A letter to my future clients

I’ve been thinking about the things I’d want you to know before you ever sit across from me in the therapy room.

That you don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to tell me everything straight away. And most importantly, you’re not coming to therapy because there’s something wrong with you that needs to be fixed.

So, I wrote you a letter. 🤍

To the person who might sit across from me one day, there are a few things I want you to know before you ever walk through my door.

You don't need to have the right words.

You don't need to know where to start.

You don't need to have worked out exactly what's wrong, what you want to change or what you think therapy is supposed to look like.

And you definitely don't need to arrive with your story neatly packaged and ready to tell.

You can just arrive.

Maybe you've been thinking about therapy for months.

Maybe years.

Maybe you've hovered over the enquiry button more than once and talked yourself out of it.

Maybe life looks pretty okay from the outside.

You're working. Parenting. Showing up. Getting things done. Being the person other people rely on. But underneath all of that, you're tired. Or anxious, or disconnected, or carrying something you can't quite put into words.

Maybe you're not even sure whether what you're going through is "big enough" for therapy.

It is.

You don't have to wait until things fall apart to ask for support.

And you don't need to convince me that you're struggling enough to deserve it.

I won't be looking for what's wrong with you

This is probably one of the most important things I want you to know.

When you sit across from me, I won't be looking at you as a problem that needs fixing.

I'm going to be curious about you.

About what has happened to you.

What life has been like.

What you've learned along the way.

What you've had to carry.

What helps you feel safe.

What makes you want to run a mile.

What makes you laugh.

What matters to you.

And all the different parts of you that have found ways to get you here.

Because that anxiety you've spent years wishing would disappear? Maybe it has been trying really hard to keep you safe.

The part of you that keeps everyone happy? Maybe it learned a long time ago that keeping the peace mattered.

The part that shuts down? Maybe it learned that switching off was safer than feeling everything at once.

The part that overthinks? Maybe it learned that if it could stay one step ahead, it could stop something going wrong.

The part that does everything alone? Maybe it learned that relying on yourself felt safer than being let down.

The part that says I'm fine even when you're absolutely not? Maybe it learned that your needs were easier to carry quietly than to share with someone else.

All of these different parts of your are welcome here.

I'm not going to rush in and try to get rid of them.

I'm going to wonder why they're there.

Because I don't believe there is something inherently wrong with you.

And I don't think therapy is about fixing all the bits of yourself you don't like.

Sometimes it's about finally understanding them.

We won't rush

You might come to me because something painful has happened.

You might already know you want to work with EMDR.

You might have a story you've never told anyone.

That doesn't mean we're going there on day one. Or day two. Or until we both feel that you're ready.

Your safety matters more to me than getting through a protocol.

Your nervous system matters more than how quickly we reach trauma processing.

And the person sitting in front of me will always matter more than the therapy technique I'm using.

We'll go at your pace, there will be room to pause, to change direction, to say “I don't want to talk about that today”, to laugh, to cry, to swear, to sit quietly. to say, “I actually have no idea”.

All of that is allowed here.

Sometimes we'll talk. Sometimes we'll do something different.

I love talking therapy. There is something incredibly powerful about having another human really listen to you.

But sometimes you can understand something intellectually and still feel it everywhere else.

You can know you're safe and still feel your body tense when someone's tone changes.

You can know you're allowed to say no and still feel sick with guilt when you do.

You can know you're worthy and still hear that old voice telling you you're not enough.

You can talk about something for years and still find your body responding as though it hasn't quite got the memo.

That's one of the reasons I love working with approaches like EMDR and Resource Therapy.

Because sometimes we need to work with more than the part of you that already understands, but still reacts in unhelpful ways.

Your body.

Your nervous system.

Your emotions.

Your memories.

The different parts of you.

The parts that are still standing guard even though life might look very different now.

We're not trying to erase them.

We're helping them realise they might not need to work quite so hard anymore.

I won't expect you to be a "good" therapy client

There is no gold star for doing therapy perfectly and I promise I am just as human as you are.

You don't have to come in every week with some profound insight.

You don't have to practise every strategy I mention.

You don't have to cry.

You don't have to talk about your childhood.

You don't have to make progress in a straight line.

And you don't need to worry about looking after me.

If something doesn't feel right, tell me.

If you disagree with me, tell me.

If I misunderstand something, correct me.

If you need us to slow down, we'll slow down.

Therapy is something we do together.

Not something I do to you.

And one last thing…

I hope that over time, you start speaking to yourself a little differently.

That What's wrong with me? becomes: I wonder why this makes sense for me.

That Why can't I just get over this? becomes: Maybe something in me still needs some care.

That I hate this part of myself becomes: I wonder what this part has been trying to do for me.

And perhaps eventually: Oh. I understand you now.

Because my hope for you isn't that you walk away from therapy as some shiny, improved, perfectly healed version of yourself.

I hope you leave knowing yourself better.

Trusting yourself more.

Understanding why you respond the way you do.

Feeling more able to listen to what you need.

And maybe carrying a little less of what was never yours to carry forever.

So, if we do end up sitting across from each other one day, please know this:

You don't need to arrive ready.

You don't need to arrive with the right words.

You don't need to arrive as anything other than exactly where you are.

There is nothing you need to prove to me.

And you are not walking through my door to be fixed.

We're simply going to start by getting to know you.

All of you.

And we'll go from there.

Kate x