Liam Wakefield

11/02/2026

Enjoying life.

21/01/2026

Most people want relief.
To avoid pain.
To not explore the architecture
that shaped the suffering they live inside.

Within us is a house of grand halls and hidden staircases.
What appears small or unwelcoming from the outside often conceals long, uncertain descents within.

Between the cracks and floorboards
live the details we were never taught to read. And to understand those details
is to welcome the aliveness of the house, not merely endure it, frightened to stay too long.

Growth is rarely loud.
It is architectural.
Layered.
Built over time by facing what waits in the dark and choosing not to turn back.
Constructing and reconstructing identity that reflects the rooms that come alive.

I believe healing is learning
to walk the architecture of your own darkness without rushing the exit,
without collapsing into performance,
without transformation at the expense of others’ demands.

This work is not about fixing.
It is about becoming able to stay.
To comfortably walk the halls alone.

To sit with the uncomfortable truths.
To recognise the narratives written on the walls.
To notice which rooms were sealed for survival and which are now costing you intimacy, freedom, and meaning.

Staying is not passive, and doesn’t have to be an imprisoning.
It is an act of courage.
And for many, it is the first honest homecoming.

29/12/2025

This year did not arrive gently.
It came like a midnight storm set upon a fragile sail, stripping things back.
Allowing uncertainty to ask the questions I could no longer outrun.

Some losses were visible.
Others were quieter.
Identities. Futures I had rehearsed. Versions of myself I had outgrown without noticing. Certain connections. Certain ways of seeing.

Caught amongst the chaos of the storm of life, what it offered in return was rarer than any gift.
Clarity without comfort.
Direction without guarantees.

I stand here not because everything worked out, but because I stayed.
I did not rush the journey that discomfort tried to hurry me through.
I listened.
I learned (always learning).
I loosened my grip on what no longer carried truth.

The path ahead is not louder or easier.
It is simply more honest.
And it turns out that is enough.

This year also brought milestones. Progress arrived faster than I expected in places I once assumed would take far longer. Yet alongside that came the hardest reckoning with my health since being medically retired from the army. Growth did not ask permission to arrive cleanly.

I found love and friendship in ways I had never known.
I forged a deeper, more beautiful bond with my children.
I discovered a joy in my work that once felt almost unreachable.

And still, I noticed familiar parts within me.
Old protectors. Old patterns.
Holding more power than they are now owed.

2026 is not about reinvention.
It is about continuation.
Building carefully. Finding margins. Restoring balance.
Learning how to create beauty within this ongoing state of becoming.

This coming year I will place greater devotion on health and wellness, not as an afterthought, but as a foundation.
Not by surrendering the work I love, but by refusing to sacrifice myself in the relentless pursuit of it.

2026 calls for more creativity, more of the things that bring so much peace to me. Having worked so hard to establish my work, it feels only apt to allow that to exist alongside cultivating a deeper connection to the part of me that longs to create.

Forward, then.
Wiser. Healthier. More creative. More Curious.

07/11/2025

We are watching an old archetype die.The stoic, self-contained man; trained to endure, to conquer, to need nothing… this kind of man and the need for this man is fading from relevance. Yet what replaces him is not weakness but a unique kind of awakening. The modern man is not collapsing; he is evo...

04/11/2025

This state of becoming…

It’s been a year since I stepped away from lecturing in higher education and took the leap to build something of my own. To open my private practice. To stop practising therapy under someone else’s instruction, whether the NHS, charities, or the countless organisations that shaped my early years. Finally to trust my own voice.

Curating a life that feels right isn’t easy. It’s risky. And risk awakens fear, the kind that paralyses so many into staying small. I know that fear well. I’ve lived it. I still meet it. At times, the old imposter still rises from the shadows of my anxiety. Yet beneath it all, I have never felt more certain of my path.

It takes courage to listen when your heart speaks from that deep, forgotten place, the one that’s been silenced by other people’s visions of who you should be.

Do not go gentle into that good night, as Dylan Thomas wrote. Life is not something to be endured; it’s a space to be embraced. And time, fleeting, precious time, keeps reminding us of that truth.

Today, I expand my clinic. I pour more into it. I invest more into myself, not from ego, but from a quiet hope to make a difference in the landscape of mental health.

Society is changing. People are waking up to what lies beneath. There’s a collective stirring, a realisation that we’ve all been asleep to something essential. And though awakening often hurts, I’ve learned that beauty exists even in the breaking.

We break to grow.
And being someone who has broken more than once, I’ve made it my life’s work to understand what doesn’t make sense, to find the beauty that still glimmers within the cracks.

10/09/2025

The importance behind these images is more than I can fully put into words.

The first photo—playful, smiling, seemingly light—was taken only months before my world collapsed, before I nearly placed a full stop at the end of my story. The rest of the photos trace the slow, painful, but extraordinary realisation that life, even amidst struggle, is still worth living.

I don’t often stop to remember how close it came to ending. Yet hearing the echoes of that same darkness in my practice each day reminds me: the night can get unimaginably black.

Behind every statistic is a human story. A story of silence carried too long. Of pain that feels unspeakable. Of battles fought in shadows most will never see.

But here’s another truth: we are not meant to carry our burdens alone. Speaking our suffering is not weakness—it is an act of defiance against despair. It is the first step toward connection. This does not mean baring every wound to the world, but it does mean refusing to bury them so deeply that they quietly consume us.

If you are struggling, know this: your presence matters more than you realise. Even in the darkest nights, there are hands ready to hold you, ears willing to hear you, and hearts strong enough to walk beside you.

Let today be a reminder to check in, to listen deeply, to ask not only “How are you?” but “How are you, really?”

The smallest act of compassion can interrupt the spiral. A conversation can save a life.

You are not alone.

07/09/2025

A beautiful weekend learning valuable lessons of fatherhood. It’s been one of raw honesty and a whole lot of love.

These are the moments that matter most. Between shop-mirror selfies and high-street pantomime, I’m reminded that life as a single dad is equal parts laughter and lesson. I don’t have all the answers—they ask questions that stretch me, test my patience, and challenge me in ways I never expected. I’m always conscious that my time with them is limited, but the mark left on the days we share feels significant in shaping the wonderful people they are becoming.

I think about my own dad, who raised me and my sister single-handedly, and how—in my younger, more absent-minded years—I missed out on so many lessons he quietly offered. What I once saw as absence or fracture, I now see as an opportunity: a chance for deeper love and a more honest perspective of the world.

I try to give my kids the best of me, even when I know I’m not always at my best. To let them see me carry the weight of this human condition—alongside a health condition—is to offer them lessons in resilience, humility, and truth. Perhaps that’s the real heart of it: they don’t need perfection, they just need presence. And in presence, life reveals itself, moment by fleeting moment, lesson by unfolding lesson.

The effort is in the love—in holding space for curiosity, in play, in getting it wrong and showing what can be learnt there. It’s in movie nights, morning cuddles, and building stories they’ll one day tell. These years pass so quickly; memories are won and lost in the catching of a single breath. To pause long enough to notice is to realise how important each moment truly is.

No matter what else I’m chasing in life, this is the centre I return to. I never had a big family, and I still hold the hope of building one. But for now, I am Becoming, and I am a constant lesson.

01/09/2025

This weeks Substack essay is around the Logos and the Odyssey. After spending last week enjoying reading the Greek myths with my son, I took some of the principles of my favourite story—The Odyssey by Homer—and looked at my work of the Divisional Self through this mythopoetic lens.

Go have a look! Subscribe and let me know your thoughts.

https://open.substack.com/pub/liamjwakefield/p/the-logos-and-the-odyssey?r=1utxh0&utm_medium=ios

27/08/2025

https://www.hintonmagazine.com/post/liam-wakefield-on-turning-self-improvement-into-something-that-actually-works

In the third part of our ongoing conversation with Liam J. Wakefield, the spotlight falls on a subject that sits at the heart of modern life, the relentless pursuit of self improvement. Too often people set out on personal development journeys with enthusiasm only to crash out weeks later, worn down...