The tv in my room
It’s never just a TV.
People often walk into my therapy room and smile.
“You’ve got a TV?”
I have.
Not because I want people watching Netflix.
Because sometimes words aren’t enough.
Sometimes someone wants to show me a song that explains exactly how they’re feeling.
A YouTube video they’ve watched over and over again.
A TikTok that made them cry.
A photograph they can’t stop looking at.
A memory.
A piece of music that says everything they can’t.
Sometimes therapy means sitting quietly together while we listen to a song.
Sometimes it means watching a two-minute clip and asking,
“What was it about that that spoke to you?”
Sometimes it means seeing the world through somebody else’s eyes instead of expecting them to explain it.
Because our phones don’t just hold information.
They hold our lives.
I looked at my phone recently.
I have over 2,800 contacts.
Two thousand eight hundred people who have crossed my path in some way.
Some still part of my life.
Some I haven’t spoken to for years.
Some I’d forgotten about until I scrolled past their name.
They’re reminders that every one of us carries a history.
And that’s before we even get to social media.
The people we compare ourselves to.
The opinions we’re frightened of.
The comments we replay.
The messages we wish we’d never received.
The ones we desperately hope will arrive.
For many people, that little device in their pocket is full of ghosts.
People who shaped them.
People who hurt them.
People they miss.
People they’re still trying to impress.
People they’re terrified of disappointing.
That all comes into the therapy room too.
Sometimes it’s important to bring that world in.
Sometimes it’s equally important to put the phone face down, let it go quiet for fifty minutes and remember who you are when nobody else is watching.
Both matter.
People often imagine therapy happening in a grey room with two chairs and a box of tissues.
That works for some people.
It never felt like me.
I wanted to create a space that feels human.
Somewhere you can laugh.
Cry.
Watch a video.
Listen to music.
Drink hot chocolate.
Sit with Arthur and Peggy.
Wrap yourself in a blanket.
Or simply breathe.
Not because those things replace therapy.
Because they help create the conditions where therapy becomes possible.
Every single thing in my room is there because I’ve asked one question.
“What might help this person feel safe enough to be themselves?”
Stay safe, stay connected & take gentle care
Louise x
