Noa Therapeutic - Psychotherapy, Counselling and Coaching

20/08/2026

FIRST OF ALL — yes.
WRITING IN ALL CAPS IS SHOUTING.

This is not up for debate.

THIS IS INTERNET LAW.
IT WAS DECIDED IN 1999.

And yet — some people’s inside voice is already in caps.

No device required.
No screen involved.

They wake up at a solid volume of 11.

You know them.
They’re not angry.
They’re not aggressive.
They just sound like every thought was formed
IN A WIND TUNNEL
DURING A FIRE DRILL
NEXT TO INDUSTRIAL MACHINERY.

It’s funny because we’ve all had the moment where someone speaks
and your nervous system goes,
“Oh. We are under attack.”

But here’s the actual point.
One of the hardest things that comes into Therapy — honestly, one of the hardest —
is when two (or more!) people exist in the same dwelling
and one of them triggers the other.

Not on purpose.
Not maliciously.
Just… by existing at the wrong frequency.

Same house.
Different nervous systems.
Different volume settings.

Different thresholds.

One person hums.
The other’s eye twitches.

One person needs silence.
The other processes life out loud.

One person is regulating.
The other is enthusiastic.

And suddenly everyone is overstimulated
and no one knows why the tension is so high
over absolutely nothing.

This comes up in therapy constantly —
partners, parents and kids, siblings, housemates.

Especially in neurodivergent homes.
Because here’s the unfair part:
no one is doing anything wrong
and everyone is still overwhelmed.

When two systems share space,
triggers aren’t a failure of love or communication.
They’re often just incompatible regulation styles
colliding at breakfast.

So how do you deal with it?
Not by deciding who’s “too much.”
Not by demanding one person shrink
so the other can cope.

You deal with it by:
• naming the trigger without blaming
• externalising the problem (“this is about volume / noise / pace, not you”)
• building exits, buffers, and boundaries before everyone melts down
• remembering that needing space is not rejection — it’s regulation

Psychotherapy doesn’t aim to eliminate triggers.
It helps people co-exist without constantly injuring each other by accident.
Because sometimes the work isn’t “communicate better.”
It’s “how do we share space without frying each other’s nervous systems.”
And honestly?
If you’re managing that — even badly, even imperfectly —
you’re doing advanced-level humaning.

— Lyns 🌙

13/08/2026

“I still say my phone number twice whenever I leave voicemails as if people can’t see the number because I belong to the early 90s…”

Which means most of us learned communication in an era where you had to be clear, repeat yourself, and hope the message survived the answering machine.
Now we live in a world where everything is instant, visible, permanent —

and somehow we’re still out here politely reciting our digits like it’s 1994.

In therapy, this comes up more than you’d expect.
Not the voicemail — the whiplash.

Many of us are parenting, working, and relating across two worlds at once:
one that values patience, context, and explanation…
and one that moves fast, scrolls faster, and rarely waits for clarity.

Which makes it no wonder we’re thoughtful, cautious communicators
raising children in a digital landscape we’re still learning ourselves —

especially now, as Australia actively reassesses how much access young people should have to social media.

So if you still say your number twice,
pause before sending a message,
or feel vaguely responsible for being understood —
you’re not outdated.

You’re from a generation that learned communication mattered.

And honestly?
That’s not a bad thing to pass on.

What have you noticed about how phones and social media have changed the way kids — and adults — communicate?

06/08/2026

Okay. First and foremost.
Alcohol is NOT the answer — okie dokie?

I advocate for coping skills, regulation, boundaries, hydration, and sleep.

LOTS of SLEEP!

Now that I’ve done my due diligence…

“I am a strong woman raising a strong girl, which is why I need a strong drink.”

Because raising a female-presenting human in this era is not a gentle hobby.

It’s a full-contact sport played on expert mode.

We’re trying to raise girls who like themselves.
Their bodies.
Their voices.
Their opinions.
Their no.

While the world politely — and sometimes aggressively — suggests

they should be quieter, nicer, smaller, more agreeable…

but also confident, resilient, high-achieving, emotionally intelligent,
and somehow photogenic under fluorescent lighting.

So yes.

Some days it feels like parenting with one hand
while peeling your entire internal system off the ceiling with the other.

In the therapy room, parents say this all the time:
“I want her to be strong… but I also want her to be safe.”

Which means constantly calibrating when to protect,
when to step back,
and when to let her be gloriously, inconveniently herself.

This isn’t overthinking.
It’s awareness.

We’re raising girls in a world that still hasn’t decided
how much space they’re allowed to take —
and choosing, daily, to give them more anyway.

So if the day ends with deep breaths, sore patience,
and a symbolic strong drink (tea counts, sparkling water counts, lying horizontally counts) —
that’s not failure.

That’s commitment.

04/08/2026

Djilba is a season that doesn’t reward certainty. Cool air can turn warm without warning. Skies shift quickly. Early wildflowers appear — yellow, purple — not as a declaration, but as a suggestion.

Historically, this was a time of careful watching. New life was present but vulnerable. Food sources were less predictable.
Attention, timing, and restraint mattered. Nothing was rushed. Survival depended on reading subtle changes in land, weather, and behaviour — knowing when to wait and when to move.

Psychologically, Djilba mirrors states many people recognise: when something new is forming internally, but not yet stable. When clarity hasn’t arrived. When pushing for answers too early risks damage rather than growth. This is the territory of early boundaries, emerging insight, tentative hope — all easily disrupted if exposed too soon.

Djilba invites tolerance for ambiguity. The capacity to stay with not-knowing. To notice what is present without demanding resolution. In a culture that prizes certainty and speed, this kind of patience is quietly radical.

I share this while acknowledging that I am not Noongar, and that I live and work on Whadjuk Noongar Boodja. I offer these reflections with respect for the original custodians of this land, and with care to listen to seasonal knowledge shaped by thousands of years of observation, rather than imposing meaning onto it.

Djilba doesn’t ask for action.
It asks for attention.

03/08/2026

Dear parents,

I want to start by saying this: I see how much you carry — even the parts you rarely say out loud. The love, the fear, the constant mental load of wondering if you’re getting it right, or if one wrong sentence might ripple too far into the future.

A mother of a teenage client once paused mid-sentence and said,

“Sometimes I’m scared that what I say here will make you fearful about what might become of your kids when they’re older.”

I remember the weight of that moment. The quiet. The way the room seemed to soften around it.

And yes — I am a mother. That does shape how I listen. How could it not? My work comes home with me in subtle ways, and motherhood walks into my work with me too — always with care, boundaries, and good supervision holding the edges. I can stay steady. I can hold space. Both things can be true.

But here’s what I don’t think parents hear often enough.

Every week, I meet parents who quietly make me want to be a better one.

They arrive tired — the bone-deep kind. Their heads full of research, strategies, questions they’ve Googled at 2am. Their mouths carrying things they haven’t quite found words for yet. Their eyes tell me they’ve seen too much and not enough all at once — hope and heartbreak sharing the same space.

So many doubt their own goodness. And yet they show up. They advocate. They try again tomorrow.

If you’re one of the parents who has ever walked through my door with your heart slightly exposed — please know this: I think you’re extraordinary.

Thank you for trusting me with your stories. And thank you, truly, for the quiet ways you keep inspiring me.

Image ID:
A cropped photograph of a therapist standing on a windswept beach, carrying their child close to their chest. The adult’s face is partially obscured by the framing and angle, and the child’s face is not visible at all. The child is wrapped in a soft, oversized cardigan that moves gently in the wind. The background is black — The image conveys care, containment, and steadiness, without revealing identifying facial details.

Lynsey Baughen, a Psychotherapist, Registered Teacher, Certified Coach, Neurodiversity Advocate and Registered Counsellor embracing working North of the River under Madeley Health Centre

30/07/2026

“I don’t understand why people think technology is making us antisocial.

I will ignore you just as easily with a reading book or a sketch pad as I will with my cell phone.”

And… yes.
Also no.

Because here’s the grown-up, slightly less funny truth:
phones don’t just hold our attention — they are engineered to steal it.

So let’s clarify.

People have always needed ways to manage social energy.
Books, notebooks, knitting, staring into the middle distance —
these were early forms of saying,
“I need a break from interaction.”

That part isn’t new.

What is new is that phones are designed to be interruptive, sticky, and rewarding.

Infinite scroll. Variable rewards. Notifications timed to pull you back in.

That’s not a personal failure — that’s behavioural science.

In therapy, this distinction matters.
There’s a difference between:
• choosing solitude
• regulating sensory or social overload
• taking intentional downtime

and

• being pulled away from presence without meaning to be

That last one is where phone use can quietly turn into disconnection —
from others and from ourselves.

And then there’s phubbing — snubbing someone in favour of your phone.

It hurts not because the phone exists,
but because attention feels withdrawn without consent.

Mental Health work isn’t anti-technology.
It’s pro-awareness.

It’s about noticing:
Am I choosing this?
Or is this choosing me?

So yes — some of us will ignore you with a book.
Some with a sketch pad.
Some with a phone.

But only one of those was designed to keep you there longer than you intended.

That’s not a moral judgement.
It’s an invitation to be conscious.

— Lyns 🌙

26/07/2026

23/07/2026

Ah yes.
The domestic crime scene question.

I’ve heard of these.

Because when someone is Hoovering a bath —
not cleaning it, not rinsing it —
VACUUMING IT —
that is NOT a neutral behaviour.

That is a woman who has crossed the invisible line
from coping
to improvising solutions no one trained her for.

In therapy, this moment has a name
(unofficial, not in the DSM, but spiritually accurate):

“THE POINT WHERE THE LOAD EXCEEDS THE CONTAINERS AVAILABLE.”

It’s not about the dirt.
It’s not about the bath.
It’s not even about the question.
It’s about the mental load, the noise, the mess, the interruptions,
the constant micro-decisions,
and the quiet realisation that you are now solving problems
with whatever tool is closest to your hand.

And just to be very clear —
this is NOT a couples counselling post.
I do NOT do couples counselling.

If someone brought this into a room with their partner,
I would gently but firmly inform them
they have booked the WRONG THERAPIST.
Because in couples counselling I would be legally required to remain neutral —
and I know, I KNOW,
that emotionally I would be very much on the side of
the person vacuuming the bathtub.

I would almost certainly do something wildly unprofessional like suggest
the other adult go mop the lawn.
Or alphabetise the pantry.
Or simply leave the room and return with solutions.
Because this isn’t a relationship failure.

It’s a SYSTEMS ISSUE.

When someone is vacuuming a bathtub,
they are communicating everything
without saying a word.

So if you’ve ever done something so unhinged
it made perfect sense at the time —
you’re not dramatic.

You’re OVERLOADED.
And the correct response to witnessing that
is not a question.

It’s HELP.

— Lyns

Online appointment booking

16/07/2026

The ancient parenting strategy known as ‘Forbidden Plate Psychology.’

Because the moment food is served directly to a child it becomes:
Suspicious.
Offensive.
Potentially poisonous.
Prepared with malicious maternal intent.

But place that exact same food — same ingredients, same temperature, same molecular structure — on YOUR plate?

Suddenly it becomes rare, luxurious, Michelin-star, emotionally exclusive cuisine.

Children will scale furniture, violate personal space, and perform Olympic-level reach manoeuvres to access food they rejected 11 seconds earlier.

In therapy, parents talk about this all the time — not just with food, but with anything children perceive as autonomy.

Kids aren’t just eating snacks.
They’re practising independence.
They’re experimenting with control.
They’re conducting tiny psychological negotiations disguised as refusing strawberries.

And honestly?
From a developmental perspective… it makes sense.
Humans are biologically wired to want what feels chosen rather than imposed.

Which is why toddlers can refuse pasta they begged for,
then eat cold toast crusts they found behind the couch like it’s a five-star tasting menu.

Parenting often feels less like nutrition management
and more like running an underground restaurant where your customers are emotionally unpredictable, highly opinionated, and occasionally survive entirely on air and rage.

Psychotherapy reminds us that these tiny power struggles aren’t parenting failures.

They’re developmental rehearsals.

And if you’ve ever eaten standing up, guarding your own dinner like a raccoon protecting stolen takeaway while whispering “please just let me have ONE BITE” —
You are not alone.

You are participating in one of parenting’s most
universal rituals.

— Lyns 🌈

Online appointment booking

14/07/2026

Therapy is expensive. Groceries are expensive. Existing is… surprisingly premium these days.

I keep hearing the same question lately (and as the NDIS shake up just keeps going its on everyone’s minds)

“If I can't afford regular therapy anymore… or… my plan doesnt stretch to regular therapy anymore - what do I do?"

It's a fair question.

Funding changes, the cost of living, and long waiting lists are leaving many people trying to support their mental health with fewer options than they'd like.

So I thought I'd start sharing a few ideas over the coming weeks that might be worth exploring.

Now, before anyone on Facebook starts warming up their keyboard… 😅 I'm NOT an occupational therapist, physiotherapist or doctor, [though I do like to hang out socially with such folk from time to time] and roller skating isn't a replacement for therapy.

But as a psychotherapist, I spend every day fascinated by the relationship between our minds, bodies and nervous systems. We don't just think our way through life—we move through it too.

Which brings me to... roller skates. Ha. 😱😅

Honestly, if you'd told me years ago that retro boots with wheels would end up in a psychotherapy conversation, I'd have been somewhat confused. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Yet skating naturally asks our brains to coordinate both sides of the body, balance, adapt, recover after wobbling and keep trying. For some people, that's simply super happy movement. For others, it may gently support skills that therapists from many different disciplines also work on. Oh and there’s deep pressure for your feet happening too… sometimes too much… choose your socks carefully!

Will it suit everyone? Absolutely not.

Some people can't skate. Some won't want to. Some will look at a pair of skates and immediately think, erm. No. Entirely fair.

Maybe your version is dancing in the kitchen. Swimming. Tai Chi. Climbing. Walking. Throwing a ball with your kids.

The point isn't that roller skating is THE answer.

It's that sometimes, when life becomes unimaginably expensive, healing asks us to become a little more imaginative.

Maybe one small movement is where something bigger begins.

So… here I am, throwing another idea into the universe. Take it or leave it.

For those who are curious, I'm rather fond of Rollerzone in Malaga. https://facebook.com/rollerzoneperth

They run relaxed Learn to Skate sessions on weekend mornings, along with adults-only coffee sessions, which sound delightfully civilised for people who'd like to fall over in peace. 😄

And no—this isn't a paid partnership. In fact, one member of our neurodivergent community recently chatted with them about whether they might consider introducing sensory-friendly sessions. I genuinely hope they do, because I think there'd be plenty of interest.

I'll just leave this post here.. and then the ball (or perhaps the skate wheel) is in their court. ❤️

— Lyns 🌈