If you’ve ever found yourself saying “I’m fine” to someone who asked how you were doing, when you were very much not fine – this is for you.

A strange thing can happen when you’re living with cancer, or getting through treatment, or trying to find some kind of new normal afterwards. You become, without really choosing to, the person who seems to be expected to hold it all together. The one who tries to reassure everyone that you’re coping. Sometimes the one who has to make the appointments, chase the referrals, manage the side effects – and still tries to show up for the people around you.

Perhaps at first your vision changed little by little, until at a point you had to face the fact your eyesight wasn't what it used to be and you'd have to make an appointment with your doctor or optician. Or maybe it happened suddenly and turned your world upside down overnight. Either way, you may be finding that people around you focus on the practical side of things - mobility training, assistive technology, learning new ways to do everyday tasks. All of that matters, of course it does. But there's another side to this that often goes unspoken, and that's the emotional impact of losing your vision.

Not all counsellors work in the same way, and my approach might be different from what you're expecting. At the heart of my practice lies a belief that collaborative counselling can be life-changing - we work together to find what works for you, rather than fitting you into a particular method or approach.

When you're thinking about counselling, you might have concerns about the practicalities. What if you can't commit to the same time every week? What happens if you need to cancel? How does the technology work? Will you be tied in for months?

It's worth knowing that working with me is designed to be as straightforward and flexible as possible. Here's how the practical side works.