliefs that quietly shape your life. I’m not just listening to the story you tell, I’m listening to how it feels for you, to the themes that repeat, to the places where you hesitate, to the unspoken experiences woven between your words. You don’t have to know what the “real issue” is or where to begin. Part of my role is to gently notice what sits beneath the surface and explore it with you at a pace that feels safe enough.

You won’t shock me.  

Clients often worry their story is “too much,” “too weird,” or “too heavy.” Many people carry a quiet fear that if they say the thing they’ve never said out loud, the counsellor will pull back, judge them, or look at them differently. But part of my work, and part of my humanity is being able to sit with the full range of human experience without flinching. You don’t have to protect me from your truth. You don’t have to soften it, tidy it, or make it palatable. I understand that people do what they need to do to survive, and that life can take us into complicated, painful, confusing places. I’m here to meet you in those places with steadiness, not shock, with curiosity, not judgement, with compassion, not fear. Your story isn’t “too much” it’s yours, and it deserves space.

Growth usually happens slowly, quietly, and over time.

Counselling isn’t all about big “aha” moments. Those do happen sometimes, but most of the real change comes from slow and steady progress, the tiny shifts in awareness, the softened edges, the moments where something lands differently, or you respond in a way you wouldn’t have before. These small changes often end up being the most meaningful, because they’re the ones that quietly reshape how you move through your life. Taking a moment to reflect between sessions can help you notice these shifts. Journalling, jotting down a thought, or simply thinking back on what came up can reveal progress you might otherwise overlook. You don’t have to analyse everything, that's exhausting, just staying curious, gentle, and open with yourself is enough. I hope you give yourself that space in between sessions, not as homework, but as an act of kindness toward your own growth.

Sometimes therapy feels uncomfortable and that doesn’t mean it’s going wrong.

You might encounter painful memories, challenging emotions, or parts of yourself you’ve been avoiding. This discomfort isn’t a failure, it’s often a natural part of healing. When something hurts, it’s completely understandable to want it gone as quickly as possible. We just want to feel better, fast. That’s human. And sometimes therapy does bring relief sooner than expected. But more often, the deeper shifts happen gradually, in small steps that build over time.

I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for. My role isn’t to force you forward, but to be alongside you. We’ll move at a pace that feels manageable for you, and when it’s helpful, I may gently encourage or challenge you, not to pressure you, but to support your growth. You don’t have to face the hard moments alone. I’ll be right there with you, steady and present, as you navigate whatever comes up.

It’s okay if you don’t know what you feel. 

A lot of people think they need to arrive in counselling with clear emotions, tidy explanations, or the “right” words. But the truth is, many people come in feeling confused, numb, overwhelmed, or completely unsure of what’s going on inside them. “I don’t know” is something I hear often, and it’s a perfectly valid place to start. Sometimes we just don't know! You don’t need emotional clarity to begin, sometimes the work is slowly discovering what you feel, or even learning how to feel at all. There’s no pressure to name things before you’re ready. We can sit in the uncertainty together, gently noticing what shows up, or what doesn’t. Not knowing isn’t a problem, it’s part of being human, and it’s welcome in the room.

You don’t need a dramatic reason to come.

You don’t need a crisis, a diagnosis, or a “big trauma” to deserve support. People come to counselling for all kinds of reasons, to understand themselves better, to improve relationships, to navigate transitions, or simply to feel more grounded. Some come because they’re writing a book, starting a counselling course, changing careers, or exploring a new chapter of their life. Others come because something just feels “off,” even if they can’t name it yet.

In fact, therapy can even become a kind of love language in your relationships, a way of learning how to understand each other more deeply. When you get clearer about your own needs, patterns, and emotions, you often communicate with more honesty and listen with more presence. That self‑awareness can ripple outward, creating more connection, more compassion, and more space to meet one another with clarity and care.

You’re allowed to seek support simply because you want to feel more. You’re allowed to be curious about your inner world without waiting for things to fall apart. Counselling isn’t only for emergencies, it’s a form of emotional maintenance, the same way you’d care for your physical health. It’s a space to check in with yourself, to understand your patterns, to reconnect with what matters, and to build a life that feels more aligned and intentional.

You may feel challenged at times, kindly, gently, and with purpose.

Sometimes my role isn’t to agree with everything you say, but to gently reflect the patterns you might not be able to see from the inside. I do this because I care about your growth, not because I want to challenge you for the sake of it. When I hold up a mirror, it’s with compassion and respect, to help you understand yourself more deeply and move toward the change you’re longing for. Those slightly uncomfortable moments often become the ones that shift something important.

And it’s never about catching you out or proving you wrong. It’s about helping you notice the places where you minimise yourself, apologise for existing, repeat old stories, or carry beliefs that were handed to you rather than chosen. Sometimes you’ll hear something reflected back and think, “I didn’t realise I was doing that,” or “That sounds different when you say it out loud.” That’s where insight begins.

These reflections aren’t confrontations, they’re invitations. Invitations to pause, to look again, to consider a new angle, to soften an old belief, or to step into a version of yourself that feels more honest and less constrained. And you’re always in control. We move at your pace, with your consent, and with your wellbeing at the centre of everything.

Wondering whether your therapist likes you is incredibly common.

Opening up can make anyone feel exposed, and it’s completely natural to wonder how you’re being perceived. That worry is part of being human. But counselling isn’t about being “liked” it’s about being seen, understood, and met exactly where you are. You don’t have to perform or impress. You don’t have to be interesting, articulate, or emotionally tidy. You don’t have to manage my feelings or make the session “worth it.” You get to simply show up.

In fact, the parts of you that feel the most unlovable, messy, awkward, or “too much” are often the very places where the deepest connection happens. Those are the parts that have been carrying the most weight, the most fear, the most longing. When you bring your real self into the room, not the polished version, not the one who has it all together, but the honest one, something softens. Something shifts. That’s where the work begins, and that’s where healing starts to take root.

And it’s okay if that takes time. Trust doesn’t appear instantly, not just because someone says “You can trust me,” but because your body slowly learns, through experience, that it’s safe enough to soften. Trust grows in small moments, being listened to without interruption, being met with gentleness instead of judgment, being allowed to pause, cry, laugh, or go quiet without pressure.

Safety works the same way. You don’t feel safe simply because someone says, “You’re safe here.” Safety is something you get to decide, in your own time, based on how you’re met, how you’re held, and how your nervous system responds. I honour that. There’s no expectation for you to open up quickly or share more than you want to. You don’t have to open up all at once. You don’t have to share everything. You don’t have to be brave on command. You get to reveal yourself layer by layer, at a pace that feels right for you. Even the hesitant parts, the guarded parts, the unsure parts, the parts that want to bolt, are welcome. They’re part of your story, and they deserve gentleness too.

Counselling isn’t all heavy, there’s room for laughter too.

Humour can be healing. Many sessions include moments of lightness, shared smiles, or unexpected relief. Laughter can help you breathe again, reconnect, and feel safe enough to keep going. It softens the edges of difficult conversations and reminds you that you’re more than the pain you’re carrying. Those small moments of warmth, a smile, a shared joke, a gentle laugh, can create just as much connection as the deeper work. They help your nervous system settle, help you feel human again, and make the room feel like a place where all parts of you are welcome, not just the struggling ones.

Sessions have a rhythm, and I'm holding that structure for you.

If you notice me checking the time, it’s not disinterest, it’s care. I’m holding the structure of the session for you, making sure we have enough space to slow down, steady things, and bring you back to a grounded place before we finish. I never want you to walk out feeling raw, overwhelmed, or cut off mid‑feeling. Part of my job is to protect the edges of the session so you leave contained, supported, and able to step back into your day with a sense of safety rather than emotional whiplash.

The time boundaries aren’t rigid rules, they’re part of the holding environment. They help create a rhythm your nervous system can rely on. When you know there’s a clear beginning and a gentle ending, it becomes easier to explore difficult emotions without feeling like you’ll be left alone with them. It also means you don’t have to keep track of anything, you can simply be present, knowing I’m holding the frame for both of us. And if we’re touching something tender or intense, I’ll help you slow down rather than rush through it. We might pause, breathe, or shift into grounding before we close. The aim is never to open something up and leave you exposed, it’s to help you move through the work in a way that feels manageable, respectful, and safe for your system. The structure is there to support you, not to constrain you.

Your voice matters, Counselling is a collaboration.

Your voice matters because counselling is something we build together, gently and at your pace. We may only sit together for an hour each week or sometimes every fortnight but your life continues in all the moments between those sessions. That’s where so much of the real, quiet work happens. You’re noticing how you feel, trying out new ways of responding, reflecting on what came up, and carrying the courage it takes to keep going. When you come back into the room, you’re not starting from scratch, you’re bringing all of that lived experience with you. And together, we make sense of it, honour it, and use it to guide the next step forward.

Counselling gives you a safe space to practise being the version of yourself you’re becoming.

If you struggle with boundaries, speaking up, or expressing emotion, therapy becomes a kind of rehearsal room, a place where you can practise being the version of yourself you’re growing into. With me, you get to try out new ways of relating, communicating, and showing up, without fear of judgment or rejection. You can experiment, make mistakes, pause, rewind, and try again. Over time, those small shifts in the room begin to ripple outward. The confidence you build here starts to spill into your relationships, your choices, and the way you move through the world.

You can bring anything into the room, even the things you think “don’t matter”

People often hold back because they think their worries are too small, too silly, too messy, or too “petty” to talk about. But the things you dismiss are often the things that quietly shape your life the most.

You can bring your overthinking, your jealousy, your numbness, your anger, your confusion, your dreams, your shame, your humour, your silence, your questions, your contradictions, all of it is welcome.

Nothing is too trivial. Nothing is too much. Nothing is “the wrong thing” to talk about.

Sometimes the smallest comment, the thing you almost didn’t mention, becomes the doorway into the work that really matters.

You don’t have to know who you are yet, counselling helps you find out.

Many people come to counselling because they feel lost, disconnected, or unsure of who they are anymore. You don’t need a clear sense of identity or direction to begin. In fact, a lot of the work happens in that strange middle space, when you feel like you’re slowly stepping away from the old version of yourself but haven’t yet arrived anywhere new. It can feel like doing the emotional splits, one foot in who you were, one foot in who you might become, and no solid ground in between.

And that’s okay. We are always growing, shifting, and evolving, even when it feels messy or uncertain. You don’t have to know exactly where you’re going. You just need to stay curious, curious about what you’re feeling, what you’re longing for, what no longer fits, and what might be emerging. Counselling gives you the space to explore all of this gently, without pressure to have the answers or rush the process.

You can go at your own pace.

There’s no timeline for healing. No deadline. No expectation to “get better quickly.” You’re not a project to be completed or a problem to be solved. You are not broken. Some weeks you’ll feel open and ready to explore. Some weeks you’ll feel tired, flat, overwhelmed, or guarded. Both are welcome, and both are part of being human. Therapy isn’t a straight line, it ebbs and flows with your life, your energy, the environment and your capacity. You don’t have to perform progress or push yourself to meet some invisible standard. Counselling adapts to you, not the other way around, and we’ll move at a pace that honours where you are, not where you think you “should” be.

You’re allowed to outgrow things, including the version of yourself that survived.

Sometimes the work of counselling is gently noticing the parts of you that coped, masked, or held everything together for years. Those parts weren’t wrong, they protected you and helped you survive. And you don’t have to push them away or reject them, you’re simply allowed to grow beyond them. You’re allowed to want more ease, more honesty, more connection, more softness in your life. For many people, that growth also means recognising how often they’ve shaped themselves around others, saying yes when they meant no, keeping the peace, or pleasing people to feel safe or valued.

In counselling, you begin to see the cost of that. The exhaustion, the quiet resentment, the sense of disappearing inside your own life. And slowly, you start practising something different. Maybe it’s pausing before agreeing to something, or saying “I need a moment,” or expressing a preference you’ve always swallowed down. These small boundaries can feel scary at first, but they’re also deeply empowering. Over time, you realise boundaries aren’t about pushing people away, they’re about staying connected without losing yourself. Counselling gives you the space to explore all of this gently, honouring who you’ve been while making room for who you’re becoming.

It’s okay if you don’t click with me.  

People often feel guilty about “trying someone else,” as if they’re being disloyal or ungrateful. But counselling is a deeply personal relationship, and not every counsellor is the right fit for every person. You’re not choosing a service, you’re choosing a connection, a space, a way of being with someone. Sometimes that fit is immediate, sometimes it takes time, and sometimes it’s simply not there. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to explore, to trust your instincts, and to find someone who feels right for you. If that isn’t me, there’s no awkwardness, no judgement, no hard feelings. You deserve a space where you feel safe, understood, and able to be yourself and part of my job is supporting you in finding that, even if it’s not with me.

You can ask questions.  

A lot of people don’t realise that therapy can be collaborative. You’re allowed to ask about the process, about why I’m doing something, or what a word or idea means. You can ask about me, too, within healthy boundaries because sometimes knowing a little about the person you’re sitting with helps you feel safer. You don’t have to sit quietly and hope you’re “doing it right.” There’s no right way. If something feels unclear, confusing, or even uncomfortable, you can bring it into the room. Your questions are welcome, and they help shape the work we do together.

Therapists don’t have it all figured out. (Yes, really!) 

It’s easy to imagine that I go home, meditate flawlessly, journal by candlelight, and never misplace my keys. The truth is far more human, I once spent ten minutes looking for a phone that was literally in my hand. I’m not a perfectly regulated, endlessly serene being. I’m a person, just like you, with my own history, trauma, feelings, and messy moments.

And I know that can put some people off. There’s a part of us that wants the therapist to be this calm, unshakeable, almost mythical creature who never slips up. But being human doesn’t make me less capable, it actually makes me more able to sit with you in your humanity. My imperfections don’t get in the way of the work, they remind me what it feels like to struggle, to learn, to grow, and to be gentle with myself. What does matter is that I have deep self‑awareness and I’ve trained intensely to understand trauma, the nervous system, attachment, and the many ways people adapt to survive. I know how to stay grounded when things feel big, how to listen beneath the surface, and how to hold space with steadiness and care. That’s the part you can rely on.

Perfection isn’t part of the job description, presence, empathy, and attunement are. And those are things I bring with me every time we sit together.

Above all, counselling is a place where you don’t have to pretend.

Above all, counselling is a place where you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be “fine.” You don’t have to hold everything together or find the right words. You’re allowed to arrive exactly as you are and how you've been feeling in those quiet moments, overwhelmed, exhausted, hopeful, numb, tangled up inside, or unsure of what you’re even feeling. Nothing about you needs to be polished or prepared.

In this space, your truth is welcome. Your silence is welcome. Your tears, your laughter, your frustration, your questions, all of it can be held without judgment. You don’t have to earn care or prove your worthiness. You simply get to be human, and be met with compassion rather than pressure.

That’s where healing begins, in the moments when you let yourself be seen, and discover that you’re still accepted.

How I look after myself..

I can’t speak for all counsellors, of course, but many of us look after ourselves in very real, very human ways. Many of us, including me, had our own counselling long before we ever trained, in fact, that’s what led me into this work. I know what it feels like to sit in the client’s chair, to feel nervous, angry, hopeful, unsure, and relieved all at once. I still feel all of those things in my own life too. Being a counsellor doesn’t make me immune to being human, it just means I’ve learned how to meet myself with a bit more compassion.

Alongside that, we have regular supervision, a supportive and confidential space where I reflect on my work with a trained supervisor so I can stay grounded, ethical, and clear in how I show up. We’re also required to complete ongoing CPD (continued professional development) every year, which keeps me learning, curious, and up to date, because none of us ever “arrive” or stop growing.

And as a somatic counsellor, I practise what I invite others to do. I come back to my body throughout the day, sometimes standing barefoot on the ground, taking slow breaths, or giving myself a moment to settle. Often you’ll find me walking up and down my drive in-between sessions, feeling the air, listening, smelling, even stamping to get energy moving, or out. I try to balance the serious with the playful and look for connection in the small moments. I don’t get it right all the time, and I don’t pretend to. I’m human first, counsellor second.

All of these things, my own therapy, supervision, continued learning, and embodied practices, help me to stay steady, present, and fully human in the room with you.

Disclaimer

The reflections and perspectives in this blog are offered to encourage emotional insight, personal growth, and compassionate exploration. They are intended for general information and self‑reflection only, and do not constitute or replace formal psychological assessment, diagnosis, or treatment.

If you are experiencing mental health concerns, distress, or significant emotional difficulty, please seek support from a licensed mental health practitioner or qualified healthcare provider who can offer personalised, evidence‑based care.

The insights shared here draw from trauma‑informed practice and professional experience, but they are not a substitute for professional judgment. Every growth journey is unique, and any tools or concepts offered should be considered thoughtfully and in collaboration with trusted professionals.

This blog does not recommend altering or discontinuing prescribed medications or treatment plans. All decisions regarding your health and care should be made in partnership with qualified practitioners who know your personal history and needs.

Above all, my intention is to honour your process, offer meaningful language for your inner world, and provide a space for reflection, not prescription.