There are moments in life when the story we’ve been living begins to feel unfamiliar. What once made sense no longer does. We might find ourselves repeating patterns that exhaust us, responding in ways we don’t understand, or carrying expectations that no longer feel true. Often, we can’t name it at first—we just know that something is off.
It can feel like wearing clothes that once fit, but now restrict and itch. And the impulse might be to blame ourselves: “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just get on with it?” But sometimes, what’s happening isn’t failure—it’s friction. The early shape of our story is being outgrown.
The Stories We Live By
From childhood onward, we absorb messages about who we are and how we should be. Some of these messages are spoken—“Be good,” “Don’t be too much,” “Try harder.” Others are silent, felt in the spaces where comfort was withheld or love came with conditions.
Over time, we begin to form an internal script—a quiet story that tells us how to survive. It might say: “You’re only valuable when you’re achieving,” or “Keep the peace at all costs,” or “If you show weakness, you’ll be left.” These stories often help us at first. They protect us. Help us belong. Keep us safe. But what protects us as children can confine us as adults.
When Something Begins to Shift
Therapy often begins at a point of dissonance—when the old story no longer explains the pain we’re feeling. Clients may arrive saying things like, “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” or “I’m tired of pretending,” or simply, “Something doesn’t feel right.”
This is not a sign of failure. It’s a sign that something deeper in us is stirring.
And this is where meaningful change begins—not with force or performance, but with gentle noticing. With the courage to ask: “Whose voice is this?” or “Do I still believe this?” or even, “Did I ever?”
Finding the Thread Back to Yourself
The process of therapy—at least in the way I offer it—is not about rewriting your story overnight. It’s not about erasing what’s happened. It’s about slowing down, creating space, and beginning to listen to what’s been buried beneath all the noise.
Often, that means meeting parts of yourself you’ve had to push away. The grief that was never spoken. The anger that felt unsafe. The needs that were labelled “too much.” This is akin to shadow work—but not in a dramatic or mystical sense. It’s just the quiet process of returning to what was once disowned.
Over time, what starts to emerge is not a new story imposed from the outside, but a truer one unfolding from within.
You Are Not Broken—Just Becoming
You may not have language for it yet. You may not know what the new story is. That’s okay. Therapy is often the space in-between—between what was and what’s next. Between performance and presence. Between hiding and being seen.
In this space, we don’t push. We don’t diagnose. We sit with what’s here, together. And at your pace, with kindness and curiosity, we begin to understand.
If Something No Longer Fits…
…that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It may mean you’re ready.
Ready to return to yourself. To examine what you’ve been carrying. To reclaim the parts of you that were left behind in the name of survival. And from there, change begins—not quick or loud, but meaningful. blame ourselves: “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just get on with it?” But sometimes, what’s happening isn’t failure—it’s friction. The early shape of our story is being outgrown.
The Stories We Live By
From childhood onward, we absorb messages about who we are and how we should be. Some of these messages are spoken—“Be good,” “Don’t be too much,” “Try harder.” Others are silent, felt in the spaces where comfort was withheld or love came with conditions.
Over time, we begin to form an internal script—a quiet story that tells us how to survive. It might say: “You’re only valuable when you’re achieving,” or “Keep the peace at all costs,” or “If you show weakness, you’ll be left.” These stories often help us at first. They protect us. Help us belong. Keep us safe.
But what protects us as children can confine us as adults.
When Something Begins to Shift
Therapy often begins at a point of dissonance—when the old story no longer explains the pain we’re feeling. Clients may arrive saying things like, “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” or “I’m tired of pretending,” or simply, “Something doesn’t feel right.”
This is not a sign of failure. It’s a sign that something deeper in us is stirring.
And this is where meaningful change begins—not with force or performance, but with gentle noticing. With the courage to ask: “Whose voice is this?” or “Do I still believe this?” or even, “Did I ever?”
Finding the Thread Back to Yourself
The process of therapy—at least in the way I offer it—is not about rewriting your story overnight. It’s not about erasing what’s happened. It’s about slowing down, creating space, and beginning to listen to what’s been buried beneath all the noise.
Often, that means meeting parts of yourself you’ve had to push away. The grief that was never spoken. The anger that felt unsafe. The needs that were labelled “too much.” This is akin to shadow work—but not in a dramatic or mystical sense. It’s just the quiet process of returning to what was once disowned.
Over time, what starts to emerge is not a new story imposed from the outside, but a truer one unfolding from within.
You Are Not Broken—Just Becoming
You may not have language for it yet. You may not know what the new story is. That’s okay. Therapy is often the space in-between—between what was and what’s next. Between performance and presence. Between hiding and being seen.
In this space, we don’t push. We don’t diagnose. We sit with what’s here, together. And gradually, with kindness and curiosity, we begin to understand.
If Something No Longer Fits…
…that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It may mean you’re ready.
Ready to return to yourself. To examine what you’ve been carrying. To reclaim the parts of you that were left behind in the name of survival.
And from there, change begins—not quick or loud, but meaningful.
#selfawareness #innerwork #healingjourney
Jim - June 25
There’s a voice inside many of us that knows exactly how to wound.
It tells us we’re not doing enough, not achieving enough, not trying hard enough.
It shames us for resting. Undermines us when we speak up. Dismisses our feelings.
And the hardest part? We often believe it’s our own voice.
But what if it isn’t?
What if the part of you that whispers “you’re not good enough” isn’t truly you—but something you absorbed, long ago, as a way to stay safe?
The inner critic doesn’t just appear. It’s shaped—over time, and often begins early in our life.
It can grow from the expectations of a parent, the silence after expressing emotion, the cold shoulder after a mistake. Sometimes it’s built from cultural messages about who we’re allowed to be. Other times, it’s formed in families where perfection was praised, vulnerability discouraged, or love felt conditional.
So we adapt. We internalise the rules.
Don’t be too loud. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t get it wrong.
And those rules become a voice. Quiet, constant, demanding.
At first, the inner critic helps us fit in. It protects us from rejection. It keeps us performing the version of ourselves most likely to be accepted.
But over time, what protected us begins to imprison us.
Therapy often reveals that this harsh self-talk isn’t just “negative thinking”—it’s a relic of survival. A pattern. A defence. A voice that belonged to someone else, once.
When we start to slow down and listen to that voice, something begins to shift. Not because we “stop thinking negatively,” but because we start asking different questions:
Whose voice is this?
When did I first start speaking to myself this way?
What was I protecting myself from?
This is where the deeper work begins—not in silencing the critic, but in understanding it. Making space for it. And eventually, separating from it.
In the therapy I offer, we don’t try to crush the inner critic or shout over it with affirmations. We get curious. We explore. And over time, we trace the critic’s roots—not to blame the past, but to honour the parts of you that learned how to survive.
What often emerges is a quieter, wiser voice—the one beneath the noise. The part of you that longs to be known, not judged. That doesn’t demand perfection, but offers presence.
And from there, real change begins. Not loud. Not forced. But meaningful.
If the voice in your head feels more like a judge than a friend…
…you’re not alone. And it doesn’t have to stay that way.
Sometimes the first step is just recognising: this voice isn’t the whole of me.
There’s something deeper here. And that something deserves to be heard.
#innercritic #selfcompassion #mentalhealthsupport
Jim July 25
We all want to be liked. That’s human. But for some of us, the desire to keep others happy can become something more — a habit, a coping mechanism, even a survival strategy. This is the world of the people-pleaser.
People-pleasing often looks like kindness on the outside: always saying yes, avoiding conflict, smoothing things over. But underneath it, there’s often a deeper fear — of rejection, of failure, of not being good enough.
This isn’t just about being polite or generous. It’s about losing your own voice in the process. Over time, you might notice:
You say “yes” when you want to say “no”
You feel anxious when someone is upset — even if it has nothing to do with you
You constantly second-guess yourself
You feel responsible for how everyone else is feeling
And the worst part? You end up exhausted. Not just tired — emotionally drained from always putting others first.
For many, people-pleasing has roots in early life. If you grew up in an environment where love or approval was conditional, you may have learned that your safety depended on keeping others happy. Maybe you were the peacemaker, the “good” child, the one who stayed quiet and didn’t cause trouble.
This pattern can embed itself so deeply into your self-structure that it becomes your default way of being. You may believe — often unconsciously — that if everyone else is okay, then you’ll be okay too. But the moment someone around you isn’t okay, you may feel as if you’ve failed. That failure can trigger old feelings of shame, fear, and insecurity — especially for those who carry unresolved trauma.
For others, people-pleasing may arise more from social pressures or personality patterns. It can overlap with perfectionism — the belief that you must get everything ‘right’, including how others feel about you. When this belief takes hold, it becomes a fast route to low self-esteem, chronic self-doubt, and even social anxiety.
The hard truth is: you can’t control how others feel. And trying to do so not only sets you up for constant anxiety, but it erodes your sense of self. You might start to wonder:
What do I actually want?
What are my boundaries?
Who am I when I’m not performing?
And those are scary — but important — questions.
The first step is awareness. Noticing the pattern without judgment. Ask yourself:
“Is this a genuine yes, or a fearful one?”
“Am I trying to avoid discomfort?”
“What might happen if I said no?”
Therapy can be a powerful space for this kind of reflection. It offers the chance to explore the beliefs and fears that sit beneath people-pleasing — and to reconnect with the parts of yourself that have been silenced.
This isn’t about swinging to the other extreme and becoming cold or selfish. It’s about learning to honour yourself alongside others. It’s about finding balance.
Because your needs matter too.