My Story

For most of my life, I ran.

Through work, alcohol, relationships, and even countries. Anywhere but here. I believed if I could just achieve enough, fix enough, become enough, I would finally feel okay.

I tried to improve myself into safety. I worked harder. I distracted myself, believed the next relationship would save me, and stayed busy enough that I didn't have to sit still with what was underneath.

In 2022, the running stopped working. The strategies that had once protected me began to fall apart. And for the first time, life stopped me from trying to outrun what I was feeling.

I want to be honest about what that actually looked like. I didn't bravely choose this. I ran from every label that was offered, including the diagnoses, the medications, the categories. I used holistic therapy the same way I'd used everything else, as a more sophisticated way to stay functional. During an initial healing session, my body spasmed involuntarily. In that moment I understood that I had been carrying something in my unconscious that my mind had successfully hidden even from me.

What I had called my identity, my persona, began to unravel. Beneath it was a younger version of me who had adapted early to stay safe, accepted, and loved. A boy who learned to be useful. To perform. To minimise his needs.

I began learning how to stay with him.

When grief surfaced, not the idea of it, but the sensation, I stayed. When anger came, I stayed. When shame showed up, I stayed.

Not perfectly. But consistently.

Over time, I started to see my life differently. Not as broken, but as intelligently adapted. The parts of me I once judged and tried to fix were protective strategies, trying to keep a younger version of me safe.

As I learned to remain present with what I had avoided, I found more steadiness. I learned boundaries. I learned that I could say no. I learned that having needs did not make me too much.

This hasn't been a linear journey. Old patterns still appear.

The difference now is that I know how to meet them.

I offer space for others not because I've arrived somewhere, but because I know what it's like to sit with what feels unbearable, and not run.

I don’t see any of us as broken. What we often label as dysfunction is usually adaptation.

And when those adaptations are met with presence rather than judgment, people begin to feel safer inside themselves.

That's the work I offer.