I’m a Coaching Psychologist who works at the cross-road of identity, direction, and adult development. I work with capable, high-functioning adults who look fine on the outside but feel restless, unfulfilled, quietly questioning what life’s all about. The questions that bring people to me are rarely about motivation or productivity. They’re about who they are becoming, and what comes next.
Before this work had a name, I spent years changing direction, from lean manufacturing engineering to teaching and leadership, to coaching, and then into psychology and research. For a long time I assumed that made me flaky or indecisive. In hindsight, I wasn’t lost. I was paying attention. I was following instinct long before I had language for it.
Identity and direction matter to me because it’s a specific kind of pain to feel like you don’t fit, yet feel trapped by responsibility, expectation, or approval. I’ve realised most adults were never taught to trust themselves. They were taught to perform, behave, achieve, endure, and not make a mess. That works until it doesn’t.
What breaks my heart a little is how late I realised this. Midlife is a difficult time to discover how much energy you’ve spent upholding a life that isn’t really yours. I never struggled with capability, I didn’t have authorship and always so jealous of those who were choosing their life on purpose rather than inheriting it by default.
I’ve endured emotionally challenging relationships, choosing single motherhood, pregnancy loss, workplace bullying, burnout to name a few, but they all taught me something I wish us adults learned sooner: values aren’t theoretical; they’re lived. I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for, and I’m willing to choose myself even when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or misunderstood. Strength doesn’t have to be loud to be real..
The turning point for me was absolute burnout. I was always looking for the magic pill of permission to “fix me” and give me all the answers. That soul searching led me see that direction isn’t something you find, it’s something you build. Once I started working on letting go of the “shoulds,” adulthood became creative. You get to choose, and choice is a privilege we forget we have. So much of adulthood is made up! The rules, the timelines, the expectations. Meaning is authored, not inherited.
The work I do now is deliberately long-form. Six months minimum. A year is often where the deeper work takes shape. Identity doesn’t shift in six sessions. It needs conversation, reflection, transitions, and integration. It needs time to become coherent.
I work best with adults who are already functioning at a high level, people with careers, families, responsibilities, and a public face of competence, who are quietly asking bigger questions in the background: Is this it? Who am I now? What do I want next? Where is this all going? These questions don’t get solved with willpower or goal-setting. They require authorship.
These days I’m building work that treats adulthood as developmental. I recognise how identity changes over time and how direction isn’t discovered so much as created. My aim isn’t to fix people, optimise them, or push them to perform. It’s to support them while they build the next chapter on purpose.
It starts with you.