Anne Thistleton Counselling

11/11/2025

Recoupling a Broken Dynamic:

Usually, I really look forward to sharing news of my latest professional development trainings -
the learnings, the reflections, the professional growth.

But not this time.
This time, I just can’t.

Because this one finally broke me ...

This one destroyed my faith in the myth
that attending trauma trainings automatically means trauma awareness will be present.

This one left me questioning
whether some people even know the difference
between holding power and holding people.

This one was a lesson in trauma itself -
not the kind a textbook could hold,
not the kind written in slides or sealed inside a syllabus.

It was a lesson in how what’s unspoken leaks,
how the repressed still finds its way to the surface,
and how pain denied becomes the teacher no one plans for.

Because when trauma is buried, it never disappears;
it simply behaves in unexpectedly expected ways.

I’ve seen that pattern too many times now not to recognise it.

I’ve been broken at trainings before,
so I do know to expect it -
and what to expect when it happens.

But this time was different.

What happened wasn’t expected... because this time, I did everything right.

I studied the material, built my capacity,
strengthened my regulation.
I came prepared - connected to self,
ready to participate, to learn, to enjoy.

And even in the arriving as my best self,
it still broke me.

Not because I failed,
but because the space did.

A storm filled the practice room,
pulling everything towards its centre.
Its force was excused as protection,
its weight and impact overlooked,
its intensity left unchecked.

Yet my authentic need to step out from its eye -
my effort to stay regulated, to stay true,
to name what was real and how it was impacting me -
was met not with understanding,
but with exile.

Afterwards, the silence roared louder than the storm.
I turned each moment over in my mind,
searching for what I might have done differently -
even though I already knew
there was nothing in me to fix.

The day that followed was heavy with doubt,
the kind that seeps in when truth has been mistaken for trouble.

And once the echoes finally softened,
what remained was the ache -
the ache that only comes ... when the thing you love wounds you.

When the still knowing that I had stayed true
is all that remains, even at the cost of belonging.

When the language of healing is used to disguise judgment,
and the quiet forming of opinions replaces honest dialogue.

When the unhealed wield their power like ransom,
and compliance becomes the price of completion.

When those entrusted to hold the space fairly and gently
turn their backs on the very principles they teach.

When truth-telling is mistaken for threat,
and composure is prized above courage.

When distance is favoured over understanding,
and exclusion is chosen over repair.

It takes time to find one’s ground again,
and a little longer to reclaim one’s voice.

But if there’s grace to be found in this experience, it’s this -

I now know, beyond doubt,
for when it is my time to lead.

I shall remember what it felt like to be dismissed,
so that listening and presence will answer where silence once stood.

I shall remember how avoidance deepens harm,
so that repair will always be met with courage.

I shall remember how silence can injure,
so that honesty will always have a seat at my table.

Some lessons arrive through beauty.
Others through betrayal.

Both still teach -
but only one will shape me.

And when I step forward again,
it will be with soil under my feet, voice steady, hands open,
building the kind of ground I once longed to stand on.

For others like me,
who have known what it is to be undone in the name of healing,
may this new ground be steady beneath them -
gentle, honest, unafraid -
so they, too, can learn to trust the earth again.

For others like me,
who will walk through the shadow side of healing,
may this ground remember our footsteps,
and whisper to all those who follow:

you can stand here too...
you are safe.

07/11/2025

29/10/2025

🌸 Supporting Client Authorship During Somatic Touch Work

In somatic touch sessions, it can be so tempting to jump in and name what we think we see.

Today, I almost did. I noticed something in my client’s gesture that I thought I understood — and I caught myself just in time.

Instead of naming it, I asked them what it meant.
That pause changed everything.

When we hold back from interpreting too soon, we allow our clients to stay in authorship of their own experience.

It captures that quiet shift from being the subject of treatment to being the author of one’s own healing narrative.

In somatic touch work, that’s everything — the moment the client’s gestures, sensations, and meanings begin to lead rather than be interpreted for them.

When we stay curious instead of naming too soon, we’re essentially saying:

“Your body knows, and I trust it enough to let it speak first.”

That’s the deepest form of respect in this kind of therapy — it restores agency, voice, and relational safety all at once.

It’s also what distinguishes truly attuned somatic touch work: language that bridges clinical precision with poetic witnessing.

When we don’t rush to define, but instead listen for authorship, we help our clients find meaning in their own body’s timing and truth.

It’s in those quiet moments — where we wait, witness, and wonder — that healing finds its own words. 💛

21/10/2025

Meeting Our History

The body remembers
in whispers and tremors—
not as words,
but as warmth behind the ribs,
a tightening at the throat,
a sudden flood of heat.

We meet our history
not through thought
but through the pulse
of what still moves.

Stay.
Don’t rush the unwinding.
The story isn’t only pain—
it’s the map of what you endured,
the artistry of your surviving,
the small fires you kept lit
when everything went dark.

Breathe where it aches.
Notice the places that brace,
the ones that still guard
what they were never meant to hold.
They’re not wrong.
They’re just waiting
for the weight to be witnessed.

You don’t have to fix it—
only feel it.
Presence is the balm.
Your gentle staying
is the hand that time forgot to give you.

Here, in the trembling,
history finds its completion—
not in forgetting,
but in being met
with a breath
that finally stays.

16/09/2025

12/08/2025

The Outcast’s Anointing: Learning the Language of the Left Behind When Rejection Is Your Assignment

There is a strange and painful paradox in God’s calling: the very people He sends to bring comfort to the rejected often must walk the lonely road of rejection themselves. This is the Outcast’s Anointing - a consecration not marked by applause, but by absence. It is not punishment. It is preparation.

When rejection is your assignment, you can’t carry the heart of the unwanted without knowing its weight yourself. To compassionately hold the hearts of the ones the world has discarded, you must know the landscape of loneliness. You must feel, not just in your mind but in your bones, what it’s like to be overlooked, unchosen, misjudged, or excluded. Without that knowing, your compassion risks being shallow. Without that ache, your arms may not open as wide. God allows you to live in this ache so that you can recognise it instantly in another. You are being taught the language of the left behind - a language you can’t learn in books, only in the school of lived wounding.

Sometimes this is why the door shuts without explanation.
Sometimes this is why the circle you served in turns away.
Sometimes this is why your loyalty is met with transactional convenience.

It is the refining work of God, not because He delights in your pain, but because He entrusts you with the hearts of those who have felt the same.

The Biblical Pattern of the Outcast’s Anointing

Scripture is full of leaders and healers whose first training ground felt like isolation and loss:

• Joseph was rejected by his brothers, thrown into a pit, and sold into slavery - yet he became the one to save them from famine (Genesis 37–45).
• Moses fled Egypt as a wanted man before God sent him back to free his people (Exodus 2–3).
• David was left in the fields when Samuel came to anoint a king - unseen even in his own family - yet became the shepherd-king (1 Samuel 16).

And then, the truest example: Jesus.
He was “despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). The One sent to gather all into the Father’s house was Himself cast out of the synagogue, mocked by leaders, abandoned by friends, and crucified outside the city gates - the ultimate sign of exclusion in His time (Hebrews 13:12–13).

If you are called to walk in His footsteps, you may sample some of that same aloneness.

Jesus and the Ministry of the Margins

When we look at Jesus’ life, we see Him continually crossing boundaries to be with the outcast:

• Touching lepers (Mark 1:40–45)
• Sitting with tax collectors (Matthew 9:10–13)
• Speaking to the Samaritan woman (John 4)
• Defending the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11)

Jesus didn’t just visit the margins - He lived there.
And He knows that those who will continue His work must carry the same tenderness that comes from knowing what it feels like to be “outside.”

Your rejection is not proof of God’s absence - it is evidence of His shaping. He is training your eyes to notice the ones on the edge, training your heart to remain soft when others turn cold, training your hands to offer more than words - to offer presence.

When the Feeling of Being Unwanted Is the Anointing in Disguise

It is easy to think, “If I am called to gather the outcast, shouldn’t I feel included myself?” But perhaps this is where the mystery of the kingdom lies.

In God’s economy, the crown often comes after the wilderness. The authority to welcome others comes after you’ve been left outside the gate.

Being made to feel like an outcast:

• Strips away the illusion that worth comes from belonging to the right group.
• Teaches you that dignity is not given by people - it is given by God.
• Anchors your identity so deeply in Christ that you can stand alone if you must.

And here’s the part that makes the enemy furious:
When you carry the compassion of the outcast into the ministry God has given you, you don’t just gather them - you anoint and heal them.

Learning the Language of the Left Behind

The left behind do not need platitudes.
They do not need polished speeches.
They need someone who can look into their eyes and say, I have been there too.

This is why the language of the left behind is not words alone - it is presence, tone, and the kind of compassion that has walked through the same valley. And you cannot fake it. The only way to learn it is to live it.

Holding the Heart of Jesus in the Face of Rejection

Jesus did not retaliate against those who excluded Him.
He did not allow the betrayal of Judas or the denial of Peter to make Him bitter.
He held steady in the love of the Father, knowing that His acceptance was already secured in heaven.

So when you are excluded:

• Return to the Father’s voice - “You are my beloved” (Mark 1:11).
• Resist the urge to harden - the enemy would love to turn your hurt into cynicism.
• Remember the assignment - you are not here to prove your worth to the group that turned away; you are here to gather those who’ve been turned away by many groups before.

Reflection Questions

• Where have I felt most unseen or excluded, and how might God be using that to prepare me for ministry?
• How can I respond to rejection in a way that reflects Jesus’ heart rather than my hurt?
• Who in my current sphere is sitting on the “outside” that I could invite in or encourage today?
• What wounds, false beliefs, or self-protective labels have taken root in me because of past rejection, and how can I gently release them and receive God’s truth about who I am?
• When have I seen Jesus use my own wounds to bring comfort or understanding to someone else?
• What practical steps can I take to keep my heart soft instead of guarded after being hurt?
• How can I create spaces - in my home, work, or ministry - where the ‘left behind’ feel seen and valued?

Closing Prayer

Lord, when rejection is my assignment, help me to receive it as the Outcast’s Anointing - not as a wound that withers me, but as a preparation that equips me to speak the language of the left behind. Keep my heart tender, my spirit steadfast, and my eyes open to the ones You have called me to gather. Let me walk in the footsteps of Jesus, who knew the pain of exclusion yet kept His arms open wide. Amen.

12/08/2025

The Outcast's Anointing: Learning the Language of the Left Behind, when Rejection is Your Assignment!

It’s not cruelty. It’s preparation.
You can’t carry the heart of the rejected without knowing its weight yourself.

The doors that closed without explanation …
The circles that no longer cal l…
The loyalty met with silence - they are not wasted moments.

Jesus knew this road.
He was “despised and rejected” (Isaiah 53:3), yet spent His life seeking the lonely, touching the untouchable, and bringing home the ones no one else wanted.

So when you feel unwanted, remember - it may be the very anointing that equips you to see, welcome, and gather those on the outside.

The enemy wants you bitter.
Jesus wants you ready.

✨ Tomorrow, I’ll open this up in a deeper reflection - exploring the hidden preparation in seasons of rejection, and why God entrusts some with the ministry of the margins.