I think my decision to pursue psychology began with a mix of curiosity and, to be honest, a sense of mysticism I felt toward the subject when I was 16. But what keeps me here, what makes me want to continue being a counsellor, is the sense of belonging I feel in this work. The values that are central to who I am, to my personal self- emotional safety, respect for the individuality of every being- are values I get to embody each day as my therapist self too.

What excites me most about being a counsellor is that there’s no end to the curiosity this work invites- both within and beyond the therapeutic hour. In the space of a session, staying with the client’s experience and holding on to that sense of curiosity is not just a technique, but a way of offering safe and attuned witnessing. And outside the therapy room, the constant learning, through resources, peers, mentors, brings so much aliveness and joy to the work for me.

I hope that after the first session, the client is able to leave with a sense of whether they feel an intuitive fit and some degree of relational safety. While I know that safety is something that builds over time- through how ruptures are handled, how deeply heard and respected the client feels, I also believe there’s often an early sense, like in any relationship, of whether it feels right to stay.

Along with that, I hope they leave with clarity around any questions they may have about the therapeutic process, my approach, and their rights within the space. Ideally, they also get a sense of what it might look like for us to co-create this space together in the sessions to come.

To someone considering therapy, I would say this: we often imagine therapy, like many things in life, as a quick fix, an immediate balm, or something instantly transformative. While simply finding space for yourself can be deeply healing, therapy may not always feel good in the way we expect it to.

It might bring up discomfort, anger (even towards your therapist, and that is completely okay to name), or unexpected grief about things you did not know still hurt. In those moments, the power of therapy often lies in having someone sit with you without trying to change or fix your experience, but instead in offering a safe witnessing.

Not every session will feel profound or complete. But the act of showing up consistently and vulnerably, in the presence of someone attuned to you, is often what leads to meaningful change.

For me, relational safety is at the centre of all the work we try to do in therapy. I hope to build a relationship where, over time, both the client and I feel comfortable reflecting on our connection in real time. I often invite clients to share what they are feeling toward me in a given moment and how they are experiencing our relationship. I also try to model this transparency by gently sharing what I am sensing or feeling in the space between us, and checking in with how they feel about that kind of sharing.

What feels important to me is that the client knows this is a space where their emotions in response to a relationship will not lead to disconnection, but will be met with openness and curiosity. It is this kind of safety that allows deeper exploration.

To make the process collaborative, I share my stance as a therapist at different points in the journey. I take up the role of a containing presence in a non-directive way, and unless we agree otherwise, the client is encouraged to set the pace and goals for what they wish to explore.

One of my greatest learnings from clients is that we do not always need a cure, we often just need a witness. This is also one of my favourite lines from a book on group therapy. I have come to see again and again how deeply resilient humans are in the face of pain and challenge, and how we are wired for survival in ways that deserve profound respect and compassion.

In my work, I hear stories of survival, of protection, of bodies and nervous systems trying to find safety. I witness acts of hope, of breaking down and still choosing to show up, of naming difficult truths and slowly beginning to trust a space. I have learned how powerful our natural pull toward repair is, even after deep rupture.

Most of all, I have learned that clients do not need someone who is perfect or who always knows what to say. What they need is someone who can sit with them and whose presence makes it a little easier to keep going.

One quality I really value in myself as a counsellor is how deeply my therapeutic stance is informed by the systems and schools of thought I resonate with. I find the most alignment with parts work, especially through the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS). This framework has helped me cultivate a genuine curiosity not just toward the parts my clients hold, but also toward the parts of myself that may be active in the therapy room.

It has made me more reflective as a therapist. Often, during the therapy hour and post the session, i find myself tracking my own sensations and feelings, and revisiting those reflections to inform my understanding of the client. This ongoing reflective practice, along with the honesty I try to bring into the room, are qualities I deeply value in the way I show up for this work.

In my free time, I find a lot of solace in reading. It brings me joy not just for the stories themselves, but for the pace it allows, the comfort of knowing the story will stay, waiting for me. I also love attending stand-up comedy shows and finding new quaint cafes which can double as a work station . And I enjoy dancing, often in the comfort of my room or during a Zumba class, though I hope to explore it more deeply as an art form someday.

My approach to therapy is relational and process-oriented, and I draw deeply from a modality called Internal Family Systems (IFS).

When I say relational, I mean that I believe the relationship between therapist and client is one of the most important parts of therapy. Things like honesty, trust, emotional safety, and mutual respect matter deeply to me. I see the therapeutic relationship as something we build together, and I hold that connection with care.

When I say process-oriented, I mean that therapy is not just about what is said in words. I also pay attention to what is felt but may not yet be spoken. This includes body language, pauses, emotions, and physical sensations. These cues help us understand how a moment is being experienced, not just what is being talked about.

As for IFS, or Internal Family Systems therapy, it is a way of understanding the mind as made up of different “parts”: just like members of a family. Each part has a role, often developed to help us cope or stay safe. In therapy, we learn to notice these different parts, give them a voice, understand why they do what they do.

Something I strive to do is make my intersectional stance visible from the outset, both in my intake form and during the first interaction with a client. I also make it a point to name my positionality as a cisgender, heterosexual woman. I acknowledge that this positionality informs my worldview and is shaped by the privileges I hold. At the same time, I emphasize that it is my responsibility as a practitioner to continuously learn from and be informed by my clients’ lived experiences and perspectives.

I explicitly invite clients to name any blind spots they may notice in our work together, and I view this as part of creating a space rooted in mutual respect and accountability. I also try to practice immediacy, acknowledging in the moment if I am unfamiliar with something, and taking responsibility to educate myself further.

To stay accountable to queer-affirmative practice, I regularly engage with the writings and lived experiences of queer and trans communities, and I value spaces like supervision and educational circles in ensuring my work continues to remain queer affirmative.