Key To Achieving Therapy Service Ltd

18/01/2026

Every week a new all-or-nothing headline lands- ban it, scrap it, fix it, fear it.
The noise rises, the nuance disappears.

I see what it does to us.
We start swaying with every take, reacting before we reflect.
It’s exhausting.

If adults are this affected, what are our kids learning from it?
That leadership means panic?
That certainty lives in extremes?

The real antidote isn’t easy.
It’s deliberate work.
Steadiness and discernment are muscles we have to flex with intention.
Without practice, fear wins.

For me, it’s a daily discipline. Holding centre when everything shouts, choosing clarity even when it costs comfort.

17/01/2026

Some days my brain races ahead.
Ideas stack on top of each other until my body can’t keep up.

Motherhood exposes that gap every day.
It asks for rhythm from a nervous system that moves in bursts.
It asks for patience from a body that’s already running on empty.

There’s the part of me that plans, organises, gets it done.
And the part that freezes halfway through breakfast.
Both are real. Both belong.

I used to chase balance.
Now I choose truth.
Some days flow. Some days fall apart.
Neither means I’m failing.

My mind is quick. My body is slower.
Coherence lives somewhere between them.
It’s not calm. It’s honest.

That’s where I mother from now, inside the stretch between speed and stillness.
Not trying to fix the tension, just letting it teach me how to stay real.

08/01/2026

I wanted to give a proper shout-out to someone brilliant I’ve recently connected with.

Melissa is an English tutor who has such strong intuition when it comes to supporting learners with complex engagement needs, especially neurodivergent young people who have had a tricky time with confidence, school, or traditional learning approaches.

What really stood out to me when we met was how naturally she gets it. She doesn’t force learning, she adapts. She reads the child, finds the ‘in’, and meets them where they are, with calm empathy and a really thoughtful approach.

She’s recently launched her own independent tutoring service and I’m genuinely excited about the potential for future collaboration. We’re both using the same office in Ilkley, and I’m so pleased to be able to champion her work.

If you’re looking for a tutor who is relational, flexible, and emotionally attuned (not just focused on performance), I really recommend taking a look.
Thrive Learning

https://www.ilkleychat.co.uk/post/new-ilkley-english-tutoring-service-helps-students-thrive?fbclid=IwZnRzaAPMk0ZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZAo2NjI4NTY4Mzc5AAEekY6IwV0qB6zW42ZSbBXOE8Bb3HMGoe_avEBJ4i5sOGPmD6V5gtkOUSinxak_aem_tEwsMU4J6c00YDULwQcrkg

An Ilkley-based qualified teacher and English specialist has launched a tutoring service to support students through the mental and emotional challenges of education. Thrive Learning offers bespoke tutoring for students wanting additional GCSE support and those struggling with a classroom environmen...

01/01/2026

2026 is the Year of the Fire Horse, and I’m stepping into it properly.

2025 has been a huge year for Key To Achieving, but I’ve done so much of it alone.
Clinical work, admin, resources, systems, holding families, building the vision… all of it.

My pledge for 2026 is growth, but not the burnt-out kind.
The kind that scales with structure, collaboration, and actual capacity.

So this year I’m:
Putting Key To Achieving forward for the Ilkley Business Awards
Rooting into the local community through Inspire & Connect
Developing more resources for adults and parents (because support shouldn’t end at childhood)
Continuing to challenge systems that don’t meet need
And building a team and a wider network around this work so it becomes bigger than me

By the end of 2026, I want Key To Achieving to look different:
more support available, more impact, more sustainability, more collaboration.

No more doing everything alone.
No more shrinking my mission to make it easier for others to digest.

This is a building year.

31/12/2025

2025 has been a year of shedding.

Not the loud kind.
The real kind.
The kind where you quietly outgrow what no longer fits, and you stop apologising for what your nervous system actually needs.

At the beginning of the year, I wrote about saying YES to calm, rest, joy, innovation, organisation, nature, inclusion, and trusting the universe.

One of my biggest lessons has been this:

When my nervous and immune systems have been overloaded, I’ve honoured them.

I’ve had a couple of periods where the momentum didn’t stay consistent because I’ve needed to recoup, restock, and genuinely rest. But the difference this year is that I didn’t push through like I used to.

I took the right amount of time.
I phased my return.
I protected my energy.

That’s been huge for me, because burnout prevention isn’t a theory for neurodivergent people. It’s a practice, and it often means unlearning people-pleasing and lifelong masking.

Two phrases have become my mantras this year:

“You live and learn.”
“You only know what you know.”

And I’ve really held onto them, because even with 22 years of experience, I’m still always learning. The difference now is that those years of living and learning have given me the confidence to speak my truth with more clarity, and to stand firmly in what I know helps.

And I’ve also realised something important: learning is only sustainable when you’re doing it in spaces that feel safe, aligned, and non-shaming. That’s where growth happens, for adults, for children, and for families. Safety is the foundation of success.

This year I’ve also gone deeper into nervous system work, not just professionally, but personally. I’ve spent a lot of time researching regulation, burnout prevention, and what actually helps neurodivergent nervous systems feel safe and steady. And then I’ve been practising it in real life, not perfectly, but consistently. That’s included leaning into the things that genuinely shift my state, like singing (which has been surprisingly powerful for regulation,), being more intentional with clean living and environment, and getting grounded through nature. I’ve become more committed to building a life and a business that doesn’t just talk about wellbeing, but actually protects it.

And in the midst of all of that, parenting has been its own kind of deep nervous system work. It’s made me even more aware of how easy it is for parents to judge themselves, and how much families need support that is practical, human, and non-shaming. Living it has deepened my empathy in a way that no training ever could, and it reminds me constantly that regulation is not a performance, it’s a relationship. That lived understanding is part of what makes me a stronger therapist, because I don’t just “know” the concepts, I hold the reality of them.

This year has also been about finding alignment.

I’ve been refining who I’m here to serve, and being honest about this truth:

I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.

And I’m okay with that now.

I’m here for the families who value neuroaffirming support, grounded truth, and practical strategies that protect a child’s nervous system and dignity. I’ve shed overgiving, blurred boundaries, and the pressure to be endlessly available.

I’ve created boundaries that keep me safe, so I can keep doing this work with integrity.

Professionally, 2025 has been intense.

I attended several SEN tribunals, where in previous years it often didn’t even reach that stage. That alone reflects the ever-changing landscape of SEN and the ongoing crisis so many families are living in.

And despite how hard it’s been out there, I’ve supported a number of families to secure more appropriate EHCP provision. That matters. Deeply.

This year I published my second book, and that feels like a milestone I’m still letting myself fully receive.

And I’ve pushed myself out of my comfort zone in ways that are genuinely massive for me.

I attended a local event with a stall.
I joined business growth training.
I’ve started networking more.

And I’ve done it while living with social and communication anxiety, and a history of selective mutism in those exact environments.

But this year, I didn’t shrink.

I spoke to new people.
I showed up in rooms that used to shut me down.
I owned my space.

I openly talked about my diagnoses and lived experience, which is a completely different version of me compared to the past, and I’m proud of that.

And because demand has been so high, I’ve also had to close my doors to new families for a while. That hasn’t been an easy decision, but it’s been a necessary one. Sustainability has to come before expansion, always.

So if 2025 had a theme, it would be this:

🐍 I shed what drained me.
✨ I chose alignment over approval.
🔥 I practised what I preach.
🌿 I honoured rest as part of the work.
💛 I kept going with integrity, even when it was hard.

Thank you to every family who trusted me this year.
You’ve reminded me why this work matters.

Part 2 tomorrow: what’s coming for 2026. ✨

26/11/2025

Just a quick update.

We’re taking a short pause from intervention sessions this week.
There’s illness in the house, and my body doesn’t bounce back quickly.
Hypermobility, asthma, dysautonomia and neurodivergence mean even small viruses can hit hard and take longer to clear.

Background work can still continue in a paced way, and there is some admin cover,
so essential tasks will keep moving.
If anyone needs urgent feedback or has a time-sensitive question,
please email and flag this clearly, and admin will make sure it’s prioritised and brought straight to my attention.

Anything that requires full physical capacity or in-person delivery will restart once I’m safe and steady again. I’ll review things at the weekend and update everyone about next week.

Running a very small limited company means there isn’t a large team to rotate through.
It’s me, holding the clinical work, the admin, the emotional load and the structure.
So when my body says slow down, I’ve learned that listening early prevents a much longer disruption later.

What has been sitting with me today is how familiar all of this is across the neurodivergent community.

Many of us experience more frequent bouts of illness or stronger immune responses than people expect.
Externally, this can look like inconsistency or unreliability.
Internally, it creates a quiet burden. The sense of always trying to catch up, always trying to keep pace, always worrying that we’re falling short.

And that feeling, the “never enough”, “I’m behind again”, “I can’t keep up”, is something I see reflected every day in the children and families I support.

Because our wider systems don’t make room for unpredictability.
They treat illness, pacing and recovery as inconveniences rather than realities.

You see it clearly in education.
Missed days become a crisis.
A couple of days off can trigger pressure, shame and panic.
Policies and attendance narratives don’t reflect the complexity of neurodivergent bodies or the longer recovery times many children genuinely need.

And when society frames every pause as a setback, everyone ends up carrying more strain than their nervous system can hold.

I don’t have neat answers for any of this.
But I do think it matters to name it.

Neurodivergent bodies often need more recovery,
and the guilt we feel around that is learned, not deserved.

Thank you for your understanding.
And if your own body or your child’s body goes through these cycles too, more illness, stronger reactions, slower recovery, heavier pressure please know you’re not unreliable and not alone.
You’re doing the best you can in a system that moves quicker than our physiology.

24/11/2025

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about visibility and celebrating achievements and how complicated it can feel when you’re neurodivergent.

For years I've struggled with anything that looked like self promotion. Even when I achieved things that were genuinely meaningful, I kept them quiet. I self published two children’s books and barely promoted them. I built an OT service from nothing 9 years ago and stayed small about it. I've supported hundreds of families and hid behind the work instead of sharing the impact.

I've watched other people and services confidently put themselves forward on social media, for awards, attend networking events, run stalls at events, collect testimonials, promote their services, and I’d have this quiet voice saying,
“That could never be me.”
“Why would anyone vote for me?”
“No one wants to hear from me.”
“What if people judge me?”
“What if someone thinks I’m arrogant?”
“What if I can’t handle the negativity?”

The fear sat right in my nervous system.
RSD, masking, rejection wounds, and years of being misunderstood means visibility feels like danger, not opportunity.

But something has started to shift now.

Clients keep telling me I’m a role model. Not in a pedestal way, but in a grounded, human way.
They tell me that seeing me live and work as a neurodivergent professional helps them feel less alone.
That my lived experience gives them permission to understand themselves and their children differently.
And somewhere along the way, that started to matter more than the fear.

I am in a new era now.
One where I stop hiding the things I’ve created.
One where I let myself be seen a little more.
One where I show up in ways I used to avoid.
Events.
Networking.
Stalls.
Award nominations.
Testimonials.
Actual visibility.

It still feels uncomfortable.
I know there will be negativity at times and I won't please everyone. I’ve done a lot of work to be ready for that.
But I also know the work I do changes lives.
And staying invisible does not serve the people who need someone like me to lead from the front.

This isn’t a big announcement, just a gentle shift and reflection for all that may identify with what I'm saying. I regularly see these struggles in the young people and adults I work with. Imposter syndrome is an intense theme in our community.

I'm throwing caution to the wind. You might notice me sharing more.
Celebrating things I used to hide.
Letting myself take up space.
Showing you what I’m building next.

I’m doing this slowly and intentionally, so when the next steps arrive, they don’t land like a surprise.
This is just me letting you all in on the beginning.

New era.
New voice.
Same heart.

21/11/2025

Parenting today can feel like standing in the middle of a thousand competing opinions.
Everyone has a view.
Everyone has instructions.
Everyone has something to say about what you should or shouldn’t be doing.

A lot of it shows up as unsolicited advice.
And sometimes it’s not even advice, it’s reassurance you never asked for.

You can be simply describing your child’s routines, patterns or interests. Not at all worried, not seeking feedback, just sharing your reality and someone will jump in with soothing or solutions as if something is wrong.

And you suddenly find yourself thinking,
“Why do you need to reassure me?
Why am I now doubting something I was completely fine with two minutes ago?
Why does this feel like your discomfort, not mine?”

It is confusing.
And quietly undermining.

Even with all my years of clinical experience in child development, neurodivergence, sensory needs, behaviour and mental health, people still offer advice as if I’ve never opened a textbook.
And I know most of it is well-meaning, but it adds to the noise instead of reducing it.

What I see in so many parents is not a lack of understanding, but a lack of space to hear their own instincts because the world pulls them in so many different directions.

And here is something that might surprise people:
Despite all my training and professional experience, I don’t like giving advice or advertising it either not unless someone directly asks for it via Key To Achieving.
I value choice.
I value autonomy.
I value respecting where someone is mentally and emotionally.
I never want to add to the overwhelm.

The real tug-of-war for most parents sits between:

What feels right for my child,
what feels right for me,
and what everyone else thinks I should be doing.

This gets even more complex when:

• your own childhood shapes your reactions
• you are trying to break old patterns
• you carry trauma that colours your instincts
• your child’s behaviour doesn’t match what you were taught was expected.
• society judges whichever route you choose
• and unsolicited advice keeps coming from every direction

What grounds me is coming back to a few simple questions:

What feels true for my child’s actual needs?
What feels true for me?
And which choice protects our connection?

Expertise matters, yes.
But so does instinct.
And so does respecting that every parent gets to make choices that align with their child, their values and their lived reality.

If you’ve ever felt pulled in different directions, or found yourself doubting something you were perfectly comfortable with until someone projected their discomfort onto you, you’re not alone.

20/11/2025

I’ve been thinking a lot about singing lately and how much it has quietly shaped the person I am.

When I was little, I used to spend hours on my own in the living room, singing and dancing around without a care in the world. That was my happy place. There were so many different versions of me back then and singing was one of the few things that always felt safe, comforting, and completely mine. I loved school musicals too, but I never dared put myself forward. The fear of being seen was always louder than the desire to perform.

Fast forward through a whole lifetime of masking, overthinking, survival mode, and burnout, and it’s almost funny that singing is what I came back to. When I was working with my ADHD coach during recovery, he kept asking me what genuinely lit me up. What gave me energy. What made me feel alive. Singing was the first thing that came back to me.

So I joined a choir.
Honestly, one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

What choir has given me is more than music. It’s community. It’s connection. It’s a place where I feel accepted, open, and not “too much”. It’s one of the few spaces where I don’t feel like I’m managing myself. I can just be.

And now it’s Christmas season, which means gigs, harmonies, rehearsals, and that beautiful feeling of doing something purely for the joy of it. I look forward to it in a way that my younger self would be proud of.

There are also genuine health benefits that I don’t think people talk about enough.

Breathwork that helps my body

When I first joined 2 years ago, I could barely hold a note because of my asthma. Now I can hold one for ages. The breathing techniques have opened my chest, improved my lung capacity, and made a huge difference to my mental health. There’s something about slow, intentional breath that resets my whole system.

Vagus nerve activation

Singing naturally stimulates the vagus nerve, especially with vibrational sounds. The gentle hum in the chest and throat, the resonance, the lengthened exhale… it all nudges the nervous system toward regulation.

Emotional release

Singing gives you permission to feel things you don’t always have words for. It’s expressive, cathartic and grounding.

Joy and aliveness

Not enough adults talk about doing things purely for joy. Not productivity. Not self-improvement. Just joy. That matters. Especially if you’ve spent years in survival mode.

And yes… I’m officially writing my own neurodivergent parodies. It started as something fun and slightly ridiculous to entertain myself, and it has ended up becoming one of my favourite creative outlets. Who knows whether I’ll ever release them or keep them as my little side project, but honestly, the joy they bring is enough. My sense of humour gets to come out and play, and that alone feels healing. Watch this space.

Here’s a clip from our recent gig with Pop and Rock Choir. I honestly adore this group. The energy, the harmonies, the people… it’s brought joy back onto my radar in such a real way. If you’ve ever thought “I’d love to join a choir one day”, this is your sign.

19/11/2025

I drafted this post last week when the idea suddenly came through with absolute clarity. Then today, the exact same issue came up in a clinical discussion with a school. I try to pay attention when themes repeat themselves. It usually means the topic is ready to be spoken about, and that other people need to hear it too.

Most people have no idea how misleading standardised assessments can be for neurodivergent children.

Something I see every single week is how those scores can both underestimate and overestimate a child, depending entirely on the context they are assessed in. The numbers rarely tell the real story.

If a young person does not feel safe, their skills collapse.
They freeze, mask, withdraw, or shut down.
The assessment shows “low ability”, when actually it is low access.

Then it flips the other way.
In a quiet one to one session with me, with clear pacing, sensory support, predictable interaction, and no demand pressure, they often score far higher than what they can manage in a busy classroom. The skill exists, but they cannot reliably access it under load. This is still missed far too often.

Standardised assessments also oversimplify how sensory processing works. Blanket labels like “over responsive” or “under responsive” ignore the reality that thresholds shift with environment, fatigue, trauma, and demand. It is never that simple.

And the same goes for primitive reflexes. People present them as fixed traits, that are fully treatable when in reality they can reappear under stress, fade again with regulation, and serve a protective purpose. The nervous system is dynamic, not binary.

This is exactly why my assessments never rely on one score or one moment.
I triangulate across stories, environments, sensory states, patterns, and the young person’s lived experience. I observe in clinic, in natural settings, through play, daily activities, movement, through relationships, through moments of safety and moments of overwhelm. That depth is what gives a true picture, not a number.

If this resonates, comment with your own experience of assessments not matching real life.
Share this to help more parents and professionals understand the bigger picture.
Follow this page for grounded, neuroaffirming insight that reflects lived reality.

14/11/2025

Parenting hits differently when you start truly understanding your own energetic patterns alongside your child’s.

Fridays are my day off with my son, and I really treasure them. It’s our little pause before he starts school next year, a day where I try to slow down and actually be with him.

I’m a Manifestor.
He’s a Manifesting Generator.

When I started exploring Human Design as part of the business development programme I’m on, one of the first things I did was run our entire family’s charts. I was curious about how our energies interplayed, how our patterns collided, and how much of our day to day dynamic might actually make sense from this perspective.

And honestly, the contrast between our designs is something I feel in my body every single day.

As a Manifestor, I’m wired to follow the spark. When inspiration hits, my mind runs, my energy shifts, and I drift into whatever has lit me up. It’s instinctive, internal, absorbed.

My son’s MG energy is the opposite flavour of intensity. His body is expressive, quick, and responsive. He moves from one interest to the next with momentum that feels almost instinctive. He also has a powerful need for autonomy, and if I’m not fully present with him in the moment he’s in, he’ll disengage completely. What makes it even more interesting is the timing. He’ll get absorbed in something and I can’t move him on, so I step back and follow my own spark for a while. Then suddenly he’s ready to shift, but by that point I’m deep in my own flow and not ready to transition. So we end up missing each other, over and over, especially on days without a clear structure. On days like today, where the plan is fluid, our energies can feel like two trains running on different tracks.

Tomorrow should be easier, because there’s a clear time and place we’re going, so the transition might be bumpy but at least it is predictable. The challenge comes when the environment is unstructured and everything depends on our internal rhythms, because his pace shifts far faster than mine, and he needs the next activity to be something he genuinely wants, not something led by me. And of course he’s four, and I’m forty-four, so his momentum is entirely age-appropriate. It’s just a very intense dance between two strong internal worlds.

Some days, that dance is beautiful.
And some days, it is chaotic.

But here’s the part I’m learning to honour.
None of this is personal.
None of this is misbehaviour.
None of this is a flaw in either of us.

It’s just two different nervous systems trying to co-exist in the same space.

His need for movement is part of who he is.
My need for freedom and creative space is part of who I am.
Understanding that softens everything.

When I bring together what I know from sensory integration, nervous system regulation, my lived experience, and this early exploration of Human Design, it helps me parent with more compassion for both of us.

It helps me see the patterns behind the moments.
It helps me respond instead of react.
And it helps me honour both of our needs without shame.

This blend of sensory insight, regulation science, and compassionate interpretation is the foundation of something I’m slowly developing in my work, something I’m calling the Regulation Blueprint. It’s designed to help families understand how their unique energies interact, where friction points occur, and how to find rhythms that feel safer for everyone involved.

It’s early stages, but it feels deeply aligned with where I'm at as a practitioner and a parent.

If that’s something you’d love to learn more about as it evolves, comment “blueprint” or send me a message so I know who’s interested.