Merry Christmas....(17.12.25)
Merry Christmas....(17.12.25)
Hi everyone,
Just a short post to wish you all a peaceful Christmas and a great start to 2026.
I always like these end-of-year reflections – a chance to look back and take stock, and to think about what might lie ahead.
This has definitely been a year of two halves for me. The first half of 2025 was an amazing time. For those that don’t know, I live in an old Nunnery (before that it was a care home) – it was a dilapidated 11-bed, 13 bathroom property when we moved in, and we’ve been renovating it since 2023, one section at a time. This work continued in one of the downstairs areas and went very well. My practice was full and rewarding, and there were some golden high points in family life that I’ll carry with me forever. Therapy sessions were often deeply moving, and I’ve been privileged to walk alongside so many people through their own journeys. There were moments of real connection and progress that reminded me why I do this work.
Then August arrived after a month in Spain, and everything changed. A full-body tremor appeared almost overnight – eating, speaking, even walking became difficult for a time. Four months of tests, uncertainty, and exhaustion followed. These have been testing times for me, and also the people around me – I owe each of them deep thanks and gratitude. I would be lying, dear reader, if I said medical interventions were useful. One neurologist (celebrated) was awful, the second was a much nicer person but still I haven’t had results fully communicated to me from meetings in October. In the meantime I formulated my own treatment plan, implemented it, and am well on the way to total recovery. Both neurologists focused exclusively on “what it wasn’t” rather than offering any view on what it was. I can’t say I felt happy with the treatment. In any case - it wasn’t Parkinson’s or anything structural, thank God; so whatever the initial trigger (and I am blaming Jellyfish stings in Spain) it was the body finally saying “enough” to thirty-odd years of carrying more than it could hold. The second half of the year became a slow, sometimes painful climb back to solid ground.
But – and this is the part I want to write about – there have been silver linings, some of them disguised at first.
The illness forced me to slow down, to listen to my body, and to face certain things I’d spent a lifetime managing rather than feeling. It also gave me space to write more honestly than I ever have. Some of those pieces have connected with more people than I ever expected, and the conversations that followed have been humbling. I’ve found myself in the very strange position of people writing to me (mostly therapists), sharing their stories, concerns and hopes. I’ve been blown away by this, and a determination has settled in me to step forward to try and advance ideas I believe to be right. Certainly many therapists are fearful, probably rightly, about raising their concerns about their associations (BACP/UKCP).
In particular, the last few months pushed me to become more outspoken about something I’ve felt strongly about for years: the need for therapy to remain a neutral space where the client is sovereign. Over the summer and autumn I wrote several blogs challenging what I see as the creeping influence of activism in the therapy room, and I’ve been heartened by the response from other therapists who share the sentiments. The irony isn’t lost on me – in last year’s “here comes 2025” post I said I wanted to get more politically engaged, and my chief engagement has been to call for less politics in therapy! But that’s where I’ve felt called to stand. I think some greater organization is needed in this area, and I am building something in the background. It’s early days and may take huge effort for uncertain return.
Work-wise, the balance has shifted. My practice is much smaller for now – deliberately so – and the space has let me explore new directions. I’ve turned my focus onto building “in-house” tools that harness the power of AI to track progress against clinical curves. You can’t replace the “human” in therapy, but for many issues that respond better to day-to-day tracking and “adjustments made on the fly”, we therapists do our clients a disservice if we do not take advantage of AI to augment our treatments. So I’ve developed NEXUS – a proprietary, encrypted tool that helps me do just that. This was possible despite the shakes! I want to do better for clients than basing formulations on my limited experience as “just one guy” who studied years ago, especially when we have access to the “sum total” of human clinical knowledge at our fingertips. This is virgin territory, and I am building the road as I walk it. But I am very optimistic this will be the start of a new movement in therapy, shortening treatment times dramatically, and very valuable indeed for certain conditions. So let me christen it here: NEXUS Protocol Therapy. There we go. If interested you can read more about it on my site (see “modes of therapy” menu item).
Back to the entirely personal - I’ve noticed something else this year: after so long working at depth, day in day out, the lighter social chatter can feel a bit foreign. I’m now more comfortable in the therapy room than at a party. The illness has made that a little more pronounced as I feel self-conscious – I’ve been inward for months. So forgive me for the stiltedness if you get stuck with me in a lift! Next year I’d like to find a bit more ease in the ordinary moments, the small talk, the casual connections. Depth is my home, but I can’t live there exclusively.
So 2026?
More writing. More pushing for client-sovereign, evidence-informed therapy. More building (both literal – the house renovation is nearly done – and metaphorical). And, I hope, more lightness alongside the depth.
Thank you to everyone who’s been part of this year – clients, supervisees, readers, friends. You’ve all taught me more than you know.
Here’s to a gentler, brighter 2026.
With all good wishes,
Steve
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