There was a time in my life when anxiety and low mood were not just passing experiences, they were part of how I lived each day.

Getting my diagnosis at 58 was both emotional and enlightening. Suddenly, my life had context.

There had always been a quiet awareness, a feeling that I experienced the world differently.

Becoming a psychotherapist wasn’t a decision I made early on. Looking back, it feels less like a choice and more like something I was always moving towards.