Choose Your Way One Year on : Finding My Way

This month, Choose Your Way turns one.

And if I’m honest, there’s a big part of me that still can’t quite believe I got here.

Because the truth is — I nearly didn’t start at all.

The doubt at the beginning

When I trained as a therapist, a lot of it felt deeply right.

It was intuitive. Meaningful.
It helped me understand people — and myself — in ways that really mattered.

But there were also parts that didn’t fit me at all.

The idea of sitting still for 50 minutes (actually, counting in 50s too!).
Not fidgeting.
Maintaining constant eye contact.
Saying very little. Not oversharing.

I understood why those things exist. I could see the value in them.

But they didn’t come naturally to me.

And I remember sitting with that tension, thinking: am I actually cut out for this?

Because on paper, the “ideal therapist” didn’t look much like me.

Starting anyway

When I finally decided to start Choose Your Way, I didn’t have everything figured out.

I didn’t even have a niche.

What I did have was a clear sense of what I wanted to offer:

Something flexible and more reflective of how people like me actually live their lives.

I wanted to create space where people didn’t have to squeeze themselves into a format that didn’t work for them.

So I offered options. Different session lengths. Different ways of working. Space to move, think, talk — or not talk.

It wasn’t about getting it perfect.
It was about making it possible.

What I didn’t expect

What happened next wasn’t something I planned.

I started attracting neurodivergent clients.

People who, like me, had spent a long time feeling like they didn’t quite fit — not just in life, but often in therapy too.

And something shifted.

The more I worked in a way that felt natural to me, the more it seemed to work for the people I was supporting.

Things started to click.

Not because I’d mastered a “perfect” model — but because I’d stopped trying to force myself into one.

Learning to trust it

This past year has been a process of unlearning as much as learning.

Letting go of the idea that there’s one right way to do things.
Letting go of the pressure to perform or fit a mould.
Letting go of needing to be the “right kind” of therapist.

And instead, learning to trust:

That it’s okay to do things differently.
That it’s okay to build something that actually fits you.
And that being yourself in the room isn’t a weakness — it’s the work.

Because how can I support someone to understand themselves, if I’m busy hiding parts of who I am?

More than a business

Somewhere along the way, Choose Your Way stopped being just a business name.

It became a way of working.
A way of thinking.
A way of being, really.

An invitation — not just to clients, but to myself — to choose what fits, rather than forcing what doesn’t.

It’s growing

This year hasn’t just been about 1:1 work.

ND BrainSpace has grown into something really special — peer support groups for neurodivergent adults, both in-person and online. Spaces where people can connect, share, or simply exist alongside others who get it.

There have also been opportunities to collaborate with local organisations and medical providers, building awareness and creating more inclusive, accessible support.

And I’ve started speaking more — sharing lived experience alongside professional insight, and trying (in my own way) to close the gap between how neurodivergence is understood and how it’s actually experienced.

There’s something powerful about that shift — from quiet work in the room, to contributing to wider understanding.

The uncomfortable bits

It hasn’t all been easy.

Being visible.
Doing things differently.
Knowing that some people won’t like how you work.

That’s taken some real adjustment.

Especially when you’re someone who’s used to trying to get things “right” for other people.

But I’m starting to understand that not being the right fit for everyone isn’t a failure.

It’s part of doing this honestly.

One year in

So here I am — one year in.

Still learning. Still figuring things out.
But also… really proud.

Proud of what I’ve built.
Proud of the people I get to work with.
Proud that I didn’t abandon something just because it didn’t look the way I expected it to.

And deeply grateful — to everyone who’s been part of this first year in whatever way.

What’s next?

There’s more coming.

More groups.
More collaboration.
More conversations that challenge how we think about therapy and neurodivergence.

But for now, I’m letting myself pause for a moment and acknowledge this:

I started something.
And I stayed with it.

And that matters.

If you’ve been part of this journey — thank you.

And if you’re just finding your way here now… you’re very welcome.