
AuDHD, ADHD, ADD and Autism Counselling and Clinical Supervision.

Well Hello There, You Curious Little Chaos Nugget!
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(Disclaimer: I do swear, the opinions expressed on this page are entirely my own. Links to pages and services are shared with no liability to myself whatsoever. I also have Dyslexia and dyscalculia, which means I am not going to correct myself as much on this part of my page.)
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Absolutely chuffed that you decided to click through and let your curiosity get the better of you! I thought it might be rather beneficial to separate the traditional style of counselling from the wonderful, chaotic world of my curious mind - hence this little corner of the internet.
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So here you are, and here I am, ready to share the unfiltered, slightly bonkers, but brilliantly effective way I actually work. No stuffy professional jargon, no sitting rigidly upright pretending I don't find things hilarious when I absolutely do.
Welcome to where the real magic happens - buckle up, it's going to be a properly interesting ride!

When I first started out as a counsellor, I thought I had to be this perfectly polished professional - you know, the one who never drops an F-bomb, keeps their dark and sarcastic sense of humour locked away, and sits statue-still without a single fidget. My training hammered home all the "don'ts": don't self-disclose, don't offer tissues, don't be... well, don't be yourself.​I'd been told I was "too much, too loud, too quiet, too weird" - basically the greatest hits of feedback that neurodivergent folks get throughout life. So naturally, I tried to squeeze myself into this beige, professional box.​Then something clicked. I thought, "sod it, I'm doing this my way.
​The difference was like night and day. Don't get me wrong, I still deliver solid, evidence-based therapy. But now I bring my whole self to the room. My AuDHD brain? It's my secret weapon. I can cut through the noise and get to the heart of what's going on faster than you can say "Talking Therapies." My pattern-spotting superpowers mean I catch the stuff you didn't even realise you were (or weren't) saying.​I see through the BS - not in a harsh way, but in a "howay, let's talk about what's actually happening here" way.
When I stopped hiding behind the professional mask and started showing up as a real human being, everything changed. My clients could finally drop their masks, too, and that's where the magic happened. It turns out that being authentically yourself isn't unprofessional—it's exactly what good therapy needs.

Hold on!

The best way I can describe having AuDHD (Autism and ADHD) is the Rally car analogy.
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The Autistic side of me is calm, I am in control. I have everything planned out ahead of time and all the protective gear. My clipboard has everything I need to know, my seatbelt is on and I am waiting to go.
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Then the ADHD side kicks in. This part of me wants chaos!
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It's like I look at the Autistic side of me and think, "yeah off we go " Before I know if the plans have changed, I am starting the engine and racing off. My Autism and my ADHD are shouting and fighting. My Autism wants to follow the route and stick to the planned speed limit. The ADHD (who is behind the wheel) has decided to put their foot down and plough on through the forest and off the beaten track.
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It is scary and thrilling both at the same time. I am terrified and also strangely feeling alive. I know that I can rein myself in, but sometimes I just want to let go of the control and see where I end up. I am fully aware that I am going to crash and burn for allowing the ADHD to take over. However, I also know that if I only ever let my Autism have a voice, I would never push myself out of my comfort zone and achieve what I have achieved.



What makes me different?
The Squirrel Approach: Why Going Off-Piste Makes All the Difference
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When I search online, everyone looks absolutely fantastic, polished, and professional. Then there's me, with my two sides on full display. For some reason, squirrels crop up loads in my sessions. Sometimes it's a client glancing out the window and spotting one. Most therapists would try to drag you back from that quick "SQUIRREL!" moment, wouldn't they?
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Me? I ask what kind it is, what it's doing, and where it's headed.
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Look, our sessions can be intense—they require heaps of focus and mental energy. Letting you tell me about that squirrel gives your brain a decent breather before we dive back into the heavy stuff. It makes perfect sense to me, though I suspect most therapists would think I've completely lost the plot.
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But here's the thing—those little detours often lead to the biggest breakthroughs. When you're relaxed and chatting about something delightfully random, the real insights slip out. Your guard's down, you're being genuinely yourself, and suddenly, we're having the conversation that actually matters.
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So, while other therapists might see a distraction, I see an opportunity. Sometimes, the best therapy happens when we're not trying so hard to do therapy at all.