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.