Working with me
Here you'll find a bit about the approaches to therapy that I am learning through my doctoral training. More and more, I am becoming an existential therapist. Existential philosophy and therapy put words to feelings and experiences I didn't know I had. It met me and resonated.
Now, I cannot promise you the world in therapy — I wish I could. But like you, I am just another person. I do know what it is like to feel broken and unfixable. I had good people who sat with me, listened, and explored. And I found my own possibilities. It is because of them that I am here.
I realise this is perhaps not what you were hoping to hear: should you become one of my clients, I promise no particular result, certainty, or outcome. But, I will do my utmost to meet you where you are, and to sit with you there. To occasionally challenge you. To offer, hopefully when appropriate, a touch of irony. No faked compassion. Certainly no false optimism or prescribed positivity. I can be there , with you.
Too often, we label life's challenges as something "wrong with me".
But maybe the question is not "What's wrong with me?" but "What's happened to me?"
By combining existential philosophy with the principles of psychological flexibility, we can examine the narratives which keep us "stuck" and become open to wider possibilities.
These two approaches focus on taking meaningful, committed action toward living the fulfilling life you want to lead.
Too often, we label life's challenges as something "wrong with me".
But maybe the question is not "What's wrong with me?" but "What's happened to me?"
We have all been through hardship and trauma, whether dramatic or quiet. We learn to survive the world we were born into by developing patterns of behaviour. But the patterns that once helped us make it through can end up holding us back. Sometimes we need to change—not because we are to blame, but because we are the only ones who can.
Too often, we label life's challenges as something "wrong with me".
But maybe the question is not "What's wrong with me?" but "What's happened to me?"
We have all been through hardship and trauma, whether dramatic or quiet. We learn to survive the world we were born into by developing patterns of behaviour. But the patterns that once helped us make it through can end up holding us back. Sometimes we need to change—not because we are to blame, but because we are the only ones who can.
By combining existential philosophy with the principles of psychological flexibility, we can examine the narratives which keep us "stuck" and become open to wider possibilities.
These two approaches focus on taking meaningful, committed action toward living the fulfilling life you want to lead.
Existential Therapy
Existential therapy does away with diagnosing. We know there are many problems with reducing a person to a label — and even if the label were accurate, it makes an entire, complex human being about a word. You are welcome to bring your diagnosis with you, should you have one. I just won't be particularly interested in it.
What I am interested in is you. And I can never know your life the way that you do — which is precisely why your agency sits at the centre of our work together.
Existential therapy, like any therapy, is a relationship between therapist and client. Between you and me. Within our work, uncertainty is the name of the game. As is paradox. There is the paradox that you have come to me as an 'expert,' and yet I will not tell you what to do. There is the uncertainty of not knowing what will come out of doing this.
Our work is led by you. Explored by us. What comes out of it is undetermined.
Existential therapy is, at its heart, a courageous and philosophically grounded endeavour. It takes the business of being human seriously — all of it, including the inconvenient pieces. It reduces nothing to a 'symptom,' and makes space for the messy, the paradoxical, the terrifying, and the wonderful. What follows is a small taste of the terrain — and an invitation to sit with it (or leave it). If you choose to stay, what you make of it is up to you.
1
What to do with the unfixable
To be a human is to be confronted, often, with a problem — or succession of problems — that has no solution. Torn between equally bad options and opposing forces, we encounter the dilemma. Such is the life of a human. At times, we sit and turn the problem over and over for the umpteenth time, as though the right angle might finally reveal the desired exit that was never there. We may consider it unfair that we are sitting in the dilemma, and turn our angst to the system, with little avail or help for the problem itself. We might consider that it is a flaw in the system to have encountered such problems at all — except that the series of unsolvable problems is the system. They are, and have always been, life.
So when there is no good option, and nothing to do — what to do? We could pick one of the undesirable options. We can attempt, usually unsuccessfully, to avoid it entirely. Fascinating, we impractical humans. We also have the inconvenient option of choosing how to engage with the dilemma — to move forward with it, perhaps differently. Or perhaps with nothing to be done, in full acknowledgement that it is there, we put it down for a while and choose to go on a walk.
2
The problem of freedom
Sartre said we are "condemned to be free." Kierkegaard called it the dizziness of freedom. And yet, with great ingenuity, we spend considerable energy pretending that we are not free. And we do not even know that we are pretending. We box ourselves in. We disown the options available to us. We disown things of ourselves which are real — our anger, our frustration — because they do not fit with the boxed identity and version of ourselves we have made, that others have helped us make. "That anger, that's not me!" Except the feeling was in you, so yes, it was. Why have we been made to feel that the possibility of what we feel — the expanse and breadth of our capacity for emotion — is bad?
And no, we do not all arrive with equal freedom. There is no such thing as freedom without limitations. The question is, which limitations are self-imposed? Some of them are like being stuck in a cage of shadow. An illusion. In part because to really sit with the freedom and gravity of possibility is to become dizzy with the options. So, we humans, tend toward certainty. Self-limit. We will the cage bars into solidity. Better a miserable certainty than an anxious uncertainty. We tell ourselves we are what we are and fix ourselves down — instead of acknowledging that within all that possibility, we have enormous capacity for change.
3
Always relating, never alone
We humans are only conscious because we have a world to be conscious in. No world, no human. No body, no human. But we humans do not arrive as fully formed personalities and then encounter life — quite the opposite. It is only as we interact within our world that we start to know ourselves, to create ourselves, and be created. And so, as little humans, thrown into the world, we embark on a process of creation. The small human begins its relation to other beings with its parents and caregivers, then later a wider array of other humans. It is through those interactions, that constant relating, that we start to know ourselves. And this process never stops. As we age, we begin to relate to ourselves — thinking about thinking, and feeling about feeling. Layer upon layer of what makes us up.
And then, at some point, we (perhaps no longer so little) humans look up from going about the day-to-day, and take a moment to contemplate the enormity of the universe. What (pitifully) small and finite creatures against the unending expanse of the infinite, who ask, "what is the point?" Good question. Humanity has contemplated it, well, it seems like always. Some have concluded that it is absurd, and that there really is no point. And yet here we are anyway. Brave to exist at all. What is a human to do?
4
Perhaps the most logical thing to be, is anxious
Ah, to be human — from the moment we are born, on our way to death. Nothingness. And yet we cannot comprehend nothingness. Try it now — think of nothing. What do you find? Blackness, whiteness, space? That is something. We seem constitutionally incapable of imagining true nothingness — perhaps because to imagine nothing would be to imagine our own obliteration. But we know it is coming.
Beyond the anxiety of actually ceasing to be, there is the anxiety of meaninglessness — anything or anyone we love could also cease to be. So maybe we shouldn't love. But what is a life without others? The things we create, or our ability to create, could be wrenched from our grasp. So maybe we shouldn't create. But what is a life without creation? There is also the human anxiety of feeling answerable to ourselves, to our own moral code — so perhaps we should just exist without one. But no, we always have some kind of answerability to ourselves, and so we self-condemn. Bad human!
To be human is (perhaps unfortunately) to care. And that very care is what condemns us to anxiety, should we be open to looking at it. It is also that care that makes possible a life which is fulfilling. Yet another paradox of human existence. We are walking paradoxes.
To exist at all is an act of courage.
Acceptance & Commitment Therapy
If it was as simple as changing or stopping your thoughts and emotions, you would have already done it. Psychological flexibility, and its principles, are easy to misunderstand — because the moment you try too hard to live them, operationalise them, or rigidly set about doing them, you have already missed the point. You are being psychologically inflexible.
If you are trying too hard to be present, you are not really present at all. You are so busy thinking about being present that you are not actually in the room. Intriguing, isn't it? Paradoxical, indeed. Worth thinking about. Reading this, I would imagine, begets more questions than answers — it feels like a Dr. Seuss turn about. It certainly did for me. Despite being fear-inducing, there is wisdom in sitting with what is uncertain and ambiguous. Not knowing is often a good place to start.
As simply as I can put it, ACT is about engaging your natural capacity to look differently at what is with you, in you. It is about a way of self-relating, clarifying how you move forward through the world, and what kind of life you want to lead.
2
Defused Thinking
The mind is a great problem solver. There was a time when we kept it busy — hunting, gathering, farming, surviving. But then our technology evolved, and survival became (relatively) easy. The mind did not likewise evolve and so goes about solving much that does not need solving or can't be solved.
It was quite liberating, the day I realised I did not have to believe everything my mind had to say.
Defusion is learning to hold thoughts a little more loosely. To see them as thoughts rather than truth. Picture leaves drifting down a river. You lock eyes on one particular leaf — a troubling one — and jump into the river to grab it. You hit the water and leaves fly up and everywhere. You grab at one, then another, clawing at them. Perhaps, for a while, you forget to swim. All of this urgency. For dead leaves.
1
Acceptance & Willingness
In my experience, the more you avoid a feeling, the more of it you tend to get. We are quite literally designed to feel — and yet we push our emotions out. Emotions and thoughts are inevitable; and yet we avoid them. If we were never sad, what would happiness be? Life would just be neutral.
Picture arguing with a storm. No, really — actually standing outside, screaming at the clouds to stop being. Whimsical. Ridiculous? And yet when we decide an emotion is wrong, or shouldn't be there — "this is not me" — this is essentially what we are doing.
Emotions are messages. We don't have to agree with the impulse attached to them — but we can look at them. Acceptance is not resignation; it is a willingness to engage with ourselves. The fullness of ourselves. It is not deciding "oh, I actually like getting wet and cold and shivering." You just stop fighting it — and free yourself to look at it, to feel it, and have space for other things too. Like finding an umbrella. Getting back indoors. Or noticing that it won't rain forever.
3
Present Moment Awareness
Being present is, honestly, a bizarre thing to ask of someone. The present moment cannot really be grasped — as soon as it is here, it is gone, and this goes on infinitely. One might reasonably conclude that the present does not even exist. Which would be understandable.
And yet. There are moments where you are simply — somewhere. With someone. Noticing something outside of your own head. Engaged, rather than narrating.
I learned to be present from my dogs and working with horses. If you want to train them, you have to be with them — completely. If your mind is half somewhere else, so too will your animals be. They taught me (with a good deal of practice) that attention, being present, can be trained.
Being present is engaging your senses — being a feeling, embodied being. A smelling, hearing, seeing, tasting, feeling being. Immersed in what the senses can offer, or just one, if that is where your intention falls.
4
Self-as-Context
Humans are bizarre. We do not just think and feel — we know that we think and feel. We can watch ourselves think. This capacity has been recognised across cultures and centuries — it seems to be one of the things that, across the world, we agree makes us human.
I was 18 when I got my first underwater camera. If you have ever been scuba diving, you realise that the more you chase a particular fish, the less likely you are to get the shot. The best photographs are of things that happen to calmly drift by. And yet for years, in all my infinite wisdom, I made a habit of becoming obsessed with one fish — one thought, one emotion, one identity, one way of going about the world — and chasing it, making it true. That fish was bizarre, or cool, or enticing. I seldom got the shot. I did, often, use a lot of air.
And yet, there is an entire, vast ocean. So massive that the possibilities it holds could never be explored in full. When I really think of the enormity of the sea, I find it petrifying. Also awe-inspiring. The expanse of freedom is dizzying, should you be willing to let go of that fish.
5
Values
The word "values" gets thrown around a lot, and flippantly. In my experience, many of us have either no idea what we actually value, or we latch onto something that sounds noble enough. When I began publishing academic papers, for a while I felt despondent, "so what?" The paper comes out. I have my five minutes of glory. And then nothing. What was the point? I realised that I actually enjoy the writing — the thinking, the wrestling with ideas, the process of getting something unclear to become clear, and crafting a story. Publishing is just a goal. Leading a creative, intellectual life is the value.
In my experience, it takes dedication to painstakingly uncover what actually matters to us, the stuff that resonates in your bones. And then, as life is absurd, one discovery leads to the next, should we be open to it, and so our values may change. To hold ourselves loosely, as evolving, is a value in itself — the value of living an open, discovering life. Values are about the process of how we go about life; not the content of what is in our lives. Though the two are, of course, related.
6
Committed Action
I recently took up music again. Not to sit down and play for the sake of playing, but to get back to being able to play something — even a small piece — from start to finish, and to play it well. Which means note by note. Bar by bar. Finger by finger.
In practicing well, I am not just playing music. I am living toward something — the value of feeling challenged, of feeling creative, of building something beautiful, albeit slowly. If I miss a week, I miss a week. When a piece is achieved, it is achieved. What matters to me is the small, regular engagements with music that enrich my way of life. I will never play the great sonatas or concertos. I do not put in the time, nor do I have the patience. But I do enough to put something of me into it. To live an engaged life.
Committed action is not grand gestures or perfect consistency — but showing up, in the direction of something that matters, for long enough that it becomes the process of living.
1
Acceptance
Imagine you’re trying to hold a beach ball underwater. The harder you push it down, the more forcefully it wants to rise. That beach ball represents the distressing private experiences we try to avoid—sensations, painful thoughts, memories, and emotions.
Avoidance is the act of trying to suppress it, using up all your energy to get rid of it.
Acceptance is letting the ball float alongside you. You don’t have to like it or want it there, but you can allow it to exist without struggle. When we stop resisting what is already present, we free up energy to focus on what truly matters. And sometimes, as the ball is allowed to simply sit there in the sun, it starts to slowly shrink.
1
Acceptance vs Avoidance
Imagine you’re trying to hold a beach ball underwater. The harder you push it down, the more forcefully it wants to rise. That beach ball represents the distressing private experiences we try to avoid—sensations, painful thoughts, memories, and emotions.
Avoidance is the act of trying to suppress it, using up all your energy to get rid of it.
Acceptance is letting the ball float alongside you. You don’t have to like it or want it there, but you can allow it to exist without struggle. When we stop resisting what is already present, we free up energy to focus on what truly matters. And sometimes, as the ball is allowed to simply sit there in the sun, it starts to slowly shrink.
2
Diffused Thinking
Imagine sitting beside a river. Thoughts float by like leaves on the surface—some fast, some slow, some catching your eye. When we’re fused with a thought, it’s like we’ve jumped into the river and are being pulled along by the current, tangled, fused with the leaf, believing it’s true, important, urgent.
Defusion is staying on the bank. You still see the thoughts. You acknowledge them. But you don’t have to chase them, fix them, or fight them. You can simply notice, “Ah, there’s that thought again,” and let it drift downstream.
It’s not about getting rid of the thought—it’s about changing your relationship to it.
2
Defused Thinking
Imagine sitting beside a river. Thoughts float by like leaves on the surface—some fast, some slow, some catching your eye. When we’re fused with a thought, it’s like we’ve jumped into the river and are being pulled along by the current, tangled, fused with the leaf, believing it’s true, important, urgent.
Defusion is staying on the bank. You still see the thoughts. You acknowledge them. But you don’t have to chase them, fix them, or fight them. You can simply notice, “Ah, there’s that thought again,” and let it drift downstream.
It’s not about getting rid of the thought—it’s about changing your relationship to it.
3
Present Moment Awareness
You’re driving a familiar route – home from work, for example. As you pull into the driveway, you realize that you can’t remember the trip. That’s autopilot. You were physically present, but mentally elsewhere.
Now imagine driving the same route, but this time you’re fully tuned in – the feeling of the steering wheel, the orange of the setting sun breaking the tree line, your breathing.
That’s contact with the present moment
3
Present Moment Awareness
You’re driving a familiar route – home from work, for example. As you pull into the driveway, you realize that you can’t remember the trip. That’s autopilot. You were physically present, but mentally elsewhere.
Now imagine driving the same route, but this time you’re fully tuned in – the feeling of the steering wheel, the orange of the setting sun breaking the tree line, your breathing.
That’s contact with the present moment
4
Self-as-Context
Think of it like this: there is a vast ocean, teeming with life, creatures darting in and out. Some big. Some small. Now, imagine that each of your thoughts and emotions is one of those creatures. You are the ocean, not each fish. You have thoughts and emotions, but they are not who you are.
You are more than any one thought, emotion, or experience. You are the container (ocean), not the contents (the fish) of any one thing that can define you.
4
Self-as-Context
Think of it like this: there is a vast ocean, teeming with life, creatures darting in and out. Some big. Some small. Now, imagine that each of your thoughts and emotions is one of those creatures. You are the ocean, not each fish. You have thoughts and emotions, but they are not who you are.
You are more than any one thought, emotion, or experience. You are the container (ocean), not the contents (the fish) of any one thing that can define you.
5
Values
Imagine your tombstone had just one sentence to sum up your life—not your job title, not your resume, but who you were.
What would you want it to say?
-
They lived with integrity.
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They made people feel safe.
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They followed their curiosity.
That’s your compass. That’s your values. They don't tell you where you should be going, but how you want to go about the journey.
5
Values
Imagine your tombstone had just one sentence to sum up your life—not your job title, not your resume, but who you were.
What would you want it to say?
-
They lived with integrity.
-
They made people feel safe.
-
They followed their curiosity.
That’s your compass. That’s your values. They don't tell you where you should be going, but how you want to go about the journey.
6
Committed Action
Imagine planting a garden. You place the seeds carefully in the soil—seeds of kindness, honesty, creativity, courage. You water them, care for them, even when you can’t see results right away.
Committed action is like that. It’s choosing to act in line with your values, even when there’s no instant reward. Some days it feels like nothing’s happening. But over time, with patience and consistency, something begins to grow.
A values-based life doesn’t bloom overnight. But if you keep showing up—tending to what matters—you build something real, rooted, and alive.
6
Committed Action
Imagine planting a garden. You place the seeds carefully in the soil—seeds of kindness, honesty, creativity, courage. You water them, care for them, even when you can’t see results right away.
Committed action is like that. It’s choosing to act in line with your values, even when there’s no instant reward. Some days it feels like nothing’s happening. But over time, with patience and consistency, something begins to grow.
A values-based life doesn’t bloom overnight. But if you keep showing up—tending to what matters—you build something real, rooted, and alive.
Too often, we label life's challenges as something "wrong with me".
But maybe the question is not "What's wrong with me?" but "What's happened to me?"
We have all been through hardship and trauma, whether dramatic or quiet. We learn to survive the world we were born into by developing patterns of behaviour. But the patterns that once helped us make it through can end up holding us back. Sometimes we need to change—not because we are to blame, but because we are the only ones who can.