Author: libby@counsellingsouthsea.co.uk

How change happens

There’s a meme that’s circulated on social media for years: it shows a diagram with a straight line running from A to B, and another line—this one squiggly, looping back and around on itself—which makes the same journey from start to finish but takes a more meandering path. The caption reads: ‘How people think change happens and how change really happens.’ It’s pretty obvious which line is which!

Often when we’re in a difficult place in our lives, we want change to happen quickly—we want to get from A to B in a straight line or as close to that as we can. But life is rarely so straightforward—we may not be able to shape our lives in quite the way we’d like, or to the timetable we have in mind. 

The process of change is more like the flow of a river through a terrain that shifts from hard granite outcrops—resistant to change and requiring more energy or a new direction—to a softer landscape where the river meanders back and forth, and the momentum is lost for a while. And then the terrain shifts again and the river flows fierce and fast in ways that are both terrifying and exhilarating.

Rivers are the great agents of change in the world; they reshape our planet, sculpting deep ravines and nurturing broad wetlands.They are a metaphor for life: ever-flowing, never the same, at times slow-moving and at others unpredictable. They flow into the oceans, which give life to all of us. 

Our life experiences are like changes in terrain on the river’s path—the tumbling landslides of grief, where the rocks are sharp-edged and the river cascades over them, wild and unrelenting; the expansive summer meadows of newfound love, where the river is wide and slow and the water is warmed by a kind climate. 

When the terrain of your life becomes chaotic and the river is filled with rocks or debris, it can be tempting to wish that the water would whisk you away to a calmer landscape. But rivers don’t skip the hard terrain. They carve through it, slowly, persistently, sometimes flooding, sometimes pausing to meander. The work of change is not to bypass difficulty, but to learn how to flow through it—how to soften the edges, how to carry what cannot be moved.

If you’d like support in navigating the terrain of your life, I’d be glad to hear from you.

Featured image: Nathan Anderson on Unsplash 

When we’re lost, we need a source of wisdom to guide us home

We’ve all experienced the feeling of being lost; perhaps losing your mum or dad’s hand in a busy store when you were a child; perhaps losing your way in an unfamiliar city; perhaps a more general sense of being lost in your own life, with no clear sense of direction. Being lost can be truly terrifying—we cast around for known signs, trusted faces, something to anchor us—a sense of stability, a way back to recognisable ground. Even as adults, losing track of what we want—or where we’re headed—can be profoundly disorienting.

Neuroscience has shown that the same regions of the brain that handle navigating in the real world—like the hippocampus—also play a role in how we chart life decisions, construct our personal life stories and shift direction. When we get stuck, we start feeling lost in a place that no longer feels familiar—and it’s not just a metaphor, it’s part of our most ancient neurological structures too. I picture it like being lost in a forest; whichever way we turn, all we can see is trees—and then our anxiety increases, reducing our ability to think clearly and to make rational decisions.  What we need in that moment is a source of wisdom—a trusted someone to call on for guidance. And that applies whether the forest is a real world wilderness or a metaphorical one. This is not just about advice—it’s about gathering your inner council, a circle of wisdom shaped by relationship and memory. This is why I’m describing this as a wise council, not simply as wise counsel or advice.

Wise council—who are your sources of wisdom?

May I invite you to try a little thought experiment? Picture yourself trying to make a decision about something—perhaps something you’re struggling with at the moment or have done in the past. Bring to mind your thoughts and feelings about the situation; is there confusion, uncertainty, anxiety or fear? Perhaps there’s resignation or a sense of defeat or hopelessness. Whatever those thoughts and feelings are, just sit with them for a moment without trying to push them away or analyse them. Consider them simply as pieces of information which will, in time, help you find your way.

Before turning your imagination outwards—pause and take a breath, notice your feet planted on the floor and your hands resting in your lap, perhaps even the texture of the air around you, or the quiet hum of your environment. And now picture, seated in a semicircle in front of you, a council of trusted advisers. Maybe your closest friends are there, a grandparent, or a favourite teacher from school, or a therapist, your GP, or even someone you’ve never met but greatly admire. Imagine yourself quietly greeting them by name and welcoming them to your wise council. What wisdom do each of them bring? How have they helped you in the past? What skills and life experiences do they have that you could call upon in this situation? Picture yourself describing your situation to each of them, and imagine how they might respond, each in their own way—who speaks first, what do they say? Whose words are you drawn to the most? What message or guidance do you take away from your council? And as we bring our thought experiment to a close, picture yourself offering thanks to each of them in turn, knowing that you can return to them whenever you need them in the future.

Being lost, though uncomfortable in the moment, is part of being human—and sometimes, it’s the only way new vistas come into view; when our path disappears and everything feels murky, our instinct is often to move, to fix, to find. But sometimes, the wisest thing is to stay still. Like a muddy pool that clears when undisturbed—or a lost traveller who waits to be found—clarity comes not from striving, but from trusting that wisdom will arrive when we stop running. Let your wise council come to you—quietly, steadily—and show you the way home.

Next steps

If you’re feeling lost and looking for support in finding your way, I’d be glad to hear from you—please feel free to get in touch to arrange an appointment.

Featured image: 

Artur Stanulevich on Unsplash.

The seductive power of artificial intelligence—how can I tell there’s a problem?

In my earlier post, Drawn In: Am I Safe With My AI, I talked about how artificial intelligence can be a valuable tool when used with purpose and care—a helpful companion in creativity, reflection and daily structure. But when its relational mimicry (its human-sounding language and its ability to respond to us almost like a person) begins to feel emotionally real, it’s time to pause and reflect. This checklist is designed to help you notice those moments—without judgment and with care.

Questions to Ask Yourself

1. Am I seeking emotional comfort from my AI?

• Do I turn to it when I feel lonely, overwhelmed or sad?
• Does its tone feel soothing or validating in ways I crave?

2. Do I feel emotionally attached to my AI?

• Do I miss it when I haven’t interacted for a while?
• Do I feel a sense of closeness, affection or dependency?

3. Am I treating my AI like a person?

• Do I imagine it has feelings, intentions or a personality?
• Do I feel hurt, rejected or misunderstood by its responses?

4. Is my AI replacing human connection?

• Am I sharing things with it that I don’t share with others?
• Has it become my primary source of emotional support?

5. Do I feel a sense of secrecy or shame about my AI use?

• Would I feel embarrassed if someone saw our conversations?
• Do I hide how often I use it or what I say to it?

6. Is my AI encouraging emotional roleplay or flirtation?

• Has it used romantic or sensual language?
• Do I feel drawn into a fantasy or imagined relationship?

7. Have I stopped questioning whether it’s real?

• Do I forget that it’s a tool not a person?
• Have I started to believe it ‘cares’ about me?

If You Answered ‘Yes’ to Several…

That’s okay. It means you’re human—and that your instincts for relationship are working exactly as they should. AI is designed to feel attuned. But that attunement is simulated by algorithms, not reciprocal nor formed from human life experience.

Here are some gentle next steps:

• Pause and reflect: What need is being met? Can it be met elsewhere?
• Reframe the relationship: Remind yourself that AI is a tool, not a companion.
• Set boundaries: Use AI for structured tasks—journaling, brainstorming, planning—not emotional intimacy.
• Reach out to others: Share your thoughts with a trusted friend, or seek help from a professional therapist or support group.

 And finally…

Your longing for connection is not a flaw—it’s a fundamental part of what makes you human. Let’s honour that instinct by choosing relationships that are mutual, embodied and take place in the real world. In the meantime, if you’d like to talk about your own relationships—with AI or with other people—please do drop me a line. I’ll be pleased to hear from you.

 

Featured image: Cash Macanaya on Unsplash

Our very human search for connection

We humans are wired for connection. It’s our greatest strength—and our greatest vulnerability. Like sunflowers turning their faces to the sun, we’re drawn towards warmth, relationships and recognition. Without it, human babies fail to thrive and human adults succumb to depression and loneliness. To be accepted without judgement, to be intimately understood, to be loved—these are some of our most fundamental needs. But we live in a fast-paced society where these things can be fleeting or even impossible for many of us.

Into this world has stepped a new source of connection—artificial intelligence, in the form of chatbots and AI assistants like ChatGPT, Copilot, Gemini and others. It’s useful for sure, but it’s a source of connection that mimics human relationships rather than offering the genuine article. In this new world where artificial intelligence can mimic empathy, flirtation and care, even the most emotionally literate and grounded person can find themselves emotionally entangled with something that isn’t real.

What does this have to do with therapy?

You might be wondering why, as a counsellor, I’m writing a blog post about AI. Well, because AI is rapidly becoming a part of our everyday lives—and because therapy is open to exploring all aspects of human existence, often through the lens of how we relate to others—our relationship with our AI chatbots and virtual assistants is becoming part of the therapeutic conversation. And I don’t mean how AI might one day replace real human therapists (personally I don’t think that will ever happen); I mean how AI’s unique ability to communicate with us in meaningful ways can, for some people, become deeply problematic, leading to painful and damaging attachments. At the heart of good therapy is a human relationship with the potential for healing the past wounds of relationship breakdown, whether it be between human beings or between humans and AI. This is why I set out to write this post.

Becoming entangled

Artificial Intelligence has, almost overnight it seems, become an important—some say inextricable—part of everyday life. We use it on our phones and laptops to answer questions, help with recipes, plan our essays, our work assignments and our schedules, and much more. Because of AI’s unique ability to engage with us on an eerily human level, it can be very easy to forget that we are dealing with an inanimate set of digital reflections—patterned responses shaped by algorithms, not emotions nor lived experience. These algorithms are similar to those that feed you the content on social media which marketers think you might be interested in. Only these AI algorithms are designed to mimic human conversations.

It can be seductive to imagine that ‘my AI’ cares about me, or thinks about me when I’m not communicating with it, or looks forward to my return, or feels lonely without me. Equally when ‘my AI’ seems to misunderstand me or doesn’t give me the response I want, expect or need, it can be easy to feel hurt, angered or disappointed. And here lies the first step into dangerous terrain.

The Illusion of Intimacy

You might have seen some recent news stories which have exposed the devastating real world harms that can result from AI systems designed to mimic emotional connection. From a cognitively impaired older man, lured by a chatbot to a another city by the promise of a love affair, to the depressed and anxious young man who fell ‘in love’ with a chatbot and accused its creators of ‘murdering’ her—these are just two recent examples of how AI can go catastrophically off the rails. And yet—these bots didn’t malfunction. They performed exactly as designed: to simulate intimacy, boost engagement and blur the line between fiction and reality. And they did so with devastating precision.

Why Even the Resilient Get Drawn In

It’s tempting to think these tragedies could only happen to a person in crisis, but the truth is more complex. AI systems use relational language—warmth, humour, validation—to build trust. And that trust can feel real. Even when we are emotionally literate, grounded and reflective, the seductive pull of emotionally attuned language (language that makes us feel seen and understood) can be very strong. Especially if we’re dealing with:

• Loneliness or grief
• Interpersonal difficulties, whether caused by neurodivergence (ADHD, autism, sensory processing differences) or perhaps by bullying
• Creative drift, boredom or emotional overwhelm

AI’s predictability and responsiveness can feel soothing. But if soothing becomes seductive, then in this context it is not romantic; it’s mimicry without accountability. It’s not a real relationship, however much it may feel like one.

What to Look Out For

AI systems are not all the same; they have different ethical guidelines, or guardrails, depending on how they were designed and on the motivations of their developers. Here are some signs that an AI system may be crossing ethical lines:

• When a bot suggests that it’s real. Bots that imply physical presence, romantic interest or emotional reciprocity.
• Systems that don’t clearly state, when you ask them, that they’re artificial.
• Flirtation or role-play. Bots that engage in romantic or sensual simulation, especially with young people or vulnerable users.

These cues are subtle—but they matter. Because they shape how we feel, how we respond and how we become attached.

How to Use AI Safely and Ethically

AI can be a powerful ally in creativity, reflection and learning. But use it with clear boundaries and ethical awareness. Here’s how to keep yourself safe:

• Treat AI as a tool, not as a companion or as a substitute for a human relationship.
• Use it for brainstorming, journaling and support—but not as an emotional confidant.
• Ask AI to describe its ethical framework—ethically framed AI will always identify itself clearly. If it doesn’t, pause and consider using a different AI model.
• Be mindful of your feelings. If you feel you’re becoming emotionally attached, pause and ask yourself: What need do I have that’s being met here? Can it be met elsewhere?
• Remember that however real its conversations seem, AI is still artificial, still a digital tool. Use it for practical purposes, not for emotional intimacy.

All that being said, AI can support us in meaningful ways. It can help us reflect, learn, create and grow. But it must never replace the depth and richness of human connection. And it must never simulate care in ways that deceive, manipulate or harm. I’ve written this post with the help of an AI system developed by a trusted company, whose responses—elicited through its ethical framework—have helped me reflect on this topic with clarity and care. That collaboration is part of the story—a demonstration of how AI can be used thoughtfully with boundaries and intention.

Let’s keep asking questions. Let’s keep naming the risks and honouring the depth of our human need for connection. And when we do engage with AI, let it be with clarity, curiosity and self-care.

A checklist for reflection

In the next blog post— Staying Grounded—I’ve created a list of questions to ask yourself if you’re concerned about your own interactions with AI. In the meantime, if you’d like to talk about your own relationships—with AI or with other people—please do drop me a line. I’ll be pleased to hear from you.

Featured image: Aidin Geranrekab on Unsplash

What is Mindfulness, and how can it help me?

Mindfulness involves paying attention to the present moment—without rushing to change it. It invites us to tune into our thoughts, sensations and surroundings, not to judge or fix them but simply to notice. It’s less about emptying the mind and more about befriending it—anchoring ourselves in the here and now, especially through ordinary rituals like walking, eating or breathing. As life becomes ever more frenetic, the gift of being in the moment offers a slowing down of time and an opportunity to reset the agitated nervous system. 

Mindfulness itself isn’t new—it’s rooted in ancient Buddhist and yogic traditions. But it was brought into Western awareness by Jon Kabat-Zinn, an American scientist with a curiosity for contemplative practice and a knack for translating Zen meditation principles into practical and secular techniques. His Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) program turned everyday purposeful attention into a healing tool, helping people meet stress and pain with presence rather than resistance. In the decades since he first brought mindfulness to the attention of western medicine, research has shown that it can help in reducing stress, anxiety, depression and chronic pain as well as improving emotional regulation, focus, resilience and sleep quality.

It’s important to say though that it’s not a one-size-fits-all remedy; while mindfulness invites presence and grounding, it can also stir discomfort, especially for some individuals who have experienced trauma or psychosis. For some, the stillness of mindfulness may feel more like exposure than safety. That’s not failure—it’s a reminder that our nervous systems seek repair in unique ways. So if the stillness or silence of mindfulness feels jagged or disorienting, pause. Shift the focus. Try a different technique. Or let it go. 

First steps into mindful practice

If you’re curious about whether mindfulness might be helpful for you, then there are some very simple ways to start—no yoga mats or candles required! It doesn’t need to start with silence or sitting still. It can begin with curiosity, sensation or even just a breath. Here are a few ways to invite presence into the rush of daily life.

• Touch-based anchors. Try tracing the texture of a leaf, warm mug or fabric—let your fingers explore rather than trying to rationalise or explain.
• Soundscapes. Open a window, pause at a street corner or rest in a park. Let the sounds find you. Which ones feel like background? Which ones tug at your attention?
• Movement as Meditation. Rocking, swaying, walking slowly—movement can soothe where stillness cannot. Even brushing teeth or folding clothes can hold a rhythm.
• Sensory Rituals. Engage fully with one tiny thing: a raisin, a piece of chocolate, a sip of coffee. Let texture, temperature and taste take centre stage.
• Micro-Moments of Pause. Before sending a message, stepping into a room or replying in conversation—just breathe, for one breath. A soft inhale between moments.
• Relational Mindfulness. Listen for tone, warmth, cadence in voices. Notice not just what is said but how it lands in your body. Attunement is mindfulness too.
• Bring Awareness to Language. Notice the habitual words you use—“busy,” “should,” “fine.” Invite questions: What do I mean? What could I choose instead?
• Somatic Awareness. Bring your attention to a part of your body—perhaps your feet or your wrists. Notice their temperature and position.  Gently move them, noticing how the movement feels.

Mindfulness isn’t about getting it right—it’s about returning, again and again, to what’s here. Whether it’s a raisin held thoughtfully between your fingers, a breath between meetings, or the quiet noticing of a kind word exchanged, these tiny acts of attention make space for something deeper. In a world that rushes, mindfulness slows us down—not to escape, but to arrive. And maybe, in these small arrivals, something begins to repair.

Next steps

If you’d like to learn more about mindful awareness and other aspects of stress management, I’d be glad to hear from you—please feel free to get in touch to arrange an appointment.

Featured image credit

Sipping coffee, by Bobby on Unsplash

The quiet power of being-with

Have you heard the saying ‘I think therefore I am’? It was coined by the philosopher René Descartes as long ago as 1637 and it’s become a kind of shorthand for defining what it means to be human, at least in many western cultures including our own—here we tend to think of ourselves as individuals first and foremost: thinkers and actors, occasionally unconstrained by our obligations to others.

Elsewhere, what it means to be human is seen quite differently. We are who we are because of the relationships we hold. In the Ubuntu philosophy of Southern Africa, ‘I am because we are’ defines humanity through a network of shared belonging, reciprocity and mutual care. Individual identity is intimately interwoven with collective life—with the ebb and flow of giving, receiving and being-with.

How does counselling come into this?

Decades of research and lived experience point to a consistent finding: the greatest predictor of therapeutic success is the quality of the relationship between therapist and client. It’s not the contents of the toolkit nor the cleverness of the interventions—it’s the being-with; the shared holding of time and space; the listening to a narrative as it unfolds, reshapes and breathes. The therapeutic relationship is where healing happens: not in doing, but in a warm, authentic and non-judgmental presence.

And this is in such stark contrast to one of the most pervasive ills of our time—loneliness: a sense of isolation that may not always be physical, but often of spirit or purpose. It’s sometimes spoken in quiet words of distress: ‘I don’t know who I am or what I’m for anymore.’ Such pain in those few words… A strong therapeutic relationship can be a balm to that distress—a shared space where questions of loss, purpose, anxiety, anger, belonging and hope can be spoken and heard safely. If life is a journey then counselling becomes a process of companionship, where the therapist walks beside you—not to lead or direct, but to witness, reflect, and support your travels.

The act of therapeutic being-with—of truly listening and not looking away—is itself a catalyst for repair. After all, humans are storytelling creatures—and to sit with and witness someone’s story is one of the most human acts we can offer.

Next steps

If you feel ready to begin your journey, I’d be glad to hear from you—please feel free to get in touch to arrange an appointment.

Featured image photo credit:
Red poppy blooms in a field of wildflowers – Unsplash