Performers are not our Property
For performers, creatives, and anyone who feels the pressure to trade their wellbeing for an audience.
The cultural appetite for watching artists unravel in public has always been voracious.
From the relentless media surveillance that hounded Amy Winehouse to the legal battles of the Free Britney movement, society has a long history of consuming a performer's talent, then demanding their trauma as an encore. We look on with voyeuristic fascination as young, highly visible artists are placed under intense scrutiny, treated as public property, and discarded when they collapse under the weight.
It's easy to shake our heads at the tabloid press or blame predatory managers, yet this dynamic points to a wider issue inside the performance industry itself. The very qualities that make someone a compelling artist – emotional sensitivity, a porous relationship with feeling, and an instinct to connect – are the exact traits commercial systems routinely exploit.
How we care for ourselves is political
For anyone who's tired of being told to fix their burnout with bubble baths and good vibes.
The concept of self-care tends to bring to mind a familiar set of images: inspirational quotes typed in a looping script, aimed at over-stretched, exhausted working mothers who're told to wash their troubles away in a fragrant bubble bath, followed by a green smoothie or a cheeky glass of wine.
I'll admit to a bit of cynicism here. I'm a fan of hot baths, smoothies, and any relief from the heavily gendered labour of caring for others. It isn't about shaming anyone's evening routine. But there's an urgent need to unpack the industry built around wellness, the products we're sold, and whose voices get centred or silenced in the process. As Skunk Anansie proclaimed in the nineties: 'Yes, it's f***ing political, everything's political!'
When we reduce self-care to a consumer habit, we strip away its history and its teeth. We treat chronic exhaustion as a private hygiene problem to be solved with scented candles, rather than asking why so many of us are running on empty in the first place.
The Psychology of Voice
For anyone whose voice shakes when it matters, or who swallows what they really need to say.
When I talk about the psychology of voice, people often hope or expect to learn tactics for being heard, understood, and taken seriously, based on studies that show which pitch, accent, body language, or tone audiences best respond to. There can be real value in considering how we come across when we communicate, yet I don't offer tips and tricks that promise to endow you with an artificial air of authority, confidence, or persuasiveness. My passion lies in wholehearted, authentic communication. As a practitioner, I explore how our thoughts, emotions, and physical states shape how we express ourselves, and specialise in communication, trauma recovery, relationships, and a body-focused approach to wellbeing.
The interface between inside and outside
When I think of voice, I think about being heard, speaking out against things we find unacceptable, advocating for ourselves or others, performing or presenting in front of an audience, and the physical mechanics of speaking or singing.
Collective Psyche, Myth and Ritual
For anyone feeling disoriented by the stories our culture tells in a crisis – and looking for grounding that feels real.
Humans are hard-wired for connection. We evolved as pack animals who relied on safety in numbers, but we're also compulsive meaning-makers. When a crisis hits and the world stops making sense, the stories we tell ourselves determine whether we pull together or turn on each other.
Throughout human history, sharing stories around a fire helped our ancestors create a common identity, honour those who came before them, and navigate an unpredictable environment. Our ability to imagine together allowed us to build shared symbols, rules, and communities.
Celebrating Neurodiversity
For adults navigating late-diagnosed ADHD, burnout, or sensory overload: how somatic grounding helps when the world isn't built for your brain.
Beyond the language of 'disorder'
It feels more positive, here and now, to be discussing neurodiversity as a term to describe the broad and glorious spectrum of different neurotypes that exist across human populations. The word is celebratory, with ‘diversity’ seen as something to be achieved and delighted in. An acknowledgement of all the different ways that brains can work and that this contributes to the many different skills and traits that make up a well-rounded society. Of course, neurodivergent brains are still described through the language of ‘disorder’ and still, in many cases require support, be it medical or psychoeducational. I’ve been reframing the language of ‘disorder’ for myself by looking at some of the traits and tendencies that can present challenges, and how they often seem to have a ‘mirror’ trait that is an advantage (like the struggle to think clearly through a task in ordered steps, vs. the creative thinking that gave me the edge in those 4am essays). Still, a society that, just like the school system I remember, is not designed with neurodivergent experiences in mind can be an exhausting place to navigate.