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?