I know how it feels to quietly struggle. . . 

I am no stranger to struggling with my mental health. In the past, I had significant periods of well-hidden depression. During these times I experienced overwhelming self-doubt, high levels of anxiety, and chronic feelings of emptiness. Ironically, for some of this time I was an enthusiastic young therapist getting great reviews from clients and managers alike. I was becoming skilled at helping others with their pain, but was stuck in a cycle of holding on to my own. Feelings of shame and longstanding beliefs that 'my problems didn't deserve help' were big factors keeping me stuck.

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After years of therapy myself (some helpful, some less so) I developed a different relationship with my mind. I discovered previously hidden parts of myself and learned the value of being open about my difficulties. Most importantly, I realised that many of my inner experiences can't be changed; they're simply part of being human. What I can change is how I relate to them, and how I choose to live despite them. The feelings that once manifested as depression and anxiety no longer dictate how I live my life, even though they often still exist.

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It took me years to figure out how to get the most from therapy, and to learn that I couldn't take it all on myself (like a younger me firmly believed). These experiences, good and bad, give me a deep sense of empathy for anyone struggling to reach out. I know it can be hard to take that first step, for so many reasons. But I also know what's possible on the other side: not perfection, but a different way of being with yourself that makes it well worth the effort.

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These experiences shape how I practice. I won't pretend I have all the answers, because I know I don't. I won't treat you like you're broken, because you're not. And I understand that asking for help doesn't come easily, especially if, like me, you spent years believing your problems weren't "bad enough" to deserve support. They are. You do.