Claire Wain Counselling and Supervision

19/08/2026

Sometimes we simply sit in the dusk.

There often comes a point in counselling, where what we have always believed to be true about ourselves starts to feel less certain.

Perhaps things like,
I have to keep everyone happy.
I'm difficult.
I should be able to cope.
I'm not enough.

And then, slowly, we begin to wonder.

Maybe that's not true.

And maybe this sort of realisation feels amazing, and maybe it is also frightening.

Even an understanding of ourselves that has been restricting, is still familiar. It has offered us a way of making sense of ourselves, our relationships, our place in the world.

When we start to let go of this, there can be a period when we don’t know what will take its place.

We know something about ourselves doesn’t quite fit any more, but we can’t yet see who we will be on the other side.

There can be a temptation to fill that space, with an answer, an identity or a direction.

Perhaps though, there is value in not rushing.

In counselling, for me, some of the work is sitting with someone in their uncertainty. Not deciding with them what comes next, or trying to illuminate the whole path.

Just allowing enough safety and curiosity for their own understanding to emerge.

The landscape hasn't disappeared simply because we can no longer see it.

Sometimes we just need to take the time to let our eyes adjust.

13/08/2026

A new article on substack.

This time I’m reflecting on loneliness, and what happens when the fear of loneliness keeps us somewhere we don't really belong.

I've been thinking about loneliness, belonging and the fear of not being chosen and wondering what might happen if we stop asking others to prove our worth.

And knowing where we belong

11/08/2026

Once in a while the universe invites us to pause in what we are doing, and look up.

Like tomorrow's eclipse, or maybe a meteor shower, or a beautiful sunset.

The idea that something is happening above us, can give us an opportunity to reflect on what is happening within us.

But I wonder why it sometimes takes something happening in the sky to give us permission to stop.

Maybe, there could be an opportunity today to notice something.

The light through the trees.
A cup of coffee while its still hot.
Someone you love laughing.

Or simply noticing how you are feeling under all the doing.

Nothing profound needs to happen.

Just a moment, to look up.

10/08/2026

New article over on Substack.

This time I’m wondering about identity — who we are, how we become ourselves, and what happens when the world around us keeps changing.

There’s a little Whitby jet, some Carl Rogers, Martin Buber, masculinity, counselling… and quite a lot of wondering.

If you fancy wondering with me, you can read it here:

The Trust to Become

09/08/2026

Sundays can be many things

Slow mornings and coffee, catching up with friends and family. Long walks.

A chance to rest before the week begins.

But Sundays can feel different as well.

Sometimes the quiet gives our thoughts a little more space to make themselves heard.

Sometimes Sundays come with loneliness, or that familiar knot in your stomach as Monday edges ever closer.

Perhaps whatever kind of Sunday your having, there's room to take a minute.

Sit somewhere.
Notice what's around you.
Feel your feet on the ground.
Listen for something you hadn't noticed before.

You don't have to make the most of today.

You don't have to prepare yourself for tomorrow.

You can just be, even for a minute.

06/08/2026

"I wonder why that's important to you?"

It's almost a stereotype of counselling training.

A client asks a question about us and we're taught to gently turn it back.

Why?

Because counselling isn't about us. It's about understanding the client's world, not inviting them into ours.

And I agree with that.

But there was another thing I was taught that has stayed with me just as strongly.

That healing happens in relationship.

That authenticity matters.

That congruence isn't just something we talk about – it's something we embody.

I've never been entirely comfortable with the idea of being a blank page.
Because the moment someone walks into my office, I've already communicated something without saying a word.

My age.

The way I dress.

The trees outside my office.

Perhaps my teenage son walking up the drive.

The book on the shelf I was reading between sessions.

Whether I'm wearing a wedding ring or not.

We are never truly blank.

So if someone asks me whether I've struggled, I won't pretend I haven't.

If they ask what I'm doing this weekend, I might tell them.

If they ask my favourite song, or the last film that made me cry, I'll probably answer.

Not because the session is about me.

And not because I want to become their friend.

But because sometimes honesty is part of being fully present with another human being.

I probably won't tell them how I found my way through whatever I've lived.

That belongs to them.

Their path will never be mine.

But I can meet them as another imperfect human being.

And I think there's something deeply hopeful about that.

04/08/2026

Even in the darkest part of the forest, sunlight finds a way.

It doesn't arrive all at once, it slips through gaps, catching the edges of the leaves.

Perhaps a reminder that light doesn't always erase darkness.

It simply helps us to see where we are.

Maybe hope is like that.

A little glimmer that the light has been there all along.

30/07/2026

I wear this necklace everyday.

Not only for the deeply personal sentiment behind it, but also be of what it reminds me.

The black stone is Whitby jet. It's not a crystal at all, but fossilised wood.

Millions of years ago, it began life as a tree.

Buried beneath layers of sediment and transformed by immense pressure, it became something entirely different.

And yet, if you looked under a microscope, you would still see the grain of wood it once was. It still carries that memory after all this time.

I find myself coming back to that.

Pressure doesn't always erase us.

Sometimes it changes us.
Sometimes it shapes us into something we never expected.

But, perhaps, somewhere, underneath it all, we still carry the grain of who we've always been.

And perhaps that's why it's worth being patient with ourselves, while we learn to recognise it again.

28/07/2026

I've been thinking about loneliness lately.

We often think of it as the absence of people.

And I wonder if that is always the case?

Is loneliness the absence of company?

The absence of being understood?

Or perhaps something else entirely?

I'd love to know what you think?