As the seasons change, I am reminded of this season of growth in my own life and in the lives of my client’s. For some the threat of change strikes terror, ​for others the comfort of change is familiar and calming. For all, the process of change is unique and unrepeatable. For me, I’m left bastardising the words ​of our lord and saviour Stevie Nicks - ‘I’ve been afraid of changing’. Of course, this shit’s hard.

It is no coincidence that the theoretical principles of therapeutic change and creativity overlap. In both processes we aim to translate our experiences of ​ourselves, of our external world and of others into a form palpable enough for us to integrate new learning with the existing structure of self. ​Preparation. Incubation. Illumination. Verification. Meaningful change engages us in the invitation to move into ourselves, to move towards a sense of ​wholeness and away from the internalised binds of who we ‘should’ be or who we ‘had to’ be.

My first supervisor, before I had even seen a client, explained the therapeutic process to me like this: As a child, we are all given clothes to wear. Bright, ​multi-coloured dungarees or scratchy beige jumpers. We hold on to them for as long as possible until it is time for something new and they’re handed ​down or thrown away. Sometimes though, we can’t let go of our outfits. Our favourite ones. Also the ones that we’ve been forced into kicking and ​screaming. Often people come to therapy with an underlying sense of discomfort. A longing for change. They’re still trying to squeeze into their old ​clothes; chosen by someone else, completely ill-fitting and now not fit for purpose. Psychotherapy is the process of clearing out the wardrobe. Picking ​each item out, having a good look and deciding whether it stays or goes.

But I sit with this, what happens in the space between change. So you want to get rid of this shirt because frankly it’s hideous but it’s a week until payday ​so you can’t quite replace it. I have an image of therapy clients running around naked trying to figure out what happens next. Vulnerable and exposed. ​That’s where the therapeutic relationship comes in. Whether or not you believe effective change can happen in isolation, at the rawest moment of ​personal evolution, having another witness, hold and ensure that you are resourced enough to safely transition whilst retaining a level of homeostasis in ​life, is the job of an experienced trauma-informed psychotherapist.

In the way a tree loses it’s leaves and the world fades from green to brown, formation must come destruction. It becomes time to kill our darlings. ​Creative destruction is the dismantling of previous methods of operation to allow the opportunity for new and improved ways of creation. You enforce ​healthy boundaries and lose relationships with those unwilling to respect them. You change the language you use towards yourself, from negative ​baration to affirming grace, and you reflect on the loss of all that time you treated yourself so poorly. You feel a new sense of entirety and you begin to ​mourn for and honour all the ways in which you denied yourself to survive. Again, I echo the importance of a robust therapeutic relationship to allow ​the grieving process appropriate and earned by the client committed to change.

Being a therapist isn’t an easy job, but there is no greater privilege and reminder of human potential than that of beholding change. Whether it’s after ​many years together or the commitment made within the very session, I will never be left unmoved by the bravery and courage of those battling to grow.

In the way a tree loses it’s leaves and the world fades from green to brown, formation must come destruction. It becomes time to kill our darlings. ​Creative destruction is the dismantling of previous methods of operation to allow the opportunity for new and improved ways of creation. You enforce ​healthy boundaries and lose relationships with those unwilling to respect them. You change the language you use towards yourself, from negative ​baration to affirming grace, and you reflect on the loss of all that time you treated yourself so poorly. You feel a new sense of entirety and you begin to ​mourn for and honour all the ways in which you denied yourself to survive. Again, I echo the importance of a robust therapeutic relationship to allow ​the grieving process appropriate and earned by the client committed to change.

Being a therapist isn’t an easy job, but there is no greater privilege and reminder of human potential than that of beholding change. Whether it’s after ​many years together or the commitment made within the very session, I will never be left unmoved by the bravery and courage of those battling to grow.

I’ve started a therapy instagram. After literal years of resistance, @naomiruletherapy exists in the public domain and I’ve even made a lip syncing tiktok about being a ‘cool’ therapist which is honestly hilarious in both senses of the word because not only is there a national heatwave but there is also no one apart from my ten year old nephew that still thinks I’m cool.

I am a long time follower of loads of amazing mental health instagrams, I particularly favour trauma-informed movement creators and posts that reduce my often very stressful job to hilariously accurate memes. Being a therapist can be isolating and building an online community is not just enjoyable but essential. Connecting with therapists from all over the world, with lived experience very similar or vastly different from me, has been a cornerstone of the development of my intersectional practice. So why the hold up? Honestly, I just didn’t know what to say and I became so worried that someone unable to access proper mental health support would stumble across a half-arsed generic compilation of uninspired inspirational quotes and upon seeing they were endorsed by a licensed professional swallow them whole. Yes, that might be a touch narcissistic and yes, these motivational mottos may have their place, but in my opinion, they can namaste away from trauma-informed practice.

Before and during my psychotherapy training I worked in arts education with my favourite job being that of teaching drama in a pupil referral unit. It was guaranteed chaos every single week but the energy and enthusiasm was infectious. Leaving at the end of each day left me with the same kind of adrenaline buzz I’d get leaving a gig. But this time I was the frontman - if I nailed that lesson plan I’d be a rockstar. Of course, misjudging the class could instead lead to the stage getting bottled and a riot led by a three foot crowdsurfer.

The truth is, I like naughty kids. There’s something about an obnoxious tantrum that I admire. I can’t decipher if it’s my inner child or present adult that is envious of the ability to scream and shout and demand my needs are met. One hilarious and precocious young lad from this school has stayed with me. He loves drama, particularly when he can act out scenes of winning something; the lottery, a football game, mastermind, it doesn’t matter.

I come in one day and he’s trashed the wellbeing office, a small room painted in muted tones with wall to wall posters dictating ‘today is going to be an amazing day’ and ‘nothing is impossible’. He’s huddled in the corner in a heap, reminding me of a hedgehog from a book I read as a child. That’s what I say to him. ‘Have you read the book about the hedgehog that wants a balloon so all his friends put corks on his spikes?’. He looks up at me, like I’ve gone absolutely insane, but he catches sight of the room around him and the amount of damage he’s created. I wonder if it was actually a positive thing for a child like that to see how much impact they could have on the world around them. I join him on the floor and we take in our surroundings. I notice ‘every star shines a little differently’ scattered around in shredded shards.

It takes time for us as staff to work out what had happened that day. We learn that he came to school without sleeping. He’d waited up all night with his bookcase and body up against a door stopping his father entering the room he and his mother cowered in. He had no choice but to witness things as a child that I, as an adult, would look away from if they were happening on tv. When he’d come into school that day and subsequently been removed from the classroom for disruptive and dangerous behaviour, he’d been placed in a room of toxic positivity. It turns out the sentiment of ‘Don’t worry, be happy’ will really piss you off if you spend most of your evenings in paralysing fear and growing up too fast.

In that moment I learnt something vital about authenticity. The same quote that’s been spat out a thousand times from search engines tasked with selecting ‘inspiring quotes for children’ was not going to make this little boy feel seen or heard. Instead we ended up talking about the story of the hedgehog and his desperation to hold a balloon. How he needed people around him to understand his problems and find solutions with him so he wouldn’t feel so alone. We were going to start worrying and he didn’t need to be happy right now.

So I’ve started a therapy instagram because I feel like now I might actually have something to say. I’m a queer, disabled psychotherapist working to minimise the amount of disparity in the fundamental healthcare marginalised and chronically dysregulated bodies receive. But I’m going to be mindful about what I’m posting because I don’t need to be churning out posts that force me or anyone else to feel like anything other than how we’re feeling in that very moment is perfectly acceptable and worthy of value.

Before and during my psychotherapy training I worked in arts education with my favourite job being that of teaching drama in a pupil referral unit. It was guaranteed chaos every single week but the energy and enthusiasm was infectious. Leaving at the end of each day left me with the same kind of adrenaline buzz I’d get leaving a gig. But this time I was the frontman - if I nailed that lesson plan I’d be a rockstar. Of course, misjudging the class could instead lead to the stage getting bottled and a riot led by a three foot crowdsurfer.

The truth is, I like naughty kids. There’s something about an obnoxious tantrum that I admire. I can’t decipher if it’s my inner child or present adult that is envious of the ability to scream and shout and demand my needs are met. One hilarious and precocious young lad from this school has stayed with me. He loves drama, particularly when he can act out scenes of winning something; the lottery, a football game, mastermind, it doesn’t matter.

I come in one day and he’s trashed the wellbeing office, a small room painted in muted tones with wall to wall posters dictating ‘today is going to be an amazing day’ and ‘nothing is impossible’. He’s huddled in the corner in a heap, reminding me of a hedgehog from a book I read as a child. That’s what I say to him. ‘Have you read the book about the hedgehog that wants a balloon so all his friends put corks on his spikes?’. He looks up at me, like I’ve gone absolutely insane, but he catches sight of the room around him and the amount of damage he’s created. I wonder if it was actually a positive thing for a child like that to see how much impact they could have on the world around them. I join him on the floor and we take in our surroundings. I notice ‘every star shines a little differently’ scattered around in shredded shards.

It takes time for us as staff to work out what had happened that day. We learn that he came to school without sleeping. He’d waited up all night with his bookcase and body up against a door stopping his father entering the room he and his mother cowered in. He had no choice but to witness things as a child that I, as an adult, would look away from if they were happening on tv. When he’d come into school that day and subsequently been removed from the classroom for disruptive and dangerous behaviour, he’d been placed in a room of toxic positivity. It turns out the sentiment of ‘Don’t worry, be happy’ will really piss you off if you spend most of your evenings in paralysing fear and growing up too fast.

In that moment I learnt something vital about authenticity. The same quote that’s been spat out a thousand times from search engines tasked with selecting ‘inspiring quotes for children’ was not going to make this little boy feel seen or heard. Instead we ended up talking about the story of the hedgehog and his desperation to hold a balloon. How he needed people around him to understand his problems and find solutions with him so he wouldn’t feel so alone. We were going to start worrying and he didn’t need to be happy right now.

So I’ve started a therapy instagram because I feel like now I might actually have something to say. I’m a queer, disabled psychotherapist working to minimise the amount of disparity in the fundamental healthcare marginalised and chronically dysregulated bodies receive. But I’m going to be mindful about what I’m posting because I don’t need to be churning out posts that force me or anyone else to feel like anything other than how we’re feeling in that very moment is perfectly acceptable and worthy of value.