Why I Became a Therapist

I didn’t grow up thinking, “I want to be a therapist.”

There was no clear plan. No academic path laid out early on.

What I did have—long before I had the language for it—was an awareness of people.

Even when I was 15 or 16, I could sense something in others.

Not always visible.

Not always spoken.

But there was something there.

I spent time around people in the care system, and what struck me wasn’t just the obvious struggles—it was how many people were carrying something underneath.

And it wasn’t just there.

As I got older, I started to notice it everywhere.

People who, on the surface, came from stable, “normal” environments…but something didn’t quite add up.

A kind of quiet brokenness.

Not always dramatic.

Not always obvious.

But real.

And for some reason, I could feel it.

Not in a way that made me special.

Just in a way that made me aware.

At that stage in my life, I didn’t have the academic grounding or direction to pursue anything like therapy.

But the thought stayed with me.

It lingered.

Years later, after a lot of my own searching—time away, time in India, time trying to understand myself and make sense of where I’d come from—I found myself back in England.

And then, almost unexpectedly, the opportunity came.

A place on a course.

Someone offered it to me.

So I took it.

And this time, I applied myself.

I learned the theory.

And I found that, actually, I valued it deeply.

I have a huge respect for the foundations of psychology.

Carl Rogers’ person-centred approach—the emphasis on genuineness, empathy, and unconditional positive regard—sits at the core of how I work.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy brings structure and tools that can genuinely help people shift patterns.

Even Sigmund Freud—for all the criticism—laid important groundwork in understanding early development.

And John Bowlby’s work on attachment helped me make sense of how early relationships shape the way we connect, relate, and sometimes struggle later in life.

I don’t reject any of it.

I integrate it.

Because in real life, people don’t fit into one model.

But underneath all of that, for me, the work comes back to something much simpler.

It’s about being real.

Transparent.Genuine.

Not pretending I know how someone feels.

But making the effort to understand it—from their perspective, not mine.

It’s about holding a space for someone who is trying to untangle something difficult.

Whether that’s trauma.

A relationship.

Or just a sense that something isn’t right.

I don’t try to fix people.

I don’t try to save them.

And I’m not trying to save myself either.

What I do believe is this:

It is a privilege to be trusted by another human being.

To be allowed into the parts of their life they don’t show anyone else.

And with that comes responsibility.

To treat what’s shared with respect.

With care.

With absolute confidentiality.

And, at times, with something close to love.

Not in a sentimental way.

But in a deeply human way.

Because I believe in the human spirit.

I believe people can move forward—even from very difficult places.

I’m also realistic.

I know not everyone makes it to the other side.

I’ve seen that.

But if I can offer a space where someone feels safe enough to start moving—

even slightly—

If I can sit with them while they find their way towards something better…

Then that gives meaning to everything that came before.

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