a pause and a transition – moving my practice
It has been a little while since my last blog post, and that pause hasn’t been accidental.
Over the past few months, a number of significant changes have been unfolding behind the scenes as I prepare to move to the South of France and transition my practice online. I’m aware that I don’t usually write about my own life here and that choice is intentional. As a counselling psychologist, I’m mindful of the importance of professional boundaries and of keeping this space focused on your inner world rather than mine.
That said, this feels like a moment where a degree of transparency matters.
While I won’t be sharing the personal details behind this move, I do want to acknowledge that part of this decision is about wanting to live more closely in alignment with the values I often write and speak about: slowing down, reconnecting with nature, and creating space for reflection rather than constant urgency. It has felt important to practice what I gently invite others to consider, even when doing so is complex and uncomfortable.
It also feels important to name the privilege inherent in having the option to slow down at all.
In a fast-paced world shaped by economic pressure, caring responsibilities, health needs, and structural inequalities, relocating, or radically redesigning one’s life, is simply not possible for most people. Even the idea of “slowing down” can feel distant, unrealistic, or alienating when daily life requires constant momentum just to keep going.
Holding this in mind matters to me.
My intention in writing about pace, nature, and stillness has never been to suggest that calm is something to be achieved through major life changes, or that wellbeing depends on having access to particular lifestyles, places, or freedoms (though these can certainly make it easier). Rather, I’m increasingly interested in how moments of pause can be carved out within real, demanding lives, not instead of them.
For many people, slowing down does not look like fewer responsibilities or more spacious days. It may look like brief moments of intentional stillness: a few minutes of quiet before the day begins, a conscious breath between meetings, noticing light through a window, stepping outside for a short walk, or allowing one interaction to be met with presence rather than urgency. These moments are often small and imperfect, but they can still be psychologically meaningful.
In therapy, we often explore how to cultivate internal steadiness even when external circumstances remain fast, pressured, or unchanged. This might involve becoming more aware of how pressure and urgency shape our days, learning to recognise when the nervous system is under strain, or noticing where there is choice, even if it is limited. In this sense, stillness becomes less about lifestyle and more about attention.
Of course, even when a decision feels right, transitions bring loss as well as possibility. This move has stirred mixed emotions for me, and I’ve been very conscious of the impact it may have on the clients I work with. Changes in a therapeutic relationship, even when carefully planned and ethically managed, can evoke feelings of uncertainty, grief, disruption, or anxiety. These responses are human, and they deserve to be acknowledged rather than minimised.
Moving my practice online also invites me to sit with the reality that “slower” does not necessarily mean easier. There is vulnerability in changing how we work, in letting go of familiar structures, and in trusting that new forms of connection can still be meaningful, deep, and containing. These are themes that often show up in therapy itself: navigating endings, tolerating uncertainty, and holding onto continuity while things shift around us.
As part of this transition, I’m also opening my practice more intentionally to the international and expat community seeking online therapy in English. Living abroad, whether temporarily or long-term, can bring a distinct set of emotional and psychological challenges. Alongside the excitement and freedom, many people find themselves grappling with questions of identity, belonging, and home. Feelings of dislocation, loneliness, culture shock, or a sense of being “in-between” are common, even when the move is chosen and positive.
In my work with adults living internationally, therapy often becomes a space to explore:
transitions and endings, including what has been left behind
identity shifts and questions of belonging
navigating relationships across distance, cultures, and time zones
anxiety, burnout, or perfectionism in high-functioning professionals
grief for familiar routines, landscapes, or communities
the emotional impact of living between worlds
As my practice evolves, the core of my work remains the same: offering a thoughtful, relational space where experiences can be explored at a pace that feels steady rather than rushed. A space where complexity is welcomed, and where change, however unsettling, can be approached with curiosity and care.
Wherever you are, and whatever your life currently demands of you, there is no “right” way to slow down. Only what is possible, and what is kind.
Therapy can be one place where that slowing down is held and protected – 50 minutes set aside, just for you. Not to fix or optimise, but to pause, reflect, and make sense of what you’re carrying.