Case Studies

When I first met Wendy, she felt stuck in limbo.

Her degree was complete, her children had flown the nest, and she was left facing a question that echoed quietly but persistently: What now? Who am I, for me?

She’d spent years doing for everyone else—organising holidays for ten people, taking full responsibility, always the one others leaned on. But when it came to doing something just for herself? The idea of organising a solo trip felt overwhelming.

The confidence just wasn’t there yet. After just six sessions together, Wendy began taking small, brave steps.

Her first solo break was a trip to Wales. She even took a friend’s dog along, some four-legged moral support. She made a plan to stay for three nights… but ended up coming home after two.

At first, the voices in her head whispered she had failed. But she caught those voices. She recognised them not as her truth, but as echoes of her past. In our work, she began to understand: it’s not failing if you choose differently.

It’s learning to honour your needs. And that, in itself, is a win. From there, something shifted.

Wendy joined walking groups. She met new people. She started to build confidence—not just in her ability to walk new paths, but to walk her path.

She even invested in a tent and started exploring the Lake District and beyond. Recently, she completed a multiday hike.

During that adventure, something beautiful happened—she realised she could say no and feel strong doing it. She was doing something for herself, and it felt good.

After attending my 4-week course, she began to piece together the ‘why’ behind her emotions. The fog started to lift. With new insights and practical tools, she made changes that have genuinely improved the quality of her life.

Now, she recognises her triggers and meets them with self-compassion.

She gives herself grace. She knows she’s still on her journey and that’s OK.

After her last hike, she came home, sat in her lovely house, and felt… nothing. No joy, no sense of fulfilment. Just a deep realisation that much of her life had been spent trying to prove her worth.

Her words still stay with me: “It felt like I’d been hit in the face. I was happier sitting in my natural spa on that walk than I’ve ever been in my kitchen.”

That moment was a turning point. She acknowledged something she had never truly said out loud before: “I don’t like my surroundings. I’ve always tried to be accepted, but I want to see new places, have new experiences, and be self-sufficient.”

Recently, she told me about a film she wanted to see. In the past, she’d have scrambled to find someone to go with. But now? She smiled and said, “I’m content to go on my own.”

She’s planning her next walk in the Peak District—with a friend this time—and is excited about learning more navigation skills, and continuing to build her confidence outdoors and in life.

Her parting words still make me smile: “I don’t want to live my life watching others. I want to live my life.”