The Chair That Changed Everything (ADHD, Complex Trauma & Feeling Safe Enough to Be)
It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.
A chair.
But finding the right chair has genuinely made a huge difference to how I cope, how I work, and how I feel in my own space.
And if you’ve got ADHD, neurodivergent and/or complex trauma… you’ll probably get it.
Because this isn’t about furniture.
It’s about safety.
Regulation.
Being able to exist in your body without it screaming at you.
ADHD, Complex PTSD… and the body
When you live with ADHD, your nervous system is already seeking.
Seeking stimulation.
Seeking dopamine.
Seeking something to help you focus, settle, engage.
Add complex PTSD into the mix, and your body is also scanning.
Scanning for threat.
Scanning for discomfort.
Scanning for anything that doesn’t feel quite right.
So you’ve got this constant push-pull of:
“I need stimulation”
“I need to feel safe”
At the same time.
Which can feel exhausting.
And this is where the outside world, the environment, matters more than people realise.
The wrong setup = instant overwhelm
Hard chairs.
Stiff posture.
Nowhere to move.
I don’t last five minutes.
My body gets agitated.
I start fidgeting more.
My focus goes.
I get hot, irritated, distracted.
And then the shame creeps in…
“Why can’t I just sit still like everyone else?”
But it’s not about willpower.
It’s about what my nervous system needs.
The right chair?
Game changer.
Soft enough to feel held.
Big enough to sit cross-legged.
Space to move, shift, fidget.
Supportive without being restrictive.
A place where I can curl up, ground myself, or stretch out a bit when I need to.
It means my body isn’t fighting me while I’m trying to think, feel, listen or work.
And that frees up so much energy.
Why this matters (especially in therapy)
When the body feels safer, the mind can follow.
If I’m sitting there uncomfortable, restricted, overstimulated or under-supported…
I’m not fully present.
And if I’m not fully present, I’m not able to do the work I care so deeply about.
The same goes for clients.
That’s why my space isn’t clinical.
It’s:
Big comfy sofas
Chairs you can move in
Space to sit how you want
Cross-legged? Fine.
Curled up? Fine.
Feet tucked under you? Fine.
You don’t have to sit “properly” to be taken seriously.
Little things that aren’t little
This is something I talk about a lot.
Because people underestimate how much these “small” external things matter.
However, for ADHD and trauma?
They’re not small.
They’re the difference between:
Being able to stay
Or needing to leave
Being able to focus
Or completely switching off
Being able to feel
Or shutting it all down
It’s not just the chair
It’s the whole environment.
The drink in your hand.
The warmth.
The ability to move.
The freedom to be yourself without being corrected.
It all sends a message to your nervous system:
You’re okay here.
And when you feel okay?
That’s when things start to shift.
From “what’s wrong with me?” to “what do I need?”
For years, I thought I was the problem.
Too fidgety.
Too restless.
Too much.
Now I know better.
I don’t need to force myself into environments that don’t work for me.
I need to create environments that support me.
That chair is part of that.
And it might sound simple… yet it’s been powerful.
If you relate…
Look at your environment.
Not with judgement, with curiosity.
What helps your body feel supported?
What makes things harder?
What could you tweak, even slightly?
Because regulation isn’t just something we do internally.
It’s something we build externally too.
And sometimes?
It starts with something as simple as a chair.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care,
Louise x
Associates link to the one i bought ☺️
Resetting Relationships: Dating Again, But This Time With Intention
Whether you’re stepping back into dating after a breakup, a divorce, loss… or even choosing to “date again” within a long-term relationship, there’s something really important to understand:
We don’t have to repeat old patterns.
But we do have to become intentional.
What does “intentional dating” actually mean?
It’s not about playing games.
Not about ticking boxes.
Not about rushing into something to fill a gap.
It’s about slowing things down enough to really see the person in front of you.
And letting them see you too.
Because connection isn’t built on chemistry alone, it’s built on understanding.
What I’ve learned (and use) from
John Gottman
and
The Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work
Healthy relationships aren’t about perfection.
They’re about how we show up with each other over time.
Some of the most important foundations?
1. Get to know their world (and let them know yours)
Gottman calls these “love maps.”
It’s not just:
“What do you do for work?”
It’s:
What stresses you out?
What lights you up?
What’s your history with relationships?
What do you need when things feel hard?
We often assume we know people early on.
We don’t.
Stay curious.
2. Small moments matter more than big gestures
Relationships are built in the everyday.
A message.
A check-in.
A “thinking of you.”
Gottman talks about “bids for connection” those small attempts we make to connect.
And the key?
Turning towards them.
Not ignoring.
Not dismissing.
Not missing them.
3. Be clear, not clever
No mind-reading.
No guessing games.
Say what you mean:
“I’d like to see you more”
“I need reassurance sometimes”
“I struggle with trust because of my past”
It’s vulnerable.
But it’s honest.
And honesty builds safety.
4. Learn how each other does conflict
Because it will happen.
Not all conflict is bad.
But how we handle it matters.
Can you stay respectful?
Can you listen without jumping in?
Can you repair after a wobble?
You’re not looking for someone you never disagree with.
You’re looking for someone you can disagree safely with.
5. Notice the red flags… and the green ones
We’re often hyper-aware of what’s wrong.
But what about what’s right?
Do you feel calmer around them?
Do they listen?
Do they take accountability?
Do they respect your boundaries?
That matters.
A lot.
6. Don’t abandon yourself to make it work
This is a big one.
If you’re twisting, shrinking, over-giving, second-guessing…
That’s information.
Healthy relationships don’t require you to stop being you.
They make space for you.
7. Go at a pace that feels safe
You don’t need to rush.
You don’t need to “lock it in.”
You’re allowed to:
Take your time
Check in with yourself
Change your mind
Intentional dating is not about urgency.
It’s about alignment.
Why this matters
Because many of us didn’t learn this growing up.
We learned:
To people-please
To ignore red flags
To chase unavailable people
To stay quiet to keep the peace
So of course dating can feel confusing.
Overwhelming.
Even unsafe at times.
This time, you get to do it differently
With awareness.
With boundaries.
With honesty.
And with someone who meets you there.
Final thought
You’re not looking for perfect.
You’re looking for real, safe, respectful connection.
And that starts with how you show up.
Intentional.
Curious.
Grounded in yourself.
If you’re navigating dating, relationships, or trying to reset old patterns, this is something we can explore together. Either individually or as a couple, you don’t have to do it alone.
Because you don’t have to keep repeating what hurt you.
You can build something different.
Stay safe, stay connected and take gentle care,
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
When the Past Isn’t Past: Trauma, Pregnancy & Birth (Even Years Later)
I was watching Virgin River the other day.
There was a storyline around polyhydramnios.
And just like that… I wasn’t on my sofa anymore.
I was back there.
My son is nearly 28.
And it hit my body like it was yesterday.
The fear.
The aloneness.
The not knowing what was going to happen next.
Without going into detail… I nearly died.
My mum sat by my side after being told it was touch and go whether I would live. The trauma and fear she must have felt, the kids dad too. Powerless.
“Yet that was years ago…”
Yes.
And also… no.
Because trauma doesn’t work in timelines.
Trauma is anything the brain couldn’t fully process at the time.
And pregnancy and childbirth?
They can be full of moments like that.
Medical emergencies
Loss of control
Fear for your life or your baby’s
Not being heard
Not understanding what’s happening
Being left alone in moments you needed someone
Even when everything “turns out okay” on paper…
The body might tell a different story.
Why it can come back years later
You might not think about it for years.
Then something small triggers it:
A TV show
A conversation
A smell
A hospital setting
Even your own child reaching a certain age
And suddenly…
Your heart is racing.
Your chest is tight.
You feel emotional, shaky, overwhelmed.
And it can feel confusing.
“Why is this coming up now?”
Because that part of you is still there.
Not broken.
Not dramatic.
Just… unprocessed.
This isn’t just about “near death”
We often think trauma has to be extreme.
It doesn’t.
Trauma is subjective.
It’s about what your nervous system experienced as too much.
That could be:
A difficult labour
Feeling dismissed by medical professionals
An emergency C-section
Birth not going to plan
Postnatal complications
Feeling unsupported or alone
Fear, confusion, or overwhelm
All of that can stay in the body.
And it’s not just the person giving birth
Partners too.
They often:
Feel helpless
Powerless
Terrified
Like they have to “stay strong”
And there’s very little space for them to process that.
I’ve sat with partners who still carry those moments years later.
What helped me in that moment
I didn’t push it away.
I didn’t tell myself to “get over it.”
I noticed it.
I slowed down.
And I met that younger, vulnerable part of me with compassion.
Not judgement.
Not frustration.
Just:
“That was a lot. No wonder it still lives in me.”
Because this is the truth
You don’t just “move on” from things your body hasn’t processed.
You carry them.
Until something, or someone, helps you gently look at them.
How therapy can help
You don’t have to relive every detail.
You don’t even have to have the “right words.”
We can:
Work with what your body remembers
Notice triggers and responses
Gently process what feels safe to explore
Bring understanding to reactions that feel confusing
Reduce the intensity of those emotional waves
At your pace.
Always.
If this resonates
You’re not alone.
You’re not overreacting.
And you’re definitely not “making a fuss.”
Your body did exactly what it was designed to do, protect you.
It just hasn’t had the chance to fully stand down yet.
Even after all these years, I can feel it.
However, now?
I can also hold it.
With compassion.
With understanding.
Without shame.
And that changes everything.
If pregnancy, birth, or anything around that time still feels “alive” in you… even years later…
I see you.
It makes sense.
And it’s something we can gently work through, together.
Stay safe, stay connected, take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
ADHD, Fidgeting & Why It Actually Helps (Not Hinders)
If you’ve ever been told to “stop fidgeting,” you’ll know how bloody frustrating that is… especially when fidgeting is the very thing helping you stay present.
For many people with ADHD, fidgeting isn’t a bad habit.
It’s regulation.
Why we fidget (stim/self-soothe)
ADHD brains are driven by dopamine. When there isn’t enough stimulation, the brain looks for ways to create it.
That’s where fidgeting comes in.
Tapping a pen.
Twisting a ring.
Doodling.
Playing with something in your hands.
It’s not distraction, it’s support.
You’re giving your brain just enough input to:
Stay focused
Stay calm
Stay engaged
This is often called stimming (self-stimulatory behaviour), and it’s a completely natural way the nervous system regulates itself, especially in ADHD and autism.
When we can’t fidget
This is the bit people don’t always see.
When we’re expected to sit still, hands quiet, body still…
That internal discomfort can ramp up fast.
Restlessness
Irritation
Anxiety
Losing focus completely
Your brain is basically saying:
“I need something to hold onto here.”
Without it, everything becomes harder.
Fidgets = regulation, not distraction
The right fidget can:
Reduce anxiety
Improve concentration
Help with emotional regulation
Keep you grounded in conversations or tasks
It’s not about keeping your hands busy for the sake of it, it’s about supporting your nervous system.
My go-to adult fidgets
Not all fidgets are created equal, and what works for one person might drive another mad (scratchy textures… absolutely not for me).
Some of my favourites: (i’ll post some amazon affiliate links below)
Smooth spinner rings
Soft putty or thinking clay
Clicky pens (but not too loud!)
Stress balls with a bit of resistance
Fidget cubes (with quieter settings)
Doodling with gel pens or fineliners
Fabric textures (hoodie strings, soft materials)
And honestly? Sometimes it’s just a good pen and paper.
It’s about what works for you
There’s no “right” fidget.
Some people need movement.
Some need texture.
Some need something visual.
The key is finding something that:
Feels good in your hands
Doesn’t overwhelm your senses
Helps you stay present
Final thought
Fidgeting isn’t something to “fix.”
It’s something to understand and work with.
So if you’ve spent years trying to sit still and feeling like you’re failing…
You’re not.
Your brain just works differently.
And sometimes, the smallest things, something to hold, to move, to feel, can make the biggest difference.
Find what works for you. Your nervous system will thank you.
stay safe, stay connected and take gentle care
Louise x
Just to be really transparent, I’ll pop some links to the bits I like & use, and they’ll be Amazon affiliate links, so I may earn a small commission if you choose to buy through them. Absolutely no pressure though, and I always say shop around, a bargain is a brilliant little dopamine hit in itself
Nestling 30Pcs Fidget Pack
PILPOC theFube Fidget Cube https://amzn.to/4sK2fYP
Fidget Chain
Fidget Gel Pens
3Pcs Fidget Toys Cube Toy Sensory Toy, Fidget Pad, Fidget Controller Stress Reducer, Infinity Cube, Stress Anxiety Relief
Magnetic Metal Fidget
HOTUT Fidget Slider
Sensory Stone: 6pcs Textured Worry Stone
Spinner with 360° Rotation
Anxiety Ring, Mens Black Gear Spinner Rings
ONO Roller Black - (The Original) Handheld Fidget Toy for Adults
Metal Poker Fidget Slider
Magnetic Fidget Balls
Transformable Sensory Fidget Spinner
https://amzn.to/4cUCz5V
Penitue 3-in-1 Fidget Toy for Adults
Rotating Cube Bead Orbit Ball Maze Ball Fidget Hand Spinner Sensory Toys Anxiety and Stress Relief
TOSY Magnet Fidget Spinner Mini - 8 blocks, 3 in 1
TOSY Magnet Fidget Spinner Glow - 16 blocks, 3in1 Toy: Transformable Fidget Spinner, Infinity/Puzzle Cube
SCIONE 2PCS Fidget Spinner Rainbow Sensory Fidget
Rainbow dragon ball fidget
510pcs Ferrite Putty Fidget
WATERELF Multichromatic Illusion Putty
Therapy Exercise Putty 5 Strengths
Strength Doesn’t Need to Humiliate
I watched the new documentary by Louis Theroux about the manosphere. As always, he does what he does best. I thought long and hard before writing this. I questioned what people may think. Due to my past, could I be informed rather than bias? Who might I offend? See the problem? The trauma doesnt just go away. I had to challenge that. I had to step up and hold the hurt part of me tight and say that its ok, write.
So Mr Theroux, He doesn’t storm in arguing.
He doesn’t shout people down.
He sits quietly, asks simple questions, and gives people enough space to talk.
And when people talk long enough… the mask tends to slip.
As a therapist, and also as a woman, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother and a friend, watching it stirred up a lot of thoughts for me.
Because while programmes like this can make it look like the behaviour belongs to a loud corner of the internet, the reality I see in the therapy room is often very different.
This attitude doesn’t just live on podcasts and social media clips.
It lives in homes.
In relationships.
In everyday language.
I sit with people, women and men who have experienced the impact of this thinking. Being belittled, dismissed, slowly eroded by the way they are spoken to.
Words like thick.
Stupid.
Useless.
Sometimes framed as jokes. Sometimes said in anger. Sometimes repeated so often they become normalised.
HOWEVER, they are NOT normal.
They are NOT harmless.
And when children grow up hearing those words, watching one parent belittle the other, absorbing the tone and the dynamic, something important happens.
They learn.
Children don’t learn respect from lectures.
They learn it from what they see.
If a father belittles a partner while declaring that the children come first and will have everything they want, those children are still absorbing something powerful:
That this is how men behave.
That this is how women are spoken to.
That power looks like humiliation.
And that becomes the template.
We only really understand boundaries and respect when we experience them being modelled.
Something else that stood out in the documentary was how much of the “alpha male” image felt like performance.
The expensive cars.
The talk of dominance.
The constant references to status and control.
It often looks less like strength and more like theatre designed for an audience, particularly young men who are still trying to work out who they are.
Another theme was the way anger towards women is being packaged as empowerment.
Instead of encouraging responsibility, growth, emotional maturity or partnership, resentment is being sold as wisdom.
Women are framed as the problem.
And underneath all that bravado, what you often sense is insecurity.
The louder the chest beating, the more fragile it sometimes appears.
True confidence does not need to degrade women.
It doesn’t need an audience to validate it.
And it certainly doesn’t need to humiliate someone else in order to feel powerful.
What concerns me most is the impact on the next generation.
Millions of young boys are consuming this content. They’re being told that relationships are battles. That women are opponents. That status and dominance define masculinity.
At the same time, young girls are absorbing messages about what they should tolerate.
Social media has an enormous emotional influence on developing identities.
Which is why what we model at home matters so much.
Children need boundaries.
They need to learn manners.
They need to learn respect for other people’s perspectives.
They need to understand that time, effort and kindness are valuable, not something to take for granted.
They also need to learn how to become independent human beings who contribute to society, not grow up believing they are entitled to everything.
Partners deserve dignity and respect.
Children deserve the safety of being children, learning, making mistakes, observing the adults around them.
They are not our friends.
They are not mini adults.
And they absorb every nuance of how we treat each other.
For the people who have been on the receiving end of this kind of behaviour, the answer is not blame or judgement.
It is compassion.
Time.
Understanding.
And support to rebuild confidence and boundaries that may have been slowly worn down.
We should be empowering vulnerable women.
And we should also be helping men who want to change, grow and build healthier relationships.
Because the truth is, masculinity does not need to be aggressive to be strong.
Strength can look like kindness.
Respect.
Accountability.
Emotional maturity.
And perhaps the quiet brilliance of people like Louis Theroux reminds us of something important.
You don’t need to dominate the room to reveal the truth.
Sometimes you just need to sit calmly and let people show you who they really are.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise ❤️🩹
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
I’m Not Thick, I Just Learn Differently (ADHD, Dopamine & Finding What Actually Works)
For years, I thought I couldn’t study.
Not in a dramatic way. Just a quiet, heavy belief sitting in the background.
Other people can do this. I can’t.
I’d sit there with textbooks, lined paper, scratchy pens, information that felt overwhelming… and my brain would just go nope.
And when people see you as intelligent, that makes it even harder.
Because the message becomes:
“Just get on with it.”
“You’re overthinking.”
So the shame creeps in.
But here’s what I know now:
I’m not thick.
I was never thick.
Nobody had shown me how to learn in a way that actually worked for my brain.
Because with ADHD, external things matter. A lot.
We are driven by dopamine. It’s not a preference — it’s how our brains regulate attention, motivation and engagement.
So if something feels dull, uncomfortable, scratchy, overwhelming or visually chaotic…
We’re not being dramatic.
Our brain literally goes offline.
The sensory side of learning (that nobody talks about enough)
People often ask about my notes and setup, and honestly, it’s not just aesthetic.
It’s survival.
Paper?
Has to be decent quality. Over 80gsm minimum. My sweet spot is 100gsm or more.
Thin, flimsy paper where the pen drags or bleeds through?
Absolutely not.
That alone can send me into overwhelm.
And notebooks?
Dotted. Always dotted.
Lines feel restrictive and busy. Blank pages can feel too open. Dotted sits perfectly in the middle, structure without overwhelm.
Sizes depend on what I’m doing:
A tiny one in my bag (because thoughts don’t wait)
A5 for planning and formulation
A4 for bigger subjects (though that can feel overwhelming at first)
A5 is my comfort zone. A4 is my “get it all out” space.
Pens (yes… they matter more than you think)
If a pen scratches, skips, or doesn’t glide?
Game over.
I get hot. Stressed. Irritated.
And suddenly I’m hyperfocused on the pen, not the learning.
So I use what works:
Sharpie S-Gel pens (they glide, no resistance)
Micron pens (thin tips, smooth, satisfying)
That smoothness = less friction = more focus.
Colour, structure & dopamine
I use colour. A lot.
Not because it looks pretty (although it does)… but because:
It keeps my brain engaged
It helps information stick
It gives me tiny dopamine hits while I’m learning
I also use my own version of Cornell note-taking, adapted to suit me.
Because my brain likes:
Knowing what it’s looking for
Having a clear place to put information
Being able to go back and instantly see key points
If it’s visually overwhelming, I won’t use it again.
If it’s clear and pleasing? I’ll come back to it.
Organisation (without overwhelm)
ADHD brains often want everything.
All the pens. All the colours. All the options.
Which can quickly turn into chaos.
So I’ve found what works for me:
Upright pencil cases that unzip and turn into pen pots.
They stand up.
They contain the chaos.
They limit how much I carry.
One for writing tools and highlighters.
One for colouring/doodling.
No piles. No overwhelm. Just enough.
The way I actually study
Here’s the honest bit.
I cannot write an essay over several days.
If I stop, I can lose the thread completely. I can go to the loo, come back and have totally lost my thought process…like..where on earth was I going with that head scratching confused type moment!
So I do it in one go.
Always have.
I used to feel so much shame about that.
Weeks to complete something… and I’d leave it until the last minute.
Now?
I understand it.
That last-minute energy = dopamine + adrenaline.
So instead of fighting it for weeks…
I work with it.
And guess what?
It gets done.
Learning environments matter too
Head → screen → page?
Hard.
Really hard.
So I ask for slides in advance.
Because trying to listen, process, and write at the same time? Overwhelm central.
And long, text-heavy PowerPoints?
If someone stands there reading them out…
I switch off.
Completely.
I want:
Visual prompts
Examples
Discussion
Engagement
Not something I could have just read at home.
Movement, fidgeting & being allowed to be me
I fidget.
I move.
I need breaks.
And when that’s welcomed instead of shut down?
Everything changes.
That’s why my workshops and teaching are neuro-affirming.
You can move.
Fidget.
Sit how you want.
Use what you need.
Because that’s how learning actually happens for many of us.
The biggest shift
The biggest shift wasn’t the pens or the paper.
It was this:
Realising there was nothing wrong with me.
I just learn differently.
Since then?
I’ve completed:
CPCAB Level 2
Level 3
Level 4 (2 years)
A counselling degree alongside it
Bessel Va De Kolks Trauma course
Rewind therapy
Couples
Solution focused
Single session therapy
Children & young people
Sexual abuse training
Narcissistic relationship & domestic abuse trainings
Groups & workshop training
Creative interventions pathway
Clinical supervision training
IFS
TA
Coaching
Sex & kink therapy
Inner child
And so so so many other trainings since.
Thats not to be big headed, although I am proud! Its to share with you that this only happened because one incredible professor showed me another way.
She introduced me to different learning styles and Cornell note-taking.
That was my turning point.
Why I share this
Because I wish someone had told me sooner.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not “too much”.
You just haven’t been shown what works for your brain yet.
And when you find it?
Everything changes.
You don’t just cope.
You start to enjoy learning.
And that’s exactly why I share this loud and proud.
Because there is another way.
And you’re absolutely capable of finding yours.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
Just to be really transparent, I’ll pop some links to the bits I use, and they’ll be Amazon affiliate links, so I may earn a small commission if you choose to buy through them. Absolutely no pressure though, and I always say shop around, a bargain is a brilliant little dopamine hit in itself 😄 I’ve tried the cheaper versions of things like S-Gel pens before and honestly… they ended up costing me more because they just didn’t hit the same. So for me, S-Gels, Mildliners and Sharpies are pretty much non-negotiable at this point… unless someone has a hidden gem they want to recommend 🤣
s gel pens set 12 - https://amzn.to/4c6Wga4
S gel pens set 3 - https://amzn.to/48lBfY1
Sakura Pigma Micron Black & Gold Edition fineliner set | 6 sizes, black - https://amzn.to/4bWGwrk
Pigma Sakura Micron Wallet - 6 - Black - https://amzn.to/4vg5J7x
SAKURA Pigma Micron 05 Fineliner Set of 9 Colors | Waterproof Ink, Size 05 (0.45 mm) | Pens for Writing, Drawing & Journaling - https://amzn.to/4siXEfK
Sharpie Permanent Markers | Fine Point | Assorted Fun Colours | 18 Count - https://amzn.to/4sYplfb
Sharpie Glam Pop Permanent Markers | Fine Point for Bold Details | Assorted Vibrant Colours | 24 Marker Pens - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CV64LWDR/ref=cm_sw_r_as_gl_api_gl_i_VN11JK88M2EDXMDE6YP2?linkCode=ml1&tag=louisemalya02-21&linkId=8ff550f063d19f0eba9eceb81a44693c
Sharpie Permanent Markers | Ultra Fine Point for Precise Marks | Assorted Colours | 12 Marker Pens - https://amzn.to/3OmZzSF
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The Guilt Gap (or… why I thought I was failing everyone when actually I wasn’t)
Reading Steven Bartlett post got me thinking….
I wasn’t on a plane across five continents.
But I have had those days, and weeks, where life feels just as full, just as pulled in every direction.
Work.
Clients.
Family.
My husband.
My children.
The dogs.
The house.
Myself (somewhere in there… supposedly).
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, that familiar feeling creeps in.
Guilt.
Not just a little bit either, the layered kind.
The “I haven’t replied to that message.”
The “I should have called.”
The “I’ve not been present enough.”
The “I said I’d do that and I haven’t.”
The “shit, I didnt blog last week.”
The “I’m doing well in one area but dropping the ball in another.”
And if you’ve got ADHD like me, that guilt can get amplified.
Because when I lock into something, work, writing, creating, supporting clients, I lock in.
Everything else goes quiet.
Not because I don’t care.
Not because it doesn’t matter.
But because my brain has gone, “Right, this is the thing now.”
And everything else gets muted until something, or someone, brings it back into focus.
Which can often look like:
“Why haven’t you replied?”
“You’ve gone quiet.”
“Are you okay?”
Cue… more guilt.
I started really thinking about this recently.
Because how is it possible to be doing meaningful work, showing up for people, building a life you care about…
And still feel like you’re somehow failing at it?
Part of it, I think, is that we’re trying to meet expectations that don’t actually exist in the way we think they do.
We carry this invisible pressure to be everything, all at once, at 100%.
Present partner.
Available mum.
Reliable friend.
Consistent professional.
Organised human.
Self-care guru who drinks water and stretches daily (I mean… let’s not get carried away).
It’s too much.
And when everything feels like it needs 100%, we end up feeling like we’re giving 50% everywhere.
Which then feeds the guilt.
But here’s something I’ve been gently learning, and it’s changed things for me.
There’s often a gap between what people actually need from us… and what we think they need from us.
I call it the guilt gap.
For example, I might think:
“I haven’t spent enough time with my husband.”
When actually, what he needs is connection, not hours of perfectly planned time.
A chat.
A laugh.
A moment of being together.
I might think:
“I haven’t been a good enough friend.”
When actually, what matters is a message that says, “I’m thinking of you.”
Not a three-hour catch-up I’ve been putting off because I can’t find the “perfect” time.
Same with family.
Same with myself.
And this is something I talk about in therapy a lot too.
Because many of us are holding ourselves to standards that are not only unrealistic, they’re unnecessary.
When we strip it back, what people often need is much simpler.
Consistency over perfection.
Connection over quantity.
Presence over pressure.
And when we understand that, something shifts.
The guilt softens.
We stop avoiding things because they feel too big.
And we start doing the small things that actually matter.
A message.
A check-in.
A cup of tea together.
A moment of eye contact.
Those “little” things are often the big things.
And this isn’t about lowering standards or not caring.
It’s about being realistic.
Human.
Kind to ourselves.
Because the truth is, life isn’t lived in neat boxes.
It’s messy.
It overlaps.
It pulls us in different directions.
And we’re allowed to navigate that imperfectly.
So these days, I try to ask myself:
What actually matters here?
What does this person really need from me?
What do I need?
Not the 100% version.
The real version.
And more often than not… it’s less than I thought.
Which means I can actually show up more.
Less guilt.
More presence.
And a lot more breathing space in between.
If you relate to this, you’re not alone.
And you’re probably doing better than you think.
Stay safe, stay connected, take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
Link to Steven Bartlett’s mentioned post - https://www.facebook.com/share/1E6LVDRB5h/?mibextid=wwXIfr
Mother’s Day Is Coming....and It’s Complicated
Mother’s Day is two days away.
This will be my first one without my mum.
And I’ll be honest, the reminders have been brutal. The emails. The adverts. The cheerful prompts telling me it’s time to order the perfect card. The ones from Moonpig especially seem to find their way into my inbox with relentless enthusiasm.
“Don’t forget Mum.”
If only it were that simple.
Grief has a strange way of sneaking up in everyday moments. I still find myself going to pick up the phone to tell her something. Something funny, something annoying, something ordinary.
Then there’s that split second where reality catches up.
People who have lived with this for years will know that feeling well.
And Mother’s Day doesn’t only hold grief for people who have lost their mums. It can bring up so many different kinds of loss.
For those whose mums are no longer here.
For those who are estranged.
For those who longed to become mothers but couldn’t.
For those grieving complicated relationships.
For those parenting without the support they needed themselves.
It’s everywhere this time of year.
Love, yes.
But also loss.
Grief has many shapes. Sometimes we grieve someone who has died. Sometimes we grieve someone who is still alive but cannot be the parent we needed. Sometimes we grieve the relationship we wish we had.
In therapy we often call this unfinished business, the feelings, conversations, or questions that never quite had a place to land.
That’s something we can gently explore together.
Not to fix it. Grief isn’t something that gets fixed.
But to make space for it.
To understand it.
To say the things that were never said.
To hold the love and the pain at the same time.
Because that’s often what grief actually is.
Love with nowhere obvious to go.
Mother’s Day can also feel particularly confusing when you have children of your own.
You’re grieving your mum.
And at the same time you’re someone else’s mum.
Those emotions can sit right next to each other, pride, sadness, love, longing, and they can feel like they’re fighting for space.
I’m still figuring out what this weekend looks like for me.
Right now, what I know is this:
I’ll see my children.
I’ll honour my mum in whatever way feels right in the moment.
I’ll probably spend time with the puppies, because being their pup mumma counts too.
And I had a conversation with my husband about all of this. I explained that I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to feel on the day.
His response was exactly what I needed to hear.
He said he’d meet me wherever I am at. That he wouldn’t expect anything, wouldn’t push anything. That he’d simply wait for me to say what I needed, and if I wanted him there, he’d come with me.
Sometimes the greatest kindness someone can offer is simply not trying to fix it.
Just being there.
Today is Friday, and after a couple of early morning clients I’ve given myself the rest of the day gently. Crafting. Walking the dogs. Maybe a gym swim. Moules and chips for dinner.
If I do all of it, some of it, or none of it…
That’s okay.
You can’t plan grief.
You can only meet it as it comes.
If this weekend feels heavy for you too, a few gentle things that might help:
Take a break from the constant reminders if you need to.
Step outside, nature has a quiet way of holding us when emotions feel big.
Write a letter to the person you miss, even if it’s just for you.
Light a candle.
Cook their favourite meal.
Tell a story about them.
Or simply rest.
However you feel on the day is allowed.
Right now, just knowing that feels like enough.
Take gentle care of yourselves this weekend.
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
Neurodivergent? The grief we don't talk about.
There’s a kind of grief around neurodivergence that people don’t often talk about.
Not because we don’t love neurodivergent minds.
Not because we don’t see the brilliance.
But because the world still has a very narrow idea of what success is supposed to look like.
Exam results.
Top sets.
Predicted grades.
University pathways.
A constant language of “achievement”.
And if you don’t fit neatly into that system, it can leave a mark.
I know that feeling personally.
At school I struggled to revise and learn the way other people seemed able to. I could understand things, think deeply about things, talk about things, yet when it came to sitting down and revising or showing it on paper, something just didn’t work the same way.
From the outside people saw an intelligent person.
Which meant the response was often:
“Just get on with it.”
“You’re making a fuss.”
“You’re capable, stop overthinking.”
When people think you’re intelligent but you’re struggling anyway, the assumption is that you’re not trying hard enough.
That’s where the shame creeps in.
Because how do you explain something you can’t fully explain yourself?
How do you put words to the frustration of knowing your brain works… just not always in the way the system expects?
Processing speed matters in exams.
The bell rings before the work is finished.
The test ends before the thoughts are fully down on paper.
The class moves on while your brain is still carefully piecing together step one.
So you try harder.
You push.
You mask.
You pretend you’re fine.
And often you carry that quiet feeling of being less than, even when you know deep down that isn’t true.
When I speak to parents of neurodivergent children now, I sometimes see a very particular emotional landscape.
They adore their child. They see their strengths, their creativity, their kindness, their unique way of seeing the world.
But alongside that pride there can also be a quiet ache.
Because the world keeps measuring success using a ruler that was never designed for their child’s mind.
So when other families are celebrating top grades, scholarships and academic prizes, sometimes the celebrations look different.
You celebrate resilience.
You celebrate perseverance.
You celebrate the courage it takes to walk back into school tomorrow and try again.
Those things rarely appear on certificates.
And sometimes when you want to proudly show a piece of work your child has done, there’s that tiny pause inside.
Because comparison sits in the room even when nobody says a word.
For some parents there’s another layer too.
They recognise pieces of their own childhood in what their child is experiencing. The same struggles. The same misunderstandings. The same comments about “trying harder”.
When we hold our babies for the first time, we quietly hope the world will be kinder to them than it was to us.
That school will understand them better.
And when the same patterns start appearing, that can bring its own kind of ache.
Psychology actually has words for these emotional spaces.
One is ambiguous loss, a type of grief where nothing has physically gone, but expectations or imagined futures shift over time.
Another is chronic sorrow, which describes waves of sadness that come and go across the years, often triggered by moments like exam seasons, school reports or parents’ evenings.
Both can sit alongside enormous love and pride.
Because these feelings are not opposites.
You can love someone completely as they are.
And still feel sadness about the systems they have to navigate.
I also know now that the things I once felt ashamed of weren’t flaws.
They were differences.
And those differences shaped the work I do today, the patience I have with people, the curiosity about how minds work, and the refusal to reduce someone’s worth to a grade or a neat definition of success.
Our children, and the adults they become, are not the problem.
The problem is a world that still struggles to recognise intelligence, creativity, empathy and resilience when they appear in forms it didn’t expect.
And one day, hopefully, we’ll learn to measure those things too.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
Mum. A tribute on international women's day.
A Tribute to My Mum
3.9.59 – 14.9.25
I felt compelled to write an extra blog today. A real personal reflection. It being international women’s day. To the woman who shaped my life.
There are some people in life whose influence never really leaves. Even when they’re no longer physically here, they remain woven into everything you are.
For me, that person is my mum.
I am here because of her. Not just in the obvious sense of life itself, but in the deeper ways too. The way I see the world. The way I care about people. The way I show up for others.
Her legacy lives quietly in so much of what I do.
She believed in people. She believed in kindness. She believed that when someone is struggling, the most powerful thing you can offer is to simply be there, to listen, to support, to care.
One of the last things she said to me has stayed with me every single day since.
Never stop supporting those who need you. We get it. Be what we didn’t have.
That conversation held so much.
It’s about compassion.
It’s about understanding pain without turning away from it.
It’s about using our experiences to create something better for others.
Those words sit at the heart of the work I do. Every client I sit with, every conversation, every moment of care, she is part of that. Her influence lives on in ways she may never have fully realised. She was so proud of me. Of all her 3 children actually. And we knew it.
I am endlessly grateful for her.
Grateful for the love she gave, the lessons she taught, and the strength she showed. Grateful that a piece of her continues through the way I live, the way I work, and the way I try to show up in the world. In awe of her story and journey. Of our story and journey. Of the strength and courage she passed to me, and my siblings. She drummed into each other we only have each other, to sort it out & forgive quickly when necessary. Between us, we have always practiced this. Our love is strong. Thank you mum.
Love like that doesn’t disappear.
It carries forward.
So this is for you, Mum.
Thank you for everything you gave me. Gave us.
Thank you for shaping the person I am.
Thank you for trusting me to carry those values forward.
Your legacy lives on.
Love you Mum.
Until next time
Don’t forget.
Louise x
International Women’s Day (and a Bump on My Head)
Today is International Women's Day.
And like many things in life, it has had me reflecting.
On the incredible women I’m surrounded by, clients, counsellors, friends, family. Women who carry more than most people ever see. Women who keep going through grief, trauma, motherhood, menopause, loss, joy, growth, work, relationships and everything else life throws at them.
I am endlessly proud of them.
Not in a distant, professional way. In a real way.
Because here’s something people don’t always realise about therapists.
Yes, we think about our clients outside the therapy room.
Not in an intrusive or unhealthy way. Not in a “they take over our lives” way. Just in a human way.
When you sit with someone week after week while they unpack parts of their life that they may never have said out loud before… they matter. Their story matters. Their growth matters.
If someone tells me they did something brave that week, set a boundary, spoke their truth, rested when they needed to, I feel proud of them.
And I tell them.
Often.
Because hearing “I’m proud of you” can be life changing if you’ve rarely heard it before.
Therapy, for me, isn’t about sitting silently pretending I’m a blank slate. It’s relational. It’s human. If something is brilliant, I’ll say it. If something is hard, messy, or, let’s be honest…. a bit shit, I’ll say that too.
Not with judgement. With honesty.
I adore this work.
And today, while we’re celebrating women, I also want to acknowledge the men.
The men who come to therapy and sit down opposite me, sometimes with visible discomfort because society hasn’t always made it easy for them to talk about feelings. The men who push through that anyway. The men who cry, reflect, question themselves, and grow.
What a privilege that is.
It’s also a day that reminds me of the men in my life, the ones who support, encourage, listen, laugh, and occasionally shake their heads at my endless stream of ideas.
Celebrating women doesn’t mean excluding men. It means recognising strength, resilience and humanity wherever it shows up.
And for me, that shows up every single day in my work.
Clients who think they’re “not doing very well” when in reality they’re doing something incredibly brave, facing themselves.
Counsellor colleagues who support each other, challenge each other, lift each other up.
Friends who show up in the messy middle of life.
Family who love us through all our chapters.
We don’t celebrate each other enough. We don’t say the things we feel out loud often enough.
So I try to.
If I’m proud of someone, I’ll say it.
If someone inspires me, I’ll say it.
If someone has done something difficult, I’ll recognise it.
Communication matters. Appreciation matters.
And modelling that is part of how I work too.
Because when people feel seen and valued, something shifts inside them.
Today, however, I’m celebrating in a very glamorous way.
I’m out walking with my husband and the puppies… with a rather impressive bump on my head from cleaning out a cupboard yesterday. Apparently housework is now officially hazardous to my health.
So I’ve decided the safest option today is fresh air, dogs, sunshine if we’re lucky, and appreciating the people around me.
Which feels very fitting.
To all the incredible women, and the supportive men, in my world and beyond:
I see you.
I’m proud of you.
And I’m grateful for you.
Stay safe.
Stay connected.
And take gentle care.
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
World Book Day: The Stories That Hold Us
Some books don’t just sit on a shelf.
They sit beside us in life.
One of mine is Always Remember: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, the Horse and the Storm, by Charlie Mackesy
If you know it, you’ll know exactly what I mean.
Those four friends, the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse, wandering through wild landscapes together, navigating storms, friendship, kindness and cake.
Simple on the surface.
Profound underneath.
There’s a page I come back to again and again. The one about patience. About how shouting at a flower won’t make it bloom.
What a message that is.
Because so many of us speak to ourselves in ways we would never speak to anyone else.
Harsh.
Impatient.
Critical.
And when that same tone shows up in relationships, with partners, friends, colleagues, something very predictable happens.
People become defensive.
Because anger and harshness rarely help anything grow. They usually just make people pull their petals in a little tighter.
Therapy, with me, and for me, is the opposite of that.
It’s about meeting people exactly where they are.
Sometimes someone walks into the room and slams their trauma on the coffee table with a bang.
Sometimes it can’t even come through the door yet.
Both are completely okay.
And creativity in therapy doesn’t always look the way people imagine. It’s not always paints, sand trays or craft.
Sometimes creativity looks like:
A coffee at the breakfast bar.
A walk in the woods.
Talking about a favourite book.
Music that means something.
Lyrics that hit a nerve.
Even what someone likes to eat.
Those things tell stories too.
That’s one of the reasons this book resonates so deeply with me. It arrived in my life at a time when I needed patience and gentleness with myself, and the artwork alone feels calming. It’s beautiful in that quiet way that lets you breathe for a moment.
It lives on my bedside table.
I refer to it often.
Sometimes I don’t even open it, just knowing it’s there is comforting.
Books can do that.
They hold us.
I’ve always been a reader. The kind who loves nothing more than curling up with a good book. My taste is fairly eclectic, wartime sagas, gritty thrillers, and everything in between.
Right now I’m reading The midwifes confession by Diane Chamberlain. Its a story full of moral and ethical dilemmas that really makes you think.
And I’ve just finished most of the Railway Girls series by Maisie Thomas. I’ve deliberately saved the last one for later in the spring. There’s something about those wartime stories, the camaraderie, the friendship, the resilience, that pulls me right into that world.
Connection again.
Friendship again.
Stories of people getting through hard things together.
(There’s a theme here 😉)
And of course there’s always a textbook or work-related book on the go as well. It brings me richness and fullness to learn, grow & know the impact this can have on the people I work with.
My love of books started young. Really young.
I was reading Catherine Cookson in primary school! Then came Judy Blume, the Point Horror series, the babysitters club and since I was young enough to remember it was the magical worlds of Enid Blyton Mallory Towers, St Clare’s, The Wishing Chair that peppered my youth. I begged my parents to let me go to boarding school!
A book voucher was the best present I could imagine. Oh the joy of the voucher with foiled inscription. The decisions on which to choose felt so important. It was, books were my world. My place to escape to. Books were safe.
Trips to the library felt like entering another universe.
I’d spend hours choosing books with my mum. Properly choosing them. The kind of choosing where the book becomes a little treasure.
For a while I felt a bit of shame about the kinds of books I loved.
Not anymore.
Books bring comfort.
They bring joy.
They take us places when we need somewhere else to go for a while.
And every time I open one, a little part of my mum is there with me.
World Book Day isn’t just about children dressing up as their favourite characters.
For me, it’s about recognising the power stories have, to comfort, to teach, to connect, to heal.
And celebrating the wonderful places they can take us.
What are you reading? When was the last time you curled up and got lost in the pages?
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
My Crystal Ball Is Broken (And My Magic Wand’s Useless Too)
I was watching a programme recently about the woman who used to dress Sarah Ferguson. One of those shows where the story unfolds through other people’s memories, opinions, interpretations. Fascinating stuff… but it got my brain ticking over.
Because while I was watching, one thought kept popping up.
How do they actually know?
We do this all the time as humans. We watch something. We hear part of a story. We observe a relationship. Then our minds start filling in the blanks like an overconfident novelist.
She must have felt this.
He clearly meant that.
They were probably thinking…
Except… were they?
Psychology calls part of this Theory of Mind, our ability to imagine what someone else might be thinking or feeling. It’s a brilliant human skill. It helps us empathise, cooperate, connect.
But here’s the tricky bit.
Sometimes we don’t use it to understand people.
We use it to guess people.
And those guesses are usually built from our own experiences, fears, wounds, and assumptions.
In relationships.
In friendships.
In families.
We become mind readers who are working with… very unreliable equipment.
Which is why I often joke with clients about my crystal ball that doesn’t work and my completely lifeless magic wand that I wish did work. Yes, shock horror, i’d love to be able to magic away my clients pain.
Honestly, I’ve tried shaking them. Shouting at them. Stamping my feet and screaming in pure frustration. Nothing.
So if mind reading doesn’t work… what actually does?
Clear, grounded communication.
Questions that aren’t loaded with accusation.
Answers that aren’t wrapped in defence.
Saying what we actually need instead of hoping someone will magically know.
Simple in principle.
Spectacularly difficult in practice.
Many of us were never taught how to do this. Some of us grew up in environments where speaking openly didn’t feel safe. Others didn’t even realise it was allowed to ask directly for what we need.
So we guess.
We assume.
We worry.
We overthink.
And round and round the mind goes.
A lot of what happens in therapy is something people often refer to as reparenting. Not in a dramatic or clinical way, but in a deeply human one.
It’s about learning the things we maybe weren’t shown.
How to sit with feelings.
How to ask questions.
How to listen.
How to understand ourselves without judgement.
And most importantly, how to see things from the client’s perspective, not my own.
Because I’m not them.
Therapy isn’t about me inserting my story into someone else’s life. It’s about stepping into their shoes as carefully as possible and saying:
Help me understand what it’s like to be you.
When someone is met with genuine curiosity, kindness and understanding, something remarkable starts to happen.
The noise quietens.
The anxiety that grows from assumptions begins to soften.
The fear of “getting it wrong” loses its grip.
The embarrassment of not knowing what to say fades.
And shame…
Well, shame, she struggles to survive in the light.
Shame. She thrives in silence, secrecy and assumptions. She needs that dark deep place within us to exist.
When we bring her into a space where someone listens, reflects, and truly sees you?
Shame doesn’t stand much of a chance out here in the sunshine.
Turns out the crystal ball was never needed after all.
Just two humans, being honest.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
The World Didn’t Fall Apart (Because I Chose the Sun)
Sometimes rebellion looks like cancelling a meeting and standing in a field with daffodils on a Wednesday.
The rain has been relentless lately.
Grey mornings. Heavy skies. That damp chill that creeps into your shoulders and seems to whisper, “Stay small. Stay inside.” For a lot of people, it’s matched how things have felt emotionally too. Darker days, metaphorically and physically. Long stretches of just getting through. I have certainly felt the impact of both.
Then today, the sun made an appearance.
Not a dramatic, cinematic entrance. Just light breaking through cloud like it had quietly decided we’d had enough.
It was Wellbeing Wednesday. And by some rare alignment of diaries, I had 2 whole hours free in the middle of the day. An hour either side of wellbeing Wednesday.
That meant…..Three hours.
Now, old programming would have said: Be productive. Catch up. Get ahead. Do admin. Fill the space.
Instead, I cancelled wellbeing Wednesday, told the truth, and went out into the sunshine with my husband and the puppies.
I told the group of therapists, 4.5k of them, exactly what I was doing. I said I was being human. That I was choosing self-care. That I was taking advantage of the light.
Why lie?
There’s something powerful about modelling boundaries instead of preaching them. As therapists, we talk about nervous system regulation, burnout, sustainability. But if we can’t occasionally say, “The sun is out and I’m going to stand in it,” what are we demonstrating?
The world did not fall apart.
It did not crumble.
Emails did not combust.
The profession did not collapse because one therapist chose sunlight.
Instead, something beautiful happened.
I invited those therapists to use the time too. To get outside if they could. To look up. To take photos. To reflect.
And the pictures that came back, stunning.
Daffodils blazing yellow against green.
Deer caught mid-step in quiet fields.
Wild garlic carpeting woodland floors.
Wide skies.
Soft light.
Early spring lambs wobbling on new legs.
There is something deeply regulating about seasonal change. Our bodies respond to light. Sun on your arms and face isn’t indulgence, it’s biology. Vitamin D shifts. Circadian rhythms recalibrate. The nervous system reads brightness as safety.
Standing there, feeling warmth on my skin after weeks of grey, I could feel how much my own system needed it.
Sometimes we forget that we are mammals before we are professionals.
Rain and darkness affect us.
Long winters, literal and emotional, take a toll.
We are not machines designed for endless output under fluorescent lighting.
Self-care isn’t always bubble baths and candles. Sometimes it’s cancelling something non-urgent because the sun has finally broken through and your body says, “Now. Go now.”
There’s also something deeper here.
So many of us have been in darker times, grief, stress, global uncertainty, personal struggles. When the light appears, even briefly, we have to let ourselves step into it. Not wait until everything is perfect. Not earn it through exhaustion.
Just step forward.
What I loved most was the collective permission. One honest admission, “I’m choosing sunshine”, opened space for others to do the same. And instead of judgement, there was beauty. Reflection. Connection.
That’s what happens when we stop pretending we’re endlessly resilient.
We show that boundaries are real.
We show that rest is responsible.
We show that prioritising ourselves doesn’t equal selfishness.
And crucially, the world doesn’t fall apart when we do.
The lambs were still there.
The daffodils were still standing.
The emails were still waiting.
Life carried on.
But I felt different.
Lighter.
More present.
More alive.
Sometimes the most radical thing you can do in a productivity-obsessed culture is stand in the sun in the middle of a Wednesday and say, “This matters.”
Dark seasons come.
Rain falls.
There are heavy times.
And then the light returns.
When it does, look up.
Step into it.
Let it land on your skin.
The work will still be there tomorrow. Wellbeing Wednesday will happen again.
And me? I feel absolutely refreshed and dare I say it? Warm & glowing.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
The world's gone mad.
I took the puppies out earlier.
Sunshine. Actual, proper sunshine. The kind that makes you squint and forgive the British weather for at least twenty minutes.
They were completely unbothered by the state of the world.
No awareness of politics.
No scrolling.
No existential dread.
Just grass. Smells. A stick that absolutely had to be carried at full speed for no clear reason.
And I stood there watching them, thinking about how many conversations I’ve had recently that begin with:
“Everything feels mad.”
“It’s all too much.”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“I can’t switch off.”
Yes. It is crazy out there.
War. Cost of living. Climate anxiety. Political division. Social media shouting matches. Constant access to distressing news 24/7. Our nervous systems were not designed to process global catastrophe before breakfast.
Your brain evolved to track threats in your immediate environment, rustling bushes, tribal conflict, food scarcity. Now it’s trying to metabolise global instability from a glowing rectangle in your hand while you’re also replying to emails and remembering to defrost chicken.
Of course people feel on edge.
This doesn’t mean you’re weak.
It means you’re wired.
But here’s where the sunshine and the puppies come in.
There’s a concept in psychology called the “circle of control.” It’s simple, but powerful.
Inside the circle:
Your actions.
Your boundaries.
Your responses.
Your routines.
Your care for your own nervous system.
Outside the circle:
Global politics.
Stock markets.
Other people’s behaviour.
The weather.
The internet’s latest outrage.
When we spend too much time mentally wrestling with what’s outside our circle, our anxiety ramps up. Because the brain hates unsolved problems, and these are unsolvable at an individual level.
Standing in that sunshine, I realised something again.
The puppies were firmly inside their circle.
Warmth.
Movement.
Connection.
Curiosity.
That doesn’t mean we ignore reality. It means we balance awareness with regulation.
A few gentle strategies I share with clients when the world feels overwhelming:
Limit your intake. You are allowed to be informed without being saturated. Choose when and how you consume news. Not first thing. Not last thing. Your nervous system deserves bookends of safety.
Name what is yours. Literally say, “This is outside my control.” It sounds simple. It works because it helps your brain categorise the threat.
Ground physically. Sunshine. Fresh air. Cold water on your wrists. Walking the dog. Moving your body. The nervous system resets through the body, not through overthinking.
Create micro-stability. Small daily anchors: morning coffee ritual, evening walk, a playlist, lighting a candle. Predictability calms the brain when the world feels unpredictable.
Look up. I mean that quite literally. When we’re anxious, our posture folds in and our gaze drops to screens. Lift your eyes. Take in the sky. Your brain reads open space as safety.
And maybe most importantly, connect. Anxiety thrives in isolation. Talk about what’s coming up for you. You don’t have to carry global fear alone.
It is wild out there.
But you are allowed to experience warmth.
You are allowed to laugh at your dog being ridiculous.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to focus on your circle.
Standing there in the sunshine today, I thought: this is resistance too.
Regulating your nervous system in chaotic times isn’t avoidance.
It’s strength.
It’s sustainability.
It’s how we stay steady enough to show up well in the parts of the world we can influence.
The world may be spinning.
But right now, there is sunlight somewhere.
There is fresh air.
There is something within your circle that you can tend to.
Start there.
Even the puppies know that’s enough for today.
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
This image, and Punch’s story, stopped me.
Those viral clips of him sitting alone, clutching his little orange teddy like it was the only thing in the world he could trust. Watching the troop from a distance. Not quite in. Not quite out. Just… surviving.
And now? He’s inching closer.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Not “fixed.”
Just a few inches nearer than yesterday.
For a Japanese macaque, where hierarchy matters and belonging is everything, that’s not small. That’s courage.
And honestly? It made me think about us.
Trauma and the Nervous System: Sitting on the Edge of the Group
When humans experience trauma, abandonment, neglect, loss, abuse, chronic stress, our nervous systems adapt to survive.
Sometimes that looks like:
Sitting on the edge of relationships
Watching but not joining
Clutching tightly to the one thing that feels safe
Trusting objects more than people
Staying hyper-aware of everyone’s movements
We might look “fine.”
We might even function well.
But internally, we’re sitting slightly apart from the troop.
Punch holding his teddy isn’t weakness.
It’s regulation.
That toy is his safety cue. His nervous system anchor. The one thing that says, I’m not completely alone.
Humans do this too.
We hold onto coping strategies. Routines. Busyness. Work. A relationship. A therapist. Sometimes even anxiety itself, because at least it’s familiar.
And here’s the important part:
We don’t rip the teddy away.
Therapy Isn’t Forcing You Into the Circle
In therapy, we don’t drag someone into the middle of the group and say, “You’re safe now. Behave like it.”
That would overwhelm the nervous system.
Instead, we sit with you while you hold the teddy.
We let your body learn, slowly, that connection doesn’t equal danger.
We co-regulate.
We notice.
We pause.
We go at your pace.
Little by little, your nervous system begins to update.
You inch closer.
Not because someone pushed you.
Not because you “should.”
But because something inside feels just a tiny bit safer.
That’s healing.
The Quiet Privilege of Being a Therapist
There’s something deeply humbling about this work.
We often don’t see what happens next.
There isn’t a dramatic reunion scene.
No standing ovation.
No final episode where everything wraps up beautifully.
Sometimes it’s just a wave.
A goodbye.
A “thank you.”
And then you go back to your troop.
You build friendships.
You leave a relationship that wasn’t safe.
You start speaking up.
You apply for the job.
You rest.
You belong.
We don’t always get to witness the full circle forming.
But what a privilege it is to have sat beside you while you were still holding the teddy.
Not for us.
For you.
Joining Your Own Tribe
Punch isn’t fully inside the circle yet.
But he’s not outside of it anymore either.
That’s everything.
Belonging doesn’t roar.
It inches.
And maybe that’s what therapy is really about, not changing who you are, but helping your nervous system feel safe enough to join your tribe.
To find:
Your people
Your spaces
Your version of safety
Your own “teddy” … healthy, grounding, supportive
And maybe even a therapist who truly gets you.
Because when you feel understood, something softens.
You don’t have to perform.
You don’t have to fight for position.
You don’t have to sit quite so far away.
You can move a little closer.
And sometimes, a few inches closer than yesterday is the bravest thing you’ll ever do. 🐒✨
stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
Human First
Being solely self-employed is both liberating and terrifying.
I love the autonomy. I love that I’m my own boss. I set the rules. I work in a way that feels authentic, flexible, aligned with who I am.
And I still have to pay the bills.
This past year has been one of the hardest of my life. I’d signed up and paid for further courses & qualifications. I’d invested in conferences. I was growing the business, building momentum, stretching myself.
Then tragedy struck.
My mum got sick.
And then she died.
What followed was a period of pain I can’t quite put into tidy words. I couldn’t work like I had before. I didn’t have savings to stop working entirely. So I existed in that impossible space so many self-employed people know, grieving deeply, yet still needing to function.
I had to take time out. For grief. For self-care. For survival.
And then, as if that wasn’t enough, I experienced seven more bereavements.
Seven.
People and pets who were in my life last year are not in it now. My world has shifted in ways I’m still integrating. It’s been a roller coaster of shock, anger, disbelief, exhaustion, numbness, love, longing.
And yet.
There are people in my life now who weren’t here last year, and they have made an enormous impact.
There are people who were already here who stepped up in ways I will never forget.
My husband got my need for no xmas decorations, no celebration. I couldnt. I just couldnt.
My daughter respected and understood cancellations.
My supervisor checked in most days. Helped with admin. Held me emotionally. Knew what I needed yet never assumed. She met me where I was at.
A friend and colleague sat with me day after day, letting me be up, down, inconsistent, messy. She just intuitively knew. Showed me love in ways I didnt even know I needed.
Another friend took me dancing and listened to me rant late into the night.
Someone sat with me through the night in a grief group online and understood the confusion and anger. She got why I was there and respected my feelings and the place I was in. Didnt put her stuff on me.
A new friend laughed and cried with me night after night and got how ADHD & trauma sits and respected my needs without words. She got it.
My siblings and I talked, created, laughed through tears, instinctively knowing we needed connection.
My accountant removed stress from my shoulders and quite literally held my hand through the business side when I couldn’t think straight.
And Arthur, my puppy. Lets just say, today is possible thanks to him. He gave me a reason to get up.
None of these people tried to fix it.
They didnt tell me everything would be okay, because it wasn’t.
They heard me.
They held me.
They let me feel.
That is everything.
A few months into a new year, I can say this honestly: I have good days. I have good hours. I have sadder days and sadder hours.
That is natural.
Grief doesn’t shrink. The loss doesn’t become less sad. What changes is the space around it. Life grows around the grief. The world shifts. New experiences enter. We evolve whether we want to or not.
I have begun to gently invite that in. To create a new normal that honours what was and makes space for what is becoming.
And in doing that, I’ve realised something profound.
This is exactly what we do in therapy.
We don’t fix.
We don’t rush.
We don’t tell someone they should be over it.
We sit. We validate. We evolve alongside.
Watching my clients grow warms my heart in ways that are hard to describe. Their wins matter. Their setbacks matter. Their honesty matters. I will never shame them for how they feel, and I won’t pretend I’m some emotionless observer either.
I am human first.
I’ve journalled publicly about my grief. I’ve spoken about it. Thousands of people have read, watched, messaged, shared their own stories. There is no shame in that. It has helped me. And it has helped others feel less alone.
This past year has made my work deeper. Richer. More embodied. It has modelled boundaries, stepping back when needed. It has modelled self-care, not as a luxury, but as necessity.
On a plane, we’re told to put the oxygen mask on ourselves before helping even our children. Not because we’re selfish. Because we’re no use to anyone if we can’t breathe.
That applies to life too.
Yes, I’m a psychotherapist.
And I am a human first.
Exactly as it should be.
So this is gratitude, from the bottom of my heart, to the people who carried me when I couldn’t carry myself.
And it’s also a message to you, if you are struggling:
It is imperative that you are okay first.
There is no shame in reaching out.
There is no weakness in needing support.
There is strength in allowing yourself to be held.
You are so important.
Stay safe.
Stay connected.
Take gentle care.
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
Finding Your Tribe (Even If It Takes Until Your 40s and beyond)
Wednesday wellbeing got me thinking about tribe. About the people who get you. The ones who don’t try to sand you down into something more convenient.
My brain runs at a million miles an hour. Always has.
I juggle multiple projects and love the buzz of it, yet sitting doing nothing can cause me physical and mental discomfort. Then, out of nowhere, I’ll crash and sleep for 15 hours. Or take a three-hour daytime nap like my body has just pulled the plug. Then live on 4-6 hours sleep like i’ve had the best rest ever.
Some days sound feels unbearable. Other days I want music loud and immersive.
I get overwhelmed by the smallest admin task, yet happily hold multiple projects complex emotional work with clients all day long.
I am a walking contradiction.
And for years, I felt shame about that.
I felt shame for being super capable in some areas and completely stuck in others. For thinking fast. For talking fast. For jumping to step 22 when someone else is still working out step one.
Joe Bloggs is carefully reading the instructions. I’ve already reorganised the system and colour-coded it.
That didn’t always go down well.
At school, my ADHD was obvious, but not obvious enough. I talked too much. I “wasn’t applying myself.” I needed to try harder.
Maths? Hard. So I learned by rote. Then one teacher showed me visual ways to break things down and something clicked. Mental arithmetic? My thing. Numbers neatly lined up in a spreadsheet with symbols? Absolutely not.
Contradiction again.
And then there was Mr Short, my science teacher when I was 11–14. He demonstrated everything visually. Colours. Diagrams. Experiments. He saw how I learned. He adjusted. And I thrived.
That’s what being seen does.
But there were plenty who didn’t see me. Who criticised. Who tried to mould me into something more “neurotypical,” more compliant, less intense. The criticism over the years nearly broke me. Very nearly killed me.
Now?
Bollocks to the lot of them.
And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to the ones who saw my worth before I could and when i couldn’t. The ones who encouraged, championed, and stayed when I was chaotic, messy, growing when i felt like chucking in the towel.
Because finding your tribe changes everything.
I didn’t find mine until my 40s. A creative community of incredible women and some men too!! who love deeply, challenge kindly, and celebrate wins like they’re their own. They held me through the darkest days and clapped the loudest when things went right.
It’s never too late to find your people.
I am a round peg in a square world, and I’m completely okay with that now.
I feel emotion deeply. I work on myself constantly. I evolve. I question. I grow. And none of that would have happened without relationship.
That’s why I work the way I do.
I’m passionate about what I do, and I’m bloody good at it too. However, not every counsellor is for every client. And that’s okay.
Choice matters.
I didn’t feel like I had choice once, and the pain that caused is indescribable. So I want people to know they do. You get to decide who sits opposite you. You get to decide what feels safe.
My clients mean the world to me. I feel their pain. I celebrate their breakthroughs. Sometimes my heart feels like it might burst when they realise their own strength.
And I also know autonomy matters. They have to get there themselves. I can walk alongside, guide, reflect, yet I don’t take over. That’s respect.
The same goes for supervision. It isn’t a tick box. It’s support for all of you, your work, your doubts, your business, your ambition. A space to grow, not perform.
I want people to succeed. I want them to expand. I want to give what was given to me, belief, encouragement, space to be different without being diminished.
If you’re still looking for your tribe, still feeling like the odd one out, still wondering why you can do some things brilliantly and others feel impossible, you’re not broken.
You might just be wired differently.
And there are people out there who will get you.
Therapy can help you hold the dark days while you search. It can help you shed the shame that was never yours. It can help you stand solid in who you are so that when your tribe appears, and it will, you recognise them.
Stay safe.
Stay connected.
Take gentle care.
Louise
X
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
ACEs: When Childhood Experiences Don’t Stay in Childhood
You may have seen the term ACEs and wondered what it actually means.
ACEs stands for Adverse Childhood Experiences. The original research looked at difficult or traumatic experiences in childhood, things like abuse, neglect, domestic violence, addiction in the home, parental mental illness, divorce, or loss. What researchers found was powerful: the higher someone’s ACE score, the greater their risk of physical and mental health difficulties later in life.
But here’s the part that matters most to me as a therapist:
Trauma isn’t just what happened.
Trauma is what the brain couldn’t process at the time.
That changes everything.
Because what may not look traumatic to an adult can absolutely be traumatic to a child.
Moving house.
Changing schools.
Parents divorcing.
A parent being emotionally unavailable.
Feeling different.
Being the “sensitive one.”
Not being believed.
Children don’t have adult brains. They don’t have language, perspective, or context. They don’t know, “This isn’t my fault.” They just experience overwhelm.
And when something overwhelms a child’s nervous system without enough support, it becomes an adverse experience.
Children rarely articulate trauma clearly. Instead, it shows up in behaviour.
Clinginess.
Aggression.
Withdrawal.
Perfectionism.
People-pleasing.
Shutting down.
Those behaviours aren’t “bad.” They’re adaptations. They’re survival strategies.
Over time, those strategies can shape attachment, how we connect to others. If safety felt unpredictable, love felt conditional, or emotions weren’t welcomed, we learn to protect ourselves.
That can show up in adulthood as:
• Anxiety that seems to come out of nowhere
• Addiction or numbing behaviours
• Fear of abandonment
• Struggles in relationships
• Feeling “too much” or “not enough”
• Hyper-independence
• Chronic hypervigilance
Sometimes people arrive in therapy saying, “Nothing that bad happened to me, so I don’t know why I’m like this.”
That sentence alone tells me something probably did.
Because trauma isn’t a competition. It’s not about whether it was “bad enough.” It’s about whether your nervous system could cope.
When we experience trauma, the body goes into protection mode. Fight. Flight. Freeze. Flop. Fawn. Those responses are automatic. Involuntary. Designed to keep you alive.
Here’s the important part:
That system doesn’t just switch off because you turned 18.
If a part of you felt unsafe at seven, that seven-year-old nervous system can still get activated at thirty-seven. Your reactions can feel bigger than the current situation because they’re not just about now, they’re about then. The reaction you have is to the 7 year old experience, triggered by something in the here and now.
That’s why you might think afterwards:
“Why did I react like that?”
“I’m so dramatic.”
“That was stupid.”
And then comes shame.
But your body wasn’t being dramatic. It was doing exactly what it was designed to do, detect danger and protect you.
Hypervigilance, always scanning, always on edge, isn’t weakness. It’s a nervous system that learned early that the world wasn’t fully safe.
The exhausting part is carrying that into adulthood when the danger is no longer the same, but the body doesn’t know that yet. Constantly scanning for danger, hyper vigilant and on high alert. Its exhausting, confusing and emotionally painful.
It doesn’t have to stay like this.
This is where counselling can help.
It starts with choosing a therapist you are drawn to and then gel with. Someone you feel gets you. Not every counsellor is for every client, my advice is always chat to a few and explore options.
Once you have chosen, we can start the healing process together.
We don’t always need a detailed memory of what happened. We don’t need to relive everything. Often we start with what’s happening now, the anxiety, the reactions, the patterns.
Through a safe therapeutic relationship, the nervous system begins to experience something new: consistency, attunement, regulation. Slowly, the body learns it’s not alone anymore. And most important pehaps? Feeling safe.
We explore gently. At your pace. Without forcing memories or labels.
Sometimes it’s not about naming the trauma.
It’s about noticing the response.
We work with the part of you that reacts. The part that braces. The part that panics. The part that shuts down.
And instead of shaming it, we understand it.
When you realise, “This reaction makes sense,” something shifts. Compassion grows. The grip of shame loosens.
Your body isn’t broken.
Your reactions aren’t stupid.
Your defence mechanisms aren’t flaws.
They are intelligent responses from a younger version of you who did the best they could. The reactions are involuntary. The bodies way of screaming “warning warning, this is not ok”
Healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about helping your nervous system update its information. The trauma memory can shift to the regular memory part of the brain and therefore no need for such strong uncontrollable reactions. The body begins to feel safe rather than on constant high alert.
You are not that powerless child anymore.
But your body may still think you are.
Therapy helps those parts catch up.
And when they do, life can feel lighter, not because nothing hard ever happened, but because you’re no longer fighting yourself for having survived it.
Stay safe. Stay connected. Take gentle care,
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you.
If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
When Your Body Has Been Holding the Story & then perimenopause hits 🙄
For years I lived in a body that hurt.
Tight shoulders.
Clenched jaw.
An aching back with no injury behind it.
Exhaustion that sleep didn’t fix.
Pain that moved around like it had a mind of its own.
At one point I was given labels, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue. And I’m not dismissing those diagnoses. They are very real for many people. But what nobody explained to me was this:
Your body can hold stress & trauma for years.
Nobody told me my shoulders weren’t just “bad posture.”
Nobody said my jaw pain might be trapped tension, not just TMJ.
Nobody asked what I had lived through.
When we experience trauma, whether it’s one big event or years of smaller relational wounds, the nervous system adapts. It braces. It armours. Muscles tighten to protect vital organs. Breath becomes shallow. The body stays slightly on guard.
That’s useful when you’re surviving.
It’s exhausting when you’re safe but your body hasn’t realised it yet.
A fantastic doctor pointed me to the book by Bessel van de Kolk - the body keeps the score and then Therapy. With a therapist who I gelled with. Quite simply changed my life.
It all changed that for me. Not overnight. Not in some dramatic cinematic breakthrough. But slowly. By learning to notice what was underneath the pain.
Tight shoulders? Often anxiety or responsibility I was carrying.
Clenched jaw? Words unsaid. Anger swallowed.
Back pain? Bracing. Holding it all together.
When I started to process what had happened to me, properly, safely, my body began to soften. The pain didn’t magically disappear, but it made sense. And when something flares now, I don’t panic. I ask: what’s happening? What am I holding?
Then I know what I need to do. Rest. Move. Breathe differently. Talk. Get support.
That knowledge is life changing.
And then, just as I felt like I’d figured my body out… menopause arrived.
Hot flushes in the middle of sessions.
Brain fog so thick I’d lose words mid-sentence.
Memory glitches that made me question myself.
ADHD symptoms dialled up to full volume.
Exhaustion followed by bursts of electric energy at midnight.
Nobody really talks about this properly.
The body changes. The intimate parts change. Sleep changes. Libido changes. Mood shifts. Confidence wobbles. And if, like me, your mum was the person you’d have asked about all of this, and she’s no longer here, there’s a particular kind of loneliness in that.
You can have friends. A partner. A whole support network. But there is something about wanting your mum in those moments. Wanting to ask, “Is this normal?” Wanting reassurance from the person who once knew your body before you did.
Men don’t always know what’s happening either. They can feel confused, shut out, worried they’ve done something wrong. Nobody hands them a manual. So couples can find themselves navigating something huge in silence.
We need to talk about it more.
We also need to take the shame out of it.
Hormones shift the brain as well as the body. Oestrogen plays a role in attention, memory, mood regulation. When it fluctuates, ADHD can feel worse. Brain fog becomes real. You can feel sharp one minute and completely scattered the next.
I went through a phase of buying every supplement under the sun. Trial and error. Hoping one magic vitamin would fix it all. Then someone gently reminded me: you can go to your GP. You can ask for blood tests. You can look at HRT options. You don’t have to self-manage in the dark.
So I’ve booked an appointment. Three weeks to wait. I’m not entirely sure what they’ll suggest. But even taking that step feels empowering.
Here’s what I want you to know if any of this sounds familiar:
You are not dramatic.
You are not lazy.
You are not “losing it.”
Your body is communicating.
Therapy can help you understand what it’s saying.
Not in a mystical way. In a grounded, practical, relational way. We explore stress patterns. Trauma responses. Life transitions. Identity shifts. We create space to talk about the intimate, awkward, uncomfortable bits without shame.
Because this is life.
Bodies change. Hormones shift. Grief resurfaces. Old trauma can reawaken during big transitions like menopause. ADHD traits can amplify. Sleep disruption alone can make you feel like a different person.
When we don’t understand what’s happening, we turn it inward. We assume we’re failing.
When we do understand, something softens.
Being authentic in my body now feels different. I move more freely. I notice when I’m clenching and I release. I recognise when overwhelm is hormonal, when it’s trauma, when it’s lack of sleep, when it’s too much on my plate.
Awareness doesn’t remove everything. But it gives choice.
And once you have choice, you’re not trapped in it anymore.
If you’re navigating unexplained pain, hormonal shifts, worsening ADHD symptoms, grief, or the strange loneliness of midlife changes, you are not alone in that.
Let’s talk about it.
Let’s bring it into the room.
Let’s take the shame out.
Your body has been carrying you for years.
It deserves to be listened to.
Stay safe. Stay connected. Take gentle care,
Louise x
If this resonates, you’re not on your own.
Pull up a chair.
I've got you. If you’re tired of carrying it alone, I’m here.
We can take it at your pace. No pressure. No fixing. Just space to be human.
Take gentle care,
Louise x
📧 louisemalyancounselling@gmail.com
🌐 www.wildfirecounsellingtherapy.co.uk
Free, no-obligation intro chat, just to see if we’re the right fit.
