A New Chapter: Moving from Ibiza to Barcelona

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 — something a little faster, more connected, and perhaps a bit messier too. The kind of place that reminds you that the world is wide and full of stories. Barcelona seemed to fit.

The beauty (and chaos) of transition

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about change, it’s that it rarely arrives neatly packaged. It’s exciting — and also completely disorienting. One moment you’re sure you’ve made the right choice, the next you’re wondering why you voluntarily dismantled a perfectly good life. You don't seem to be able to put your hand to anything, your sense of direction temporarily disappears, and you find yourself making friends with Google Maps all over again.

And yet — it’s in that chaos that something important happens. You start to see what you really value. You notice what grounds you, what you can let go of, and what you truly miss. Change is a sort of mirror; it shows you who you are when the familiar falls away.

Following the thread of possibility

Moving to a city like Barcelona feels like opening a window. There’s an energy here — creative, international, wonderfully alive — that matches the stage of life we’re in. For me, it’s about aligning personal and professional growth. For my family, it’s about access to opportunities that simply make sense now.

There’s also something deeply satisfying about choosing movement rather than waiting for it to happen to you. Change is rarely comfortable, but it’s often clarifying. It shakes the dust off assumptions and invites you to see what else might be possible.

I’m constantly reminded that we’re all navigating transitions of some kind — new jobs, new homes, new identities. Sometimes we choose them, sometimes they choose us. Either way, we get to decide how we meet them: with resistance or curiosity, fear or a slightly wobbly kind of courage.

On alignment (and accepting the wobble)

What I’ve come to appreciate — and what this move keeps teaching me — is that alignment doesn’t mean everything fits perfectly. It’s more like a moment of shared understanding, when all the separate parts of your life nod in agreement and say, “Yes, this feels right — for now.”

That “for now” matters. It allows space for the next chapter, the next unknown. It’s what keeps things alive.

We’ve found that kind of alignment here — a balance between stimulation and calm, between the familiar and the new. It doesn’t mean life has suddenly become easy or predictable (quite the opposite), but it does feel honest.

Why the risk is worth it

If you’re standing on the edge of a big change — wondering whether to leap or stay put — I can’t offer guarantees, only empathy. Change is uncomfortable. There are moments when you’ll long for your old routines, your favourite fitness class (The Loft how I miss you), or the feeling of knowing exactly where you’re going.

But there’s also something deeply human about risking comfort for growth. Each time we do, we expand what’s possible. We get a bit braver, a bit more adaptable, a bit more ourselves.

And if you’re ever curious about what it looks like to reinvent your life — or your outlook — in a city that celebrates difference and creativity, Barcelona is a good place to start. There’s even a school here, Learnlife, doing wonderful work reimagining how people learn — a nice reminder that growth doesn’t end when we leave the classroom.

For now, I’m still finding my feet — sometimes gracefully, sometimes not — but grateful for the chance to keep moving, keep learning, and keep saying yes to the next unknown.

What’s next

I’ll continue to keep a clinic on the island once a month — Ibiza still feels like home in many ways, and I’m grateful to stay connected to the community there. In Barcelona, I’m slowly exploring where I want to base myself long-term, with plans to open an office in early 2026.

I’m resisting the temptation to make everything happen at once. There’s something valuable in letting the city unfold a bit before deciding exactly where I want to land. For now, patience feels like its own kind of progress.