For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a sense that I was meant for something more, something deeper and more meaningful than the life I first knew. For many years, I couldn’t name what that “something” was. I just knew that I often felt out of place, searching for a sense of belonging and peace that always seemed out of reach.

 

My story began with loss. My father was killed when I was in my pre-teen years, and the complexity of his death shaped much of my early life. Grief held me tightly, even when I didn’t have the language to understand it. For a long time, I felt as though it was suffocating me.

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As I grew older, the weight of that pain began to surface in different ways. I struggled with feelings of emptiness, confusion, and self-blame, emotions that were difficult to share and even harder to make sense of. Yet, somewhere within that darkness, a small spark of faith and hope remained.

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It was through that spark that I eventually sought help. Over time, therapy became a lifeline  a space where I could begin to understand myself, my grief, and my story with gentleness instead of shame. Healing was not quick or easy, but it was possible and profoundly real.

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Years later, as I worked in education, I recognised the same unspoken pain in others particularly in children and young people who didn’t yet have words for what they were feeling. That recognition deepened my calling to train as a psychotherapist and to dedicate my work to helping others find meaning, resilience, and self-compassion.

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Today, I am a mother, a qualified psychotherapist, and a Compassionate Inquiry Practitioner. My work is rooted in the belief that being broken does not mean being unworthy of love or belonging that our most painful experiences can become sources of strength, empathy, and understanding.

 

My story is one of faith, survival, and return, not to perfection, but to wholeness. And it’s from that place that I now hold space for others who are ready to begin their own healing