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http://www.keytoachieving.co.uk/

Key To Achieving Therapy Service Ltd, Ilkley (2025)

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.

13/11/2025

Something I keep seeing at the moment is the huge gap between looking fine and actually feeling safe.

Three very different families today, three completely different stories, and the same pattern. Children trying to survive environments that don’t understand their nervous system, while the system tells parents “but they seem fine”. And honestly, it is painful watching the nuance get lost.

A child who is masking can look calm and still be in panic.
A child who is quiet can be overwhelmed.
A child who complies can be shutting down.
And a child who refuses is often the one telling the truth the clearest.

Then I sit with a young person who is finally in a safe environment, and everything changes. Not because they try harder, but because they have people around them who communicate, listen, and actually understand how their body and mind work. Safety creates space for growth. Predictability creates space for thinking. Understanding creates space for connection.

This is the piece the system keeps missing.
Children don’t need to “look fine”.
They need to feel safe.

Once you start seeing through that lens, everything clicks into place.

And honestly, it isn’t rocket science, yet so many people still miss the link between felt safety and a person’s capacity to learn, relate, and actually be themselves. The challenge is that safety is different for everyone. It takes a curious, compassionate mind to slow down, listen, and figure out what safety truly feels like for each individual.

If this resonates, comment below with what “felt safety” looks like for your child or yourself.
Share this post if you want more people to understand this.
Follow my page if you want grounded, neuroaffirming content that actually reflects lived experience.

12/11/2025

I've just got off a zoom call and I'm buzzing: I had my Human Design chart read.

Not as “fun woo-woo evening activity,” but as part of my serious business development work.

And honestly, it landed harder than I expected.

For context:
I am an AuDHD OT with hypermobility, FND in my history, a nervous system that has been through it, and a business that has grown fast, messy and full-on over nine years.

I already knew the clinical language.
The trauma language.
The nervous system language.

What I did not have was a clean, non-pathologising way to describe this pattern:

1. Intense surges of creative energy, followed by absolute non-negotiable need for retreat

2. Being brilliant at conceptualising and initiating, and totally drained by long-term “doing and doing”

3. Deep need for autonomy, yet years of people pleasing, over-giving and taking on misaligned clients

4. A body that literally shut me down when I would not stop

Human Design called that pattern “Manifestor energy” and instead of labelling it as a problem, it framed it as my natural way of operating.

And that did something in my system.

A few big reflections from the session:

Validation matters.
Hearing “you are not broken, you are built for initiating and then resting” landed very differently to “you need to be more consistent.” My body softened. My nervous system believed it.

My body has been louder and more honest than my mind.
Burnout, insomnia, migraines, FND episodes, pain from hypermobility; all of it has been my body screaming, “You cannot keep running like a generator. You are not one.”

Pressure and urgency are my red flags.
Hard-sell programmes, controlling people, “you have to decide right now” energy; my chart literally highlighted pressure as a wound. Which explains why I can feel physically unsafe in those spaces, and why I am now walking away from them faster.

Peace is not a luxury; it is a strategy.
We named that my “success metric” is not hustle, it is peacefulness. Choir, fire ceremonies, crystals with my son, grounding, quiet evenings, saying no. These are not extras, they are the foundation that makes any sustainable business possible for me.

Client fit is everything.
We talked openly about how my energy works best with self-responsible, aligned clients who value directness and autonomy, not people who want to control the process or hand me their unprocessed anger. That alone will change the way I screen, accept and, if needed, decline work.

Here is why I am sharing this publicly, as a clinician:

Because “alternative” tools can be deeply supportive when we use them as:
• Language for lived experience
• Mirrors, not masters
• Ways to find compassion and alignment, not excuses to bypass reality

Human Design did not diagnose me.
It did not replace OT, neurology, psychology or medicine.

What it did do was give me a framework to honour what my body and nervous system have been telling me for years, and to design my business in a way that actually fits the person running it.

More rest.
More intentional yes and no.
More peacefulness baked into the structure, not tacked on at the end.

That is where the real “development” is happening for me this year.

If you are a neurodivergent human who has felt broken by all the “shoulds” and productivity rules, I see you.

You are allowed to build a life and business that fits your actual wiring, not the template you were sold.

I am going to be talking more about this blend of clinical work, nervous system awareness and “alternative” validation tools over the next few months as I reshape my offers and my boundaries.

If that kind of honest, slightly woo, very practical conversation is your thing, come and join me.

11/11/2025

The Right Fit Feels Like Partnership

(A quiet thank you to the families who make this work what it is.)

Yesterday, I spoke about the challenges that can come when expectations and communication styles don’t align. That reflection wasn’t about blame. It was about clarity. Because clarity creates space for connection.

Today, I want to focus on the other side of that coin.
The moments that work. The people who make this work possible.

The families and young people I connect with deeply are the ones who remind me what partnership really means. They show up with openness, honesty, and a willingness to learn together. They ask questions, share insights, and trust that I’m human too.

They understand that therapy isn’t a transaction, it’s a relationship.
That growth happens when we hold curiosity, patience, and kindness in equal measure.
And that respect flows both ways: from practitioner to family, and back again.

I see you. I see the effort it takes to stay hopeful in systems that can feel impossible. I see the bravery it takes to try again when you’ve been let down before. And I see the love behind every question, every story, every attempt to make life a little easier for your child.

So, this is a quiet thank you.
To those who meet the work with grace, humour, reflection, and trust.
You are the reason this work still feels meaningful, even on the hard days.

We all know the feeling when something just fits. When you’re understood, respected, and supported in a way that feels safe and true. That’s my experience from this side of the work.
I’d love to hear from you. What does the “right fit” look or feel like for you, in your world?

Here’s to the partnerships that feel grounded, kind, and human.

10/11/2025

Why Being Liked Is Overrated: Lessons from a Neurodivergent Business Owner

Learning to balance authenticity, autonomy, and compassion even when it means not being everyone’s cup of tea
Many neurodivergent people end up carving their own path in business. Often not out of ambition alone, but necessity. Running a small business offers what most traditional workplaces don’t: autonomy, flexibility, creative control, and the chance to build an environment that actually works for our nervous systems.

But with that freedom comes a unique set of challenges. The same traits that make us visionary, intuitive, and relentless can also make business ownership exhausting. We juggle capacity, sensory limits, executive function hurdles, and the emotional weight of wanting to do good work without burning out.

That same need for autonomy also creates tension in a world that still runs on the idea that “the customer is always right.”
For many neurodivergent people, including me, that phrase can feel like a threat to autonomy and safety. It pushes directly against our need for mutual respect, collaboration, and psychological equality. I’ve learned that I don’t fare well in dynamics where payment is mistaken for permission to control, to dictate, or to treat a professional as an employee rather than a collaborator.

And yet, I understand how it happens. People are stressed. Systems are failing them. They reach out, desperate for help and clarity. But being trauma-informed means recognising that stress doesn’t excuse disrespect. Autonomy and empathy can coexist; they have to, for this work to remain safe for everyone involved.

I live with AuDHD, hEDS and FND. That combination brings creativity, empathy, and drive, but also physical limits and executive-function challenges.

This past year, I’ve faced capacity strain, long waiting lists, and frustration from families who wanted instant answers or total availability. I care deeply, but I’m learning that caring doesn’t mean self-erasure.

For years, I was a therapist first and a business owner by accident. Lately, I’ve been diving into the business world properly through training, learning, and stretching myself in uncomfortable ways.

Because when you run a neurodivergent-led service, you don’t just manage operations; you hold people’s stories, your own health, and your values all at once.

A lesson from Stephen Bartlett stuck with me: if everyone likes you, you’re probably not standing for anything. That’s a tough pill for a lifelong people-pleaser who’s masked through conflict avoidance and rejection sensitivity. But leadership means tolerating discomfort.

I’m not a miracle worker. I’m a neurodivergent, trauma-informed parent and clinician balancing ethics, capacity, and humanity. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay. The people who align with my work value transparency, collaboration, and honesty over control.

And the truth is, we only know what we know.

The more I learn, especially stepping into the business world, the more I realise how much there still is to understand about human behaviour, power dynamics, and the messy middle between compassion and autonomy.

So, I’d really love to hear from you.

What conversations would you like to see more of here? What do you want to understand better about neurodivergent practice, business, or the human side of this work?

(And please, spare me the RSD by commenting so I know someone’s actually reading this.)

Let’s keep learning out loud together.

30/10/2025

Many of the families I work with have spent years fighting for their children to be seen, understood, and educated safely.

Years of meetings, emails, complaints, and sleepless nights.
Years of being told to wait.
Years of holding their nerve because walking away would mean their child got nothing.

And now, finally, the Local Government & Social Care Ombudsman has released a report "Out of school, out of sight?” that recognises exactly what these families have been shouting into the void all along.

It confirms that when a child can’t attend school because it isn’t suitable, the Local Authority has a legal duty to provide alternative, full-time, suitable education.
It confirms that being on roll isn’t enough.
It confirms that ignoring professional advice, or leaving children out of education for months or years, is not acceptable practice. It's maladministration.

This document exists because families didn’t let it drop.
Because they took it all the way complaints, appeals, tribunals, and the LGO itself.
Because they kept going when every system told them to give up.

So yes, this report matters. But what matters even more is why it exists at all.
It’s the result of relentless advocacy by parents who had no choice but to become experts, case managers, and campaigners for their own children.

To those families: you’re the reason awareness is shifting.
You’re the reason professionals like me have something stronger to stand on.
And you’re the reason future children might not have to go through the same fight.

Thank you for holding the line.
You shouldn’t have had to but because you did, change is starting to happen.

https://www.lgo.org.uk/assets/attach/6865/Children-out-of-school-F.pdf?fbclid=IwdGRjcANwtXpleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHn8bB2Pov7fr_lymYrCy1FAhhSoKuKYkrYuru78nZV95a4zmIhHQcvK24yif_aem_zgFQ5XyBiQo6DaH6zxFs6A

Key To Achieving Therapy Service Ltd

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