There’s something I’ve been noticing more and more lately—in my work, in conversations, in my own life and in the quiet spaces in between. So many people are holding a lot. These times are trying. On the surface, life carries on. People are showing up, functioning, doing what needs to be done. But underneath, there’s often a very different experience—one that isn’t always shared or spoken about. A kind of silent pressure. A sense of barely holding it together. Listening to Ja

"If you don't become the ocean, you'll be seasick everyday." — Leonard Cohen There is something about this killer line that lands quietly and then keeps unfolding when I listen to it . It speaks to the human tendency to hold on tightly — to identities, roles, beliefs, and stories about who we are and how life should be. And it speaks to the cost of that holding. In therapy, I often meet people at the point where the holding has become exhausting. They are trying very hard to

It’s been just over a year since my dad died, and I keep finding him in songs. Not in any mystical way — but in the way a single chord, or the first few words of an old track, can suddenly pull you into a place that feels like both now and then. Music has always been part of my life, but this year it’s felt like something different — not just background noise or nostalgia, but a language I return to when words fall short. When I was younger, I’d sit for hours with my CD playe

I’ve always found that life has a way of nudging us forward, even when we’d quite like to stay put for a while. Our family’s move to Barcelona wasn’t part of a grand plan — more a gradual realisation that it was time to look for something new. Something that offered a bit more diversity, more possibility, and more space for everyone to grow. After many years in Ibiza, where I built my practice and raised my family, I started to feel the pull of a different kind of energy — so