From Wilderness to Listening: What Led Me to Therapy
People often ask why I became a therapist — what drew me to this work of quiet attunement and deep presence. The truth is, the listening began long before I had language for it.
I grew up on a farm in Southland, New Zealand under grey skies and wide, empty paddocks. The wind was a constant presence — in the trees, through the grass, and often, in me. It was a lonely land, and I spent hours listening: to the animals, to the hush between gusts, to the ache of my own aloneness.
In the years before mobile phones and the internet, I lived off-grid in Fiordland — where the road ended and the walking tracks began. I chopped wood, cleaned cabins, and spoke with the occasional tramper, hunter, or climber passing through. The river roared nearby, and again, I found myself in solitude, surrounded by the wild.
What I didn’t know then was that these years were shaping my way of being. Slowly, the land — and the silence — began to teach me how to listen. That same quality of listening is now central to my work as a therapist.
A Shop, A Mirror, A Place to Be Seen
From Fiordland’s quiet to the city’s pulse, my path shaped itself in cloth and colour. I began making clothes on almost nothing, then opened a shop that became a gathering place—where musicians, artists, and wanderers found pieces that spoke to them. Quietly or boldly, they’d say, “Yes, this is me.”
That moment—when someone saw themselves in what they chose—was profound. Not a new self, but one rising to the surface. In that yes, something rejoiced.
My therapeutic roots weren’t born in a clinic. They began here—in laughter, gold mannequins, and the courage to be fully yourself.
From Outer to Inner
The shop was never just about clothes. It was about that moment someone said, “Yes, this is me.” I was drawn to how outer expression hinted at something deeper.
I wanted to explore that hidden landscape—the part that holds meaning and seeks steady ground when life gets messy.
That longing took me into nursing and therapeutic spaces. I began at Queen Mary Hospital in New Zealand, once known for addiction recovery. Some found transformation; others didn’t. I saw both—the harm and the healing—and it stayed with me.
Eventually, I moved into counselling and opened a practice where I could meet people in their rawness. The work is quiet, sometimes fierce, often beautiful. It’s still about expression—now it’s the courage to be seen from the inside.
What Keeps Me Company
Creativity still has a place in my life. I make things—sometimes with fabric, sometimes with words, sometimes with paint. It’s not about mastery. It’s a way of staying connected to something alive inside me.
Outside of therapeutic work, making helps me keep company with myself. It reminds me that expression doesn’t have to be tidy to be meaningful.
Whats your story? If you’re ready to being, Im here.