Calling it selfish to name what we want is one of the most effective ways to keep ourselves quiet. It doesn’t just delay change — it delegitimises our inner world. And over time, we can become strangers to our own needs. Big questions like “What do I actually want?” and “What am I getting out of this?” become avoided and crowded out by the roles we fulfill and the expectations we put on ourselves to be a certain way - and inner conflict, tension and distress build.

Carl Rogers, the founder of Person-Centred Therapy, grounded his approach in the belief that every person has an actualising tendency—an inherent drive towards growth, self-understanding, and fulfilment. For Rogers, this drive is not externally defined; it is deeply personal, emerging from the individual's subjective experience.

A line came up in a therapy session this week that stuck with me: “It’s okay not to be okay… as long as you’re okay.”

It was said as a kind of shorthand for something we both recognised. That feeling that it’s fine to say you're struggling, so long as it doesn’t really affect anything. You can be a bit low, a bit tired, a bit anxious—as long as you’re still showing up, still producing, still making other people feel comfortable.

I recently spoke about Hopeful Spaces and the community-based therapy service I’ve set up with The Tannahill Centre at an event where Professor Graham Watt, from GPs at the Deep End, was also speaking.

The Deep End Project brings together GPs working in Scotland’s most socioeconomically deprived communities, advocating for better healthcare access and policy changes to address health inequalities. It highlights how those with the greatest need often face the most barriers to care and pushes for resources and approaches to care that meet people where they are.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about impermanence. Not in the abstract, spiritual sense, but in the very real, lived experience of trying to build something—work, stability, change—while everything underneath keeps shifting. I look at my own career: the work I’ve done, the credibility I’ve built, the experience I’ve gained. And I catch myself wondering if I’ve been unconsciously trying to accrue security, as if a great CV, a strong LinkedIn profile, or a standout website could somehow create solid ground beneath me. As if expertise or recognition could provide some kind of anchor.

The Scottish Government will publish the Psychological Therapies Waiting Times update on the 3rd of December: the day before it publishes the budget. I’m writing this to try and influence the conversation that happens around waiting times, and to offer some insight into what those stubborn waiting times do and don’t tell us.

Political divisiveness - and the injustices that we feel our politics is creating - isn’t just limited to awkwardness at work or disagreements at the dinner table.

Sometimes, we struggle to say the simplest, truest thing. When we want to connect with someone, instead of saying, “I want to spend time with you,” we seem to dance around it, asking if someone is free, seeing if they have plans, or vaguely suggesting something to do together if they’re not busy.

I’ve been thinking deeply about it wonder if the shift from “I want” to “I need” is reflecting deeper struggles we are having with feeling heard, respected, or even valued. I’ve spoken to people who think talking about their wants is too idealistic or selfish – they’ve decided that their wants will never be realised or that wanting something is just not enough of a reason to take action; or to expect others to.

I’m doing something different because I don’t want to collude with the model that has been created by the lack of joined up thinking between politicians, practitioners, training providers and health care professionals.

Rishi Sunak says a man is a man, a woman is a woman and that’s just common sense. Carol McGiffin doesn’t want to see a man wearing a skirt, she just doesn’t.

Gender ideology is already woven into the fabric of the UK, and the people successfully promoting it are not necessarily who you think.

Abortion laws are made and upheld by men. Organisations who are countering abortion access and organising prayer vigils are led by men. Healthcare services are run by men. Pregnancy happens with the participation of men. I don’t think men should tell women what to do with their bodies, nor do I think that men should leave the work of protecting and accessing abortion to women. That’s why I’m a man, writing about abortion.

Perhaps what hasn’t come as quickly as the activity is the reflective and developmental space to examine and refine all of the practice that happens in the are of lived experience.