Sean Kelly

 is rarely only about death; more often, it is about the unbearable difficulty of continuing to live in a world that no longer feels possible, and the human need to be met there without fear or judgement. 

That distinction matters. In therapeutic work there is often a moment when someone quietly says, "I don't think I want to be here anymore". Such words can evoke fear, responsibility and a wish to move quickly into reassurance, safety planning or assessment. These things may be necessary, but they are not the whole of the work. Something more personal is also asked of us: the capacity to remain present at the edge of what feels survivable.

Before my role as part-time Interim Director of Maytree, a UK charity offering adults in suicidal crisis a brief, non-medical residential stay, I had encountered suicide through clinical practice and earlier work with people diagnosed with HIV/AIDS.

There I witnessed how illness, stigma, fear and anticipated loss could gather until ending life seemed less a wish to die than a desperate attempt to escape psychic pain.

In private practice too, suicide often emerges when grief and loss lie at the heart of someone's experience. It may follow 

, professional collapse or a profound crisis of identity. At such times, people are often grieving not only what has happened, but who they once

were and whether any future self remains imaginable. 

This is where my work at Maytree deepens my understanding. Maytree occupies a distinctive place in suicide prevention. It offers a once-only, four-night, five-day stay in a house for adults in suicidal crisis. Its model is non-medical, analytically informed and 

 at its core: a place where people are heard in confidence, without judgement, and without immediately being reduced to diagnosis or risk.

What feels most powerful is not an intervention in the conventional sense. It is the experience of being seen. In existential crisis, to be met by another human being who does not flinch, pathologise or hurry someone away from despair can be profoundly containing. It does not romanticise suicide; it recognises suffering without

making the sufferer into the problem, returning them, however briefly, to relationship.

James Hillman wrote about the soul's need to be listened to, even when it speaks in disturbing ways. His insistence that symptoms have meaning feels especially relevant here. Suicidal thoughts are not only clinical data. They may also be

communications from a life that has become intolerable, from a self that feels exiled, defeated or unseen. To listen at this level is not to agree with suicide, but to ask what is urgently seeking to be understood.

Francis Weller reminds us that grief extends far beyond bereavement. We grieve lost belonging, lost identity, unlived life, the absence of recognition, and the many sorrows our culture asks us to carry privately. In suicidal crisis, these griefs may have remained unspoken and unshared for far too long.

We are rightly trained to assess risk: intent, planning, access to means, protective factors and the need for additional support. But one lesson I continue to learn at Maytree is that assessment must never become the relationship. People rarely feel safer because a checklist has been completed. They begin to feel safer when another person remains psychologically present with what they are carrying. The professional task and the human task have to meet.

One misconception remains stubborn: that talking directly about suicide increases  risk. In practice, asking calmly and compassionately often brings relief. Many people have spent months or years believing their thoughts make them frightening, selfish or beyond help. To be asked, and then genuinely heard, can soften shame. 

What moves me repeatedly at Maytree is how often people apologise for their distress: "I'm sorry to be a burden". "I shouldn't feel like this". "I'm wasting everyone's time". These are people who have become convinced that their existence has become a problem for others.

Rather than hearing suicide only as a clinical emergency, I increasingly hear it as the language of unbearable aloneness. The question shifts from "How do I stop this  person wanting to die?" to "What has happened that has left this person believing death feels like the kindest option available?"

These are very different conversations. They require us to tolerate uncertainty, resist premature rescue and trust that listening deeply is not doing nothing. Presence is not passive. Remaining calm while someone describes wanting to die communicates I am not frightened by your experience, and you do not have to carry it alone.

Of course, this does not mean ignoring risk or failing to act. Ethical practice may involve crisis teams, GPs, emergency services, supervision or specialist organisations. No therapist should feel they have to hold suicidal crisis alone. 

Alongside these structures, however, the relational field matters: our tone of voice, willingness to ask, capacity to stay and refusal to reduce a person to pathology. At Maytree, recovery is often glimpsed in ordinary moments: shared meals, conversations in the garden, silence without awkwardness, being remembered, being asked how someone has slept.

None of these moments appears dramatic, yet together they can restore a felt sense of belonging. None of us stands entirely outside this subject. We may encounter suicidal thoughts in our own lives or through clients, friends, family, colleagues and communities. Life and death are not specialist subjects belonging only to crisis services or consulting rooms. They are the two great facts of every human journey, and suicide sits painfully at their intersection.

This is why we need to speak about suicide with care, honesty and humility. Suicidal thoughts do not make someone beyond help or less human. They may be telling us something vital about pain that has had too little room, witness or care. Therapy, friendship, community and crisis support cannot promise to remove suffering quickly, but they can offer places where it no longer has to remain hidden.

The work, then, is not simply to rescue someone from darkness, but to sit beside them long enough  or another possibility to become imaginable. When life feels impossible, the first movement towards life may not be hope in any grand sense, but contact: a voice that stays, a room that does not turn away, a relationship strong enough to hold what feels unholdable. In that space, however fragile, a person may discover that their suffering can be shared, their life still belongs among other lives, and that even at the edge of death, something deeply human can reach towards them and call them back.

Below are some UK support numbers and specialist services:

What Working Alongside Suicidal Crisis Has Taught Me

Beeban Kidron

Louise Chunn is a prize-winning journalist and former editor of a number of magazines, including Psychologies, Good Housekeeping and InStyle. She is the founder of Welldoing Ltd.

Louise Chunn

When Beeban Kidron noticed the unsettling effects that phones and technology had on young people in her family, she decided she needed to understand it better. But while most parents might have spoken to other mothers, or tackled the appropriate teachers at school, Kidron went far, far further.

Initially, that meant setting up fake avatars of typical teens in this country to test what was happening to them online: the speed with which the males were served porn, the females 

 or extreme diet content, and the way it was specifically designed to create compulsion and addiction shocked her.

Over the next 15 years Kidron, who was initially a feature film director, but had just become a cross-party peer in the House of Lords, dug deeper and deeper into everything she could about the technology, the companies, the individuals and, us, the users. For her work in the Lords and as founder and former chair of the 

, an NGO standing up for digital rights for children, Baroness Kidron has spoken to a wide range of people. Not just hundreds of young people about their daily experience of social media, but specialist police officers about the crimes they have uncovered, bereaved parents about the trauma their lost children suffered, as well as the bosses and senior staff of the biggest, richest, most powerful technology companies in the world.

It’s important to point out, Kidron is not anti-tech at all. She was an early adapter, and uses AI every day. But it is the lack of control by governments and other bodies that is the issue with her and other online safety campaigners such as Jonathan Haidt (who wrote another 

Welldoing Book of the Month, The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness

, “It’s not what technology is. It’s what we’ve allowed it to become.” 

: “Powerful, shocking and prescient, [Users] combines heartbreaking personal stories with hard-headed evidence and demands for political reform. Kidron makes a complicated subject remarkably accessible, taking the reader from the corridors of power in Westminster to the boardrooms of Silicon Valley, and from children’s bedrooms to the Vatican.”

The mental health angle is not specifically driven home, but in the final Fightback chapter, many of the steps under What Can I Do? would benefit the wellbeing of young people, in fact, all people: have phone-free dinners, create gaming or digital windows for kids, so they know when to stop, meet up in person, keep your phone charger in the hall. 

As Baroness Kidron states we shouldn’t be passive and dictated to by algorithms and enormously powerful business. “We must choose whether to accept the world being built, or to help shape it.”

Welldoing Book of the Month July 2026

Book of the Month: Users - How Big Tech Took Control and How to Fight Back by Beeban Kidron

Annette Byford

I have written and published several non-fiction psychotherapy related books, but had never seen myself as the potential author of a novel. So when I started writing about my mother, I did this for very personal reasons. Writing a novel to be published and read by strangers was definitely not on my mind.

My mother had died during the pandemic after having disappeared into dementia for years before her death. Her death felt strangely unreal and I felt the need to pay attention to her, mark who she had been. As it happened there was a particular period in her life that offered itself as an interesting and puzzling story with considerable relevance for my own life: my mother is German and the period I am describing concerns her life as a young woman in her early twenties in post war Germany. She is trying to come to terms with the horror of the Nazi years and the war and has to make some far reaching decisions which will affect the rest of her life. There is a love triangle at the center of this story, but I felt it needed to be told against the backdrop of post-war Germany.

Gradually my writing took on a life of its own. I began to become aware of the parallels between writing about my mother, looking at her closely and trying to figure out what may have been going on in head and the kind of attention I pay to my clients in the consulting room: a second “mirroring” plot developed around a narrator/psychotherapist which was now clearly moving over into fiction. I vividly remember the advice I was given at an early stage: you need to decide whether you want to write a biographical or autobiographical piece or whether you want to write a novel. If this is fiction, then you are not the protagonist, the patients (who had found their way into the manuscript) are not your patients and your mother is not your mother. They are all ultimately characters in your book and you can make them do whatever you like. That changed everything. Ok, I thought, let them play, and I found myself writing a novel. Only later did I learn that what I was doing is called autofiction.

However writing autofiction creates a tension, particularly for a psychotherapist, a tension that never entirely went away:  there are after all real people described here and events that happened.

Interestingly people who know me and have read the book often ask the same question: I know this part refers to real events, and this part is clearly fiction, but what about…? Is that real? A bit real?

While this is not an uninteresting tension, it also poses problems with particular groups of readers. 

This is a story about my family, and my sisters and my brother would inevitably be affected by my telling of this story. I decided to initially ignore this and just write, but knew I would have to come back to this question when I had a viable draft. Would I need their permission before seeking publication? Would I have shelved the project had they objected? Luckily they were without exception interested and supportive, but what would I have done if they hadn’t been? Not so much a question of permission, rather of being mindful and considerate of the feelings of people who matter more to me than a book.

Then there was the question regarding the second plot line, the story of the narrator/psychotherapist. This is the nearly completely fictional part of the book, and I took care to make that clear in the disclaimer. However, while the therapy narrative was created to mirror and comment on the story of the mother and not based on any real events, this does not entirely solve my dilemma as an author who is also a practising psychotherapist. For a start writing a book like this creates a potential conflict with rules around self-disclosure. Patients who read this book will not only know more biographical facts about me but will also “hear me think” as a psychotherapist, even if the story line itself is fictitious. Beyond that I know some patients will read this book and inevitably insert themselves in places or at least wonder about the reality of it. There is no question that some of the protagonist’s observations and reflections have grown out of my work in the consulting room. That is after all why I made one of my characters a psychotherapist, because I understand and know that world well. Patients in the story are not based on any particular people, they are composite figures, but one way or the other I have come across situations as described in the book.

Questions of confidentiality are central to any writing in psychotherapy. There are very clear rules about gaining permission to use material and about ways of anonymising it when using case studies for clinical and academic purposes. I have experience of that and that has been helpful for approaching this issue for the writing of fiction. If in doubt, even if it was just the question of using a particular phrase or dream fragment which felt like it fitted my fictional story, I have approached patients for permission, making it clear at the same time that there was otherwise no connection between them and the fictional character in question. I am in no doubt though that there will be a lot of work waiting for me once the book is out and patients have read it. I may live to regret it!

How a Psychotherapist’s Family Secrets Inspired My First Novel

Alexander Gray

The Children's Commissioner for England, Dame Rachel de Souza, has recently published her fifth annual report into children's mental health services. It sits alongside a growing body of work - including Professor Peter Fonagy's independent review into mental health conditions, 

, the Government's proposed mental health strategy, SEND reform, and the Commissioner's own Big Future survey - asking how we should respond to the growing number of children experiencing emotional distress.

The latest figures are striking. More than one million children now have an active referral to NHS Children's and Young People's Mental Health Services (CYPMHS), almost double the number seen in 2018-19. The greatest increases are in anxiety, suspected autism and other neurodevelopmental conditions. Many children wait months for support, while some wait years. Two important conclusions are that we need earlier intervention and better conditions of childhood; rather than simply expanding access to diagnosis and treatment.

As a child psychotherapist, I found myself agreeing with much of what the report says. Children deserve earlier support, families should not be left waiting and mental health cannot be separated from education, social care or wider society.

I also found myself reading the report through a different lens.

If statistics tell us what is happening, psychotherapy asks why. Rather than asking only why so many children are being referred, I wondered what these referrals might be telling us about childhood itself. Statistics tell one story depending on who is interpreting them. Children tell other stories.

One statistic particularly caught my attention. Over a third of referrals are recorded as having an unknown primary reason. At the same time, some of the fastest-growing referrals relate to suspected autism and neurodevelopmental differences rather than confirmed diagnoses. I think children are reminding us that emotional distress rarely arrives in neat diagnostic categories. Children don't usually walk into a room saying, "I'm anxious because..." or "I meet these diagnostic criteria".

 may first appear as stomach aches. Grief may become exhaustion. 

sleep, learning and physical wellbeing just as much as emotions. As a 

 psychotherapist, I find it more helpful to think in terms of wellbeing as a whole. Mind, body and soul are continually influencing one another. Certain services need specialist knowledge, but our understanding of children should be integrated.

Children’s distress rarely belongs only to the child

Statistics can help us understand the scale of a problem, but they cannot tell us what a particular child's distress means. That meaning is discovered through relationship, curiosity and context. Children rarely struggle in isolation. Every child arrives carrying an invisible network of relationships: parents, siblings, teachers, friends, grandparents, neighbourhoods and the wider culture in which they are growing. Their distress often makes sense when viewed within that wider system.

A child's anxiety may partly belong to them, but it may also reflect 

 or the uncertainty of growing up in a generation shaped by Covid, smartphones and constant comparison. These are not simply background factors - they form part of the emotional landscape children are trying to navigate.

Sometimes children are also carrying emotional burdens that have travelled through families for generations. Experiences of 

, shame, loss or emotional absence can quietly shape family life long before a child is born. In psychotherapy we speak about intergenerational patterns; Jung described something similar through the collective

unconscious. Whatever language we use, children are often the first people to express what families - and sometimes wider society - have not yet found words for.

Support should begin long before diagnosis.

One of the report's strongest messages is that children should not have to wait for a diagnosis before receiving support. I wholeheartedly agree. Diagnosis can provide understanding and access to services, but it is not the same as understanding a child. Two children with the same diagnosis may need entirely different things because their stories are different.

What do we mean by support, though? The report focuses on NHS mental health services, yet children's lives extend far beyond the NHS. Support may come through parents, schools, family therapy, youth organisations, charities, independent practitioners or simply one trusted adult who remains consistently present. The more broadly we understand support, the more opportunities we create for children to experience healing before difficulties reach crisis point.

I also found myself wondering about outcomes. We measure referrals, waiting times and access to services in considerable detail, yet hear much less about which interventions genuinely help children recover, which families feel more resilient afterwards and what prevents future referrals. Understanding demand is essential. Understanding healing feels equally important.

The sentence that stayed with me longest from the report was its call to improve the conditions of childhood. I wonder if this is where the conversation now needs to deepen. When I think about children flourishing, I often find myself using the metaphor of a garden. A struggling plant is rarely understood by looking only at its leaves. We naturally look at the soil, the water, the light and the changing seasons around it. Children deserve the same curiosity.

In my own therapeutic practice, I often think about four essential conditions that help children grow. They need the stability and boundaries that help them feel safe. They need emotionally nourishing relationships. They need opportunities to play, explore and develop confidence. They need space to imagine, learn and make sense of their experiences.

In other words, children need more than treatment. They need environments in which they can flourish. That includes schools, but it also includes homes, communities and the everyday relationships that shape childhood. Earlier intervention is not only about reducing waiting lists but strengthening the environments around children long before specialist services become necessary.

If your child is currently waiting for specialist support, it can be tempting to feel that everything is on hold. It isn't. Children continue developing every day. Stay curious before becoming certain. Spend time together without needing to fix everything. Hold boundaries consistently and kindly. Allow space for boredom, creativity and play rather than filling every moment. Encourage expression of feelings rather than rushing to explain the story. Look after your own wellbeing too, because children often borrow their sense of safety from the adults around them.

Above all, remember that your child is far more than a referral, a diagnosis or a waiting list. You know your child better than anyone else. Stay curious about what they may be communicating, empower yourself through trusted psychoeducation, and don't feel you have to wait for a diagnosis before seeking support. Whether that support comes from family, school, community organisations, charities or independent professionals, children continue developing every day, and relationships remain one of the greatest sources of healing.

The Children's Commissioner's report is an important contribution to a conversation our society urgently needs to keep having. My hope is that we continue widening that conversation - beyond referrals and diagnoses, beyond thinking about mental health as something separate from physical health, relationships or development. Children do not grow in silos. Their wellbeing emerges through the continual relationship between mind, body and soul; between home, school and community; between the past they inherit and the future they are still becoming. If we strengthen those relationships and create the conditions in which children and families can flourish together, we may discover that we are doing more than improving children's mental health. We may begin creating the conditions in which childhood itself can flourish.

What Children’s Mental Health Statistics Don’t Tell Us

Welldoing Ltd

Deciding to try therapy is an important first step that often takes a lot of courage. It can be overwhelming to have to find the right therapist or counsellor, and can be difficult to know where to start. Here are six questions you can ask yourself to help direct you through the process.

The first step, if you’re considering starting therapy, is to reflect on what it is that’s led you to that decision in the first place. For some people, this may be a straightforward answer, such as a specific 

 that you are looking for support with. For others, it will be harder to answer. Try to note any thoughts, feelings, or behaviours that you can bring to your first therapy session (or mention in an initial consultation) in order to kickstart the process. You don’t have to have it all worked out, or know exactly 

 you are experiencing these things yet – that’s precisely what a therapist can help you with. Topics you might bring to therapy could be 

, to name just a few. In addition to this, it’s worth reflecting on any current or past life events that may have impacted you – such as a relationship, new job, loss of a family member, new birth, abuse, bullying, and so on. When choosing a therapist or counsellor, you might want to look for someone with a particular specialism or area of expertise in whatever is worrying you.

Before your first session, it’s worth taking some time to consider what your expectations are. Ask yourself what kind of conversations you want to have and the work you might want to do. This can be useful to discuss with your therapist to layout a plan for your sessions, particularly in more short-term therapy options such as a course of 

. Similarly, if you have any goals in mind, let your therapist know. It’s okay if you don’t, but having something tangible to work towards can aid the process. Maybe this is a specific decision in your life or a benchmark for progress in a particular area – often these kinds of achievable goals are more helpful than ‘I want to stop being anxious’ or ‘I want to be happy’.

Where would you like to have your sessions?

These days, therapy can be delivered both in person and online, through video conferencing software like Zoom or Microsoft Teams. Some therapists may also offer additional options like walk and talk or phone therapy. There’s no ‘better’ way of accessing therapy support – both main types come with pros and cons, and it’s about finding support in a way that works for you. In person therapy can offer a neutral environment outside of the home and some may find a face-to-face conversation to open up to their therapist. However, travel times and costs mean it’s sometimes harder to access sessions, particularly if you’re looking for a more niche specialist who may not practice near you. Online therapy is often cheaper and works well if you live in a more remote location, but you might have concerns about privacy if you live with other people.

There are many different types of therapy out there, and you may want to consider the kind of support that would best suit your needs. If you’re looking for help addressing immediate concerns and thought patterns, you might investigate cognitive behavioural therapies, whereas if you want to analyse the root causes in your past, then a 

 approach might be more suitable. Some therapists will be trained in specific techniques, such as 

, or REBT, and others may specialise in creative therapy like 

 therapy. You can find out more about different types of therapy and what they each offer 

. Of course, you may not know exactly what you are looking for or have no specific preference – and that’s okay. Many therapists will use a range of techniques, and some will be 

, meaning they incorporate multiple modalities into their practice.

Is your preference for a planned out, structured session that is led by the therapist? Or would you rather a more open-ended dialogue where you can set the agenda? Considering ‘directive’ versus ‘non-directive’ therapy can be useful when choosing a counsellor if you know that you’d prefer one over the other. Let the therapist know what you are looking for and they can explain how they practise. It may be that after your first few sessions you realise that the therapist’s approach isn’t quite right for you – it’s always okay to let them know this, and a good therapist will understand the importance of the right match. They may even be able to refer you onto a colleague or service who they think will suit you better.

An important part of therapy is that you are offered a judgment-free space by the therapist, who is trained to understand and support you, no matter whether they can themselves relate. However, it’s entirely valid to have a preference for a particular demographic of therapist if you think this would make it easier to get the most out of therapy. It may be that you know you’d trust a particular gender of therapist and therefore open up more, or maybe you’d like someone who has lived experience of your religion or ethnicity. Likewise, you may seek a therapist who is LGBTQ+ affirmative and/or has lived experience. Trust your instincts, as the therapeutic relationship is important, but be open to trying it out with someone even if the prospect is daunting.

You might not necessarily find a match that works for you first time, and it’s completely normal to have a few sessions with a therapist and then let them know that it isn’t right for you. When you are choosing a counsellor, it’s worth getting in touch with several people simultaneously to see what their therapeutic offers and availabilities are.

 where you can input all of the criteria in this article to narrow down your search. There is also the personalised 

 service where the Welldoing team take on the task of finding a therapist for you.

How to Choose a Counsellor: 6 Questions to Ask Before Starting Therapy

Sam Akbar

Crying as an expression of deep sadness is common throughout 

for heroes, and Odysseus himself cries on several occasions. There is no ‘boys don’t cry’ in Homeric epics. In fact, it’s more a case of ‘heroes do cry’.

Odysseus isn’t the only one to openly express his emotions. Earlier in the poem we are told that Menelaus, King of Sparta, recalls the hardships of the war and starts to weep. Helen, his famously beautiful wife, drugs their wine with a narcotic called 

(it quite literally means ‘no suffering’); you get the feeling Helen has seen the crying on many occasions before, and is only too aware that many of those in the room will blame her for their suffering.

Is this a good thing? To be so far removed from your pain and rage that you forget everything? That even if those you loved most were killed, you would feel nothing? We certainly do not want the pain, but equally, how many of us would really not have had the love that precedes the loss? Would you choose a life without pain if it meant choosing a life without love? Perhaps, sometimes, yes. Or perhaps you just need some nepenthe. But what happens when nepenthe is a way of life? What happens when you can never show your feelings? What happens when you can never acknowledge vulnerability? What is your version of nepenthe, the thing that blunts the feelings? Drugs, wine, food, social media, zoning out, shutting down? We all have one, and occasionally they are fine, but employ them too frequently at your peril. Your emotional pain tells you something about what matters to you.

Odysseus does not hide his anguish or pretend that he is content in paradise with a beautiful lover sea nymph Capes. He cries on the shore, longing for home and his wife. This is not weakness, nor an inability to cope, but a foundation of genuine strength. He refuses to numb himself – he has no nepenthe anyway – to what he longs for or to convince himself that his desires don’t matter. He cries 

he knows what matters – his wife, his son, his family, his kingdom, his home – and he has none of it.

This is a man who has witnessed the horrors of war, heard the screams of his comrades begging him to save them and is now reduced to tears by homesickness. To our modern eyes, trained to see emotional control as strength, this might look like failure. But Homer shows us that there is nothing more courageous than refusing to lie to yourself about what you feel.

What makes this vulnerability truly powerful is how Odysseus treats himself in his pain. Unlike a modern counterpart, he does not berate himself for his longing or shame himself for his inability to move on and be grateful. There is no harsh internal voice telling him to toughen up, be a man and accept what looks like an enviable life. Instead, he grieves as naturally as he breathes, recognizing that his longing needs an acknowledgement. And all the while he makes room for his sadness, he builds his capacity to tackle what awaits him.

Yet ten years of a harrowing war and another ten years of displacement, have carved deep grooves of mistrust into this man. Traumatic events are wont to disrupt the trust human beings have in other people, themselves and the world. It is safer not to trust than to risk, once more, the excruciating pain of loss. When [sea nymph] Calypso finally offers to help him leave, allowing him to build a raft, Odysseus’ response reveals just how falteringly trust comes after you have been hurt too many times. ‘Goddess,’ he tells her, letting his words fly out at her ‘you have some other scheme in mind, not my safe passage . . . No, goddess, I will not get on a raft, unless you swear to me a mighty oath you are not planning yet more pain for me.’

Even in his desperation to escape, he cannot simply accept her offer. Bitter experience has told him that he cannot really know who to trust any more. There are few more isolated places for the psyche of a human being. A life without trust is a life without connection to another person, the very definition of what it is to feel alone. He may no longer wear his warrior’s armour, but his wariness of being deceived, betrayed and hurt are every bit as strong as any bronze breastplate. He will not give that up easily. Protecting his heart is the one thing he still has control over.

We see this everywhere in our own world. After a relationship ends, where there have been lies and dissembling, we question every new partner’s motives. After a workplace betrayal, we check our colleagues’ words for hidden meanings. After a traumatic event, the prospect of opening up ourselves to desperately needed help can feel impossibly risky. Easier not to try or to hope than to be hurt again.

The path forward requires respecting that caution, for it often comes from a place of protection, while slowly and carefully learning to trust again. As the story progresses, we see how Odysseus slowly reveals his true identity to those he has ascertained he can trust, and that revelation of ‘true self’ is a key theme in 

. He does not blurt out who he is to all and sundry. He watches and waits, and chooses his moment with precision. He fiercely protects his inner core revealing his identity and vulnerability gradually, unpeeling them like the layers of an onion, once he can trust again. For some people, because of some traumas that are so destructive in nature, trust is the hardest thing to regain.

In our own lives, we can mistake invulnerability for strength. We suppress or push away emotions, telling ourselves to be grateful for what we have rather than acknowledging what we truly need. Vulnerability, an admission of our human frailties, does not necessarily exclude or negate grit, resilience and strength, rather they underpin it. Odysseus may well be grateful for the last seven years of his life on a stunning island paradise with an immortal goddess who never ceases to desire him, but it’s not what he truly needs. What he needs is to find a way back to who he really is and to find his way home. That admission, and the acknowledgement of his pain, his vulnerability, is grist to his resilience mill.

reveals to us about real strength: it doesn’t come from emotional numbness or pretending we don’t need what we need. It comes from the courage to feel fully, to acknowledge our suffering with compassion rather than judgement, and so take responsibility ourselves for slowly rebuilding our capacity for connection. Vulnerability is the prerequisite for understanding who you really are, what you really want and what you can really give to others.

The hero’s journey home, whether to Ithaca or to our authentic selves, always leads through the territory of acknowledged pain. It is only by being radically honest with ourselves and treating our struggles with kindness, that we can hope to find a way back to what makes us whole.

In Homer’s Odyssey Real Heroes Show Both Vulnerability and Caution

Claudia Behnke

As summer unfolds and the world around us blossoms with life, some people find themselves trapped in the depths of summer depression. While it may seem contradictory to associate 

 with a season typically linked to joy and happiness, this is the reality for some people that plunge into darkness during this time of the year.

This article will examine how psychosynthesis can be used as a tool to help understand and manage some symptoms connected to summer depression. Psychosynthesis aims to help individuals find inner harmony and regain joy and purpose.

Summer depression is also called summer-onset seasonal depressive disorder SAD . It affects people during the warmer months.

Summer depression is different from the usual form of SAD that occurs during the darker winter months. It can be caused by factors like excessive heat, disruptions in routines, social stress, and feelings of isolation.

Summer can be a time of intense pressure for people to stay active and happy. This can lead them to feel out of synch with their surroundings Magnusson & Partonen, 2005; Rohan, 2015 .

Increased social expectations in the summer can bring on feelings of loneliness and isolation as well as heighten feelings of inadequacy. The pressure to conform to society's expectations for engagement in social activities during the summer months can be particularly difficult. Invitations to hen/stag dos, garden parties and barbecues can seem very daunting when we are feeling low.

Psychosynthesis emphasises the importance of authentic relationships in which people feel comfortable setting healthy boundaries and expressing their needs. Setting realistic expectations and boundaries around social engagements can reduce feelings of overwhelm.

Seeking out support from good friends, family members or therapists and engaging in meaningful conversations, sharing your experiences and creating a support system can reduce feelings of loneliness and help to create a sense of belonging.

We typically spend more time outside in the summer months to enjoy activities such as swimming, picnics, beach trips, and wearing lighter clothes. This can trigger a judgemental part of us which critiques our bodies and compares ourselves to models and influencers.

Body image issues can be exacerbated by the pressure of the cultural ideal of a beach body, summer diets, internalised societal standards of beauty, as well as increased skin exposure.

To fully enjoy the summer, it's important to look at our own internalised expectations of beauty and the mindsets we are holding around them. It's important to question our narrative and work on self-acceptance, rather than trying to aspire to an unrealistic body ideal.

Embrace body confidence in a variety of ways: challenge beauty ideals and understand that every body is a beach body, practise self-compassion and confront negative thoughts. Engage in activities that promote your overall wellbeing. Accept as well as appreciate your bodies for what it is, to help you create an environment of support and empowerment that will allow you to enjoy the warmth and beauty the season has to offer without having to worry about wearing a bikini.

Environmental factors play a significant role in the development and exacerbation of summer depression. The longer daylight hours, heat, disruptions in routine, and social expectations associated with the summer season can contribute to increased stress and emotional distress. High temperatures and humidity can directly impact mood and energy levels, making it more challenging to cope with depressive symptoms.

To improve the impact of these environmental factors, it is crucial to prioritise self-care and make adjustments that support mental wellbeing. Seeking cooler environments and staying hydrated can help alleviate some physical discomfort and fatigue. Establishing a consistent daily routine, even amidst changes in vacation schedules, can provide more of a sense of structure and stability.

Engaging in activities that promote relaxation, such as practising mindfulness, spending time in nature my favourite place in the heat is Highgate Woods which provides shade, has a great café and plenty of space for my pup Luna to roam around! , or participating in creative outlets, can also help counterbalance the negative impact of environmental factors and promote a sense of emotional well-being. By taking proactive steps to create a supportive and nurturing environment, we can mitigate the effects of environmental stressors and better manage depressive symptoms.

Psychosynthesis, developed by psychiatrist Roberto Assagioli 2000 , emphasises the integration of various aspects of the self to achieve wholeness and inner harmony. It acknowledges that people are more than their parts, and aims to integrate spiritual, emotional and mental dimensions. Psychosynthesis can help individuals to explore their distress, and find meaningful solutions.

Self-awareness is at the heart of psychosynthesis. Introspection and mindfulness can help individuals gain a better understanding of their emotions, thoughts, and physical sensations.

This awareness helps identify negative thought patterns, self-criticism, and limiting beliefs that can contribute to summer depression. These patterns can be challenged and eventually transformed by recognising them, paving the way to personal growth and healing.

Psychosynthesis includes the exploration of one's purpose and meaning in life. Depression can leave people feeling disconnected and lost, without a sense of direction or fulfilment. Self-reflection exercises and guided reflection can help individuals rediscover passions, values and aspirations. Finding and engaging in activities that are aligned with your purpose can give you renewed energy and joy.

Depression can cast a dark shadow on those warm summer months. Some psychosynthesis principles can help embark on a path of inner growth and self-discovery. Individuals can work on their summer depression by cultivating self-awareness and reconnecting to their purpose, cultivating healthy relationships and seeking support. It's okay not to feel happy just because it's sunny outside. With the right tools and techniques, the summer can be an empowering season for personal growth and healing.

Summer Depression: Embracing the Warmth Within

Stella Stathi is an Eating Psychology, Eating Disorders &amp; Body-Image Specialist, Jungian/Somatic Psychotherapist &amp; Coach, and Feminine Embodiment Teacher, listed on welldoing.org. Stella works privately with women, to help them break free from their battle with Food, Weight and their Bodies, once and for all, from the inside out, through deep psycho-spiritual and body-based work, within her signature approach; Body Prema.

Stella Stathi

Summer. A season many - if not most - of us look forward to every year. Warm weather and long, sunny days, inviting us to spend more time outside, relax and enjoy. Unfortunately though, summer, with the lighter clothing and greater body exposure it brings with it, is also the time, when body judgement, anxiety and shame can reach an absolute peak. This can easily remove all the feelings of joy, freedom and carefreeness that are the true essence of summer, and replace them with dread and extreme, desperate attempts to change our bodies, in preparation for 'bikini season'.

And that is such a shame. So let's explore together how we can deal with the challenging thoughts and emotions about our bodies this summer, so that they don't end up robbing us of our precious moments -for yet another year..

1 Shift your attention from the outside to the inside

The first thing I encourage my clients, who struggle with negative body image, to do is to begin intentionally shifting their attention from the outside - how their bodies look - to the inside - how they feel. Instead of looking at your body from the outside in, as if you are an external observer of an object, and pick apart those parts that you dislike, try experiencing your body from the inside, by paying attention to the sensations that are present in it at any given moment.

Instead of judging how big or small an area of your body is, sense 

 this area and notice whether it feels warm or cold, soft or sharp, tense or relaxed, etc. Becoming familiar with our 'inner landscape' by sensing into the body, rather than merely looking at it with an examining gaze, can help us gain an experiential understanding of the fact that our bodies are living, breathing beings that continuously communicate with us, rather than lifeless objects or defective machines in perpetual need of fixing.

When you are preoccupied with thoughts about what is 'wrong' with your body, from an appearance perspective, it is very easy to become fully oblivious to how much is 'right' with it, how much is actually working well and what your body does for you on a daily basis - keeping you alive and more or less healthy, allowing you to move through and experience life, connect with other people, and so much more.

A lot of that we take for granted, so developing a practice of intentionally expressing gratitude for what our body does, rather than how it looks, can be an extremely helpful way to respond to and counterbalance habitual dissatisfaction with it. To put that into practice, every time a judgemental thought about your body comes up, think of and/or write down three things you are grateful to your body for - and really 

3 Tune into your senses and focus on pleasure

Summer is a natural feast for the senses. Nature is in full bloom, colours abound, light too, summer foods and beverages are available for our enjoyment...and yet, if body anxiety is present, you can barely experience any of that, as you are preoccupied with body loathing thoughts and emotions. In that moment, you are over-focusing on your body's flaws, as if looking at them through a magnifying glass, at the exclusion of everything else that goes on around you. From that place, even if you are in the most beautiful surroundings, you cannot truly experience them, as you are not wholly 

Here, another shift is called for; that of getting out of your mind and into your body - and into your senses, in particular. This summer, make a conscious effort to truly notice and 

 all that you receive through your senses at any given moment. Sense into the warm, soft sand beneath your feet, as you walk on the beach, rather than pulling your belly in. Revel at the cornucopia of colours - orange, pinks, golden and reds - at a sunset, rather than counting your bites at dinner time. Savour each bite of a juicy summer fruit, or your favourite ice-cream alike, and fully appreciate the taste, notice the sensations in your mouth, be 100% present to the experience. When we allow ourselves to fully, consciously appreciate and interact with our environment, inner and outer, in this way, it is much harder to get caught up in our mental turmoil.

4 'Fat feelings': What am I really feeling?

Let's make this very clear: there is no feeling called 'fat'. 'Fat' is not a feeling. Fat is a neutral word that describes a specific body type and size - it is neither positive nor negative. However, in our culture, being called or perceived as 'fat' has turned into one of the worst things that can happen to someone. Hence, we fear it so much. But since 'fat' is not a feeling, what is it that we are actually feeling, when we think we feel fat? Well, many things! A whole range of challenging emotions can be interpreted as 'feeling fat', including fear, anger, sadness, loneliness, anxiety, etc.

Such emotions can feel overwhelming, especially when we don't have effective ways to deal with them, or if we have been avoiding them for a long time. Simultaneously, our solution-oriented minds much prefer having something specific and tangible to focus on, such as losing weight, instead of dealing with the real emotions that are, by nature, more abstract and ever-changing. So, believing that your weight/shape/size is the problem immediately presents a seemingly easy - though not at all real or lasting - solution to a problem that is much deeper and, above all else, internal.

More often than not, behind a 'fat feeling', there is some form of feeling 'not good enough'. This comes from a fear of being neglected, ridiculed or humiliated for parts of ourselves and our bodies that we have been taught are not acceptable. Finding the source of those feelings and beliefs in our history and experiences, and bringing healing and acceptance to those places within that have felt the neglect in the first place is the real solution here -not losing weight.

For all the above reasons, any time you feel 'fat', take a moment to ask yourself this critical question:

And then offer yourself some support around the real emotion. You can do that in several ways, some of the most effective of which, in my experience, are: mindfulness practices, EFT Emotional Freedom Technique , writing/journaling and expressive movement.

Note: Initially, you might need support from a qualified practitioner in order to do so - please know that this is absolutely normal and common, and do not hesitate to reach out and offer that to yourself. Learning how to manage your emotions is nothing less than life-changing, and it will have a positive impact on every single area of your life, including your relationship with your body.

Having said that, even just identifying and naming the emotion that you are really feeling, when you experience discomfort in your body, is powerful in itself, as it immediately takes the focus away from the body as the source of the struggle and affirms what is 

5 You don't owe anything to anyone - neither does your body

I would like to close with this important reminder: being outside in the summer and at any other time, for that matter is not meant to be a performance. Wearing clothes appropriate for warmer weather and enjoying what everybody else does is not a right that you have to earn by attaining and maintaining a specific body shape, size or appearance - it is your birthright, it is yours for the taking. We constantly receive messages implying that bodies that do not fit into certain beauty ideals should not even exist or, at least, should not be visible, until they do fit in - which is how the bikini-body diets and extreme weight loss attempts gain ground. For women especially, this type of pressure is immense and overwhelming.

However, let's all take a minute to think critically and ask ourselves: Who said so? Who decided that this is the way it is supposed to be? Who is really policing our bodies?

This is a big shift in perspective and one that, to truly sink in, requires some consistent exposure to body-positive and body-affirming messages, to counteract the cultural brainwashing we have all been and continue to be subjected to, our whole lives. To support this process, I warmly recommend the classic book 'Fat is a Feminist Issue', by Susie Orbach, and encourage you to actively seek and learn from body-positive activists and teachers, online and offline -we are fortunate enough, at this point in time, to have a wealth of such resources available.

I hope you have a beautiful, pleasurable and freedom-filled rest of your summer!

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