There are times in life when we become so focused on keeping everything else going that we forget to ask ourselves a simple question:

“How am I?”

Not “How are the children?”
Not “Is everyone else okay?”
Not “What needs doing next?”

But “How am I, really?”

For me, learning to ask that question has been a long and deeply personal journey. It began around fourteen years ago, through a series of losses, changes and experiences that gradually affected my mental health in ways I didn't initially recognise.

Today, that journey is an important part of who I am, both personally and as a humanistic counsellor.

When life changes, we don't always notice what we're carrying

My journey began with the sudden death of my mother.

I witnessed her passing, which was a traumatic experience. At the time, I didn't fully understand what I was carrying inside myself. I was grieving, but I was also experiencing trauma, and I didn't yet have the understanding or awareness to recognise how deeply this was affecting me.

Just six weeks later, another enormous change happened. I left my father, my home and the area where I had grown up and moved to West Sussex with my husband and our three children.

The move was meant to be a fresh start.

I wanted my children to have new opportunities, to make friends, and to grow up somewhere quieter, surrounded by countryside and close to the beach. In many ways, I wanted to create a safer and calmer environment for them.

But if I'm honest with myself now, I can also see that part of me was trying to escape from a life that had begun to feel noisy, oppressive and overwhelming.

Moving home is often described as an exciting new beginning, but it can also be an enormous life transition. There can be pressure, expectation, uncertainty and stress.

For me, all of this was happening while I was grieving and experiencing the effects of trauma.

And yet, my focus remained on everyone else.

I wanted my husband and my children to be happy.

But where was I in all of that?

When caring for everyone else means losing sight of yourself

I didn't consciously decide that I wasn't important.

It happened gradually.

My own needs slipped further and further down the list until, eventually, I don't think I believed I belonged on the list at all.

Looking back, I can see that I wasn't checking in with myself. I wasn't noticing the cracks that were appearing in my foundations.

I did seek support from a bereavement charity, and I had six sessions. But my trauma and grief were much bigger and more complicated than I understood at the time, and I don't think I was ready or able to fully process everything I was carrying.

Perhaps some of my denial was still there too.

Underneath everything were layers of loss: my mum, my home, my friends, my family, my sense of stability and familiarity.

That was the point where I fell.

 

Falling wasn't the end of my story

I experienced what I would describe as mental health issues.

For a long time, I might have viewed that experience as a sign that I had failed or that I wasn't strong enough.

I see it very differently now.

I don't believe I was weak because I fell. I believe I was incredibly strong for having carried so much for so long

Eventually, something had to give.

In some ways, that breakdown became a turning point. It forced me to stop and confront something I had been avoiding for years:

I needed to look after myself too.

I needed to understand what was happening in my mind and in my body. I needed to acknowledge my feelings rather than continually putting them aside. I needed to discover that my needs mattered.

And slowly, with support and healing, I began to rebuild.

 

Rebuilding the foundations

Recovery wasn't about becoming the person I had been before.

It was about getting to know myself again.

I began to recognise strengths in myself that had always been there but had been hidden beneath grief, trauma, fear and self-doubt.

I started to understand self-worth differently.

I began to learn self-compassion.

Most importantly, I began learning how to check in with myself.

How am I feeling?

What is happening in my mind?

What is my body telling me?

Do I need rest?

Do I need space?

Do I need to talk?

Am I expecting too much from myself?

What do I need right now?

I don't always get it right. I'm human, after all. But I have learned to notice the signs much earlier and, most of the time, respond to myself with greater care and understanding.

 

How this has shaped me as a counsellor?

My experiences have inevitably influenced the counsellor I have become.

I have studied self-worth and self-compassion, but alongside that learning I also have lived experience of discovering what these things can mean in real life.

I know what it is like to feel overwhelmed.

I know what it is like to put everyone else first.

I know what it is like to lose sight of yourself.

And I know that rebuilding your foundations can take time.

This doesn't mean that I believe my experience is the same as yours. It isn't. Every person's story is unique, and I don't bring my story into the counselling room to tell you what your journey should look like.

Instead, it has helped me develop a deeper empathy for how difficult life can sometimes become.

As a humanistic counsellor, I believe that you are the expert on your own experience. My role isn't to judge you, tell you who you should be, or give you a list of instructions for fixing your life.

It is to offer you a safe, accepting and compassionate space where you can begin to explore what is happening for you.

Sometimes we need somewhere to say the things we haven't been able to say anywhere else.

Sometimes we need someone to sit alongside us while we make sense of what has happened.

And sometimes, perhaps most importantly, we need to reconnect with the part of ourselves that has been forgotten.

 

You don't have to wait until you fall

One of the biggest things my own journey has taught me is that we don't have to wait until everything becomes unbearable before we ask for help.

We can learn to notice the small cracks in our foundations.

Maybe you're exhausted but keep pushing through.

Maybe you're constantly putting other people's needs before your own.

Maybe you've stopped doing things that once brought you joy.

Maybe your thoughts feel overwhelming, or your body is telling you that something isn't quite right.

Maybe you simply have a feeling that you're not quite yourself anymore.

These things are worth paying attention to.

Checking in with yourself isn't selfish. Self-care isn't about putting yourself above everyone else all of the time. For me, it means recognising that I matter too.

That my wellbeing matters.

That I am allowed to have needs.

That I am allowed to rest.

That I am worthy of care and compassion.

 

You can rebuild

My journey through grief, trauma, loss and change has changed me.

It has taught me that we can stumble without being broken.

We can lose our sense of self and find it again.

We can have cracks in our foundations and rebuild them.

And with the right support, compassion and understanding, we can begin to create a life in which we don't simply survive, but find moments of peace, connection and happiness again.

If you're reading this and recognising something of yourself in my story, perhaps the first step isn't to fix everything.

Perhaps it's simply to stop for a moment and ask yourself: “How am I?”

And then, perhaps, to give yourself permission to listen to the answer.

That is something I can help you with.

As a humanistic counsellor, I can offer you a space where you can be heard, without judgement, and where we can gently explore what is happening for you. Together, we can begin to notice the things you may have been carrying, reconnect with your own needs and explore what might help you move forward.

You don't have to carry everything alone.

And you don't have to wait until you fall.