A few years ago, I completed over two years of weekly psychotherapy sessions with Megan Daube, a skilled and compassionate therapist who held space for some of the deepest parts of my inner world. What we called a “conscious uncoupling” marked the end of a chapter that was as rich as it was transformational. Together, we processed, reflected, celebrated, and grieved. That space became a sanctuary of safety, structure, and self-reflection—something I’ll always be grateful for.

Therapy was a vital part of my healing. It brought so many things into awareness: patterns in relationships, stories I’d long carried, ambitions that had dimmed under the weight of survival. The two years I spent in that room with Megan created the foundation for everything I’ve stepped into since, especially the last ten months of growth and expansion.

But here’s the truth: eventually, I hit a wall.

People would ask me, “Do you think therapy is still helping?” And I found myself hesitating. I had gained so much, but I also began to sense there was something deeper—something I couldn’t talk my way into or out of.

Despite the safety and the insights, I couldn’t reach certain layers of myself. I realised that what I was yearning for wasn’t just understanding. It was released.

That’s when I discovered somatic therapy—approaches that move energy through the body rather than just processing it through the mind. I picked up a copy of  The Body Keeps the Score, and it cracked open an entirely new awareness of how pain and trauma live in our physical form. Around the same time, I found breathwork.

In my 18 months of therapy, I didn’t cry once.
In one hour of breathwork, I cried in waves. Grief, fear, relief—all of it moved through me with a force that felt ancient, and somehow, deeply familiar. And I felt safe enough to let it.

That first breathwork session was the beginning of a new chapter—one that took me out of my thinking mind and into the terrain of my body. It was no longer about analysing why I felt disconnected; it was about feeling that disconnection fully and allowing it to move.

Not long after that experience, I chose to end therapy, not from avoidance or discomfort, but from alignment. I was ready. In the same way therapy had once been a brave beginning, breathwork became the path to something even deeper.

Since then, I’ve become a breathwork facilitator, guiding others through their own emotional terrain—not with advice or analysis, but through breath, sound, and presence. And something beautiful has happened: the more I hold space for others to feel, the more I learn how to hold that same space for myself. There’s a sacred reciprocity in this work that continues to humble and expand me.

I still hold deep respect and reverence for talk therapy. In fact, I believe I wouldn’t be where I am today without the solid foundation that Megan helped me build. Therapy helped me see my life. Somatic work helped me feel it.

So if you're someone who's felt like talking has taken you as far as it can, maybe you're not broken. Maybe you're just being invited to take the next step—from thinking about your pain to truly moving through it.

Because healing isn’t just about insight.
It’s about integration.
And sometimes, it’s about breathing through what words could never touch.

—

With gratitude to Megan Daube, for holding the space that allowed me to begin.

“The attempt to escape from pain is what creates more pain.”
— Gabor Maté

“Accept responsibility for your life. Know that it is you who will get you where you want to go, no one else.” – Les Brown