When you close your eyes in session, something sacred begins.
Not because I hold power over your mind—quite the opposite. It’s because you’ve allowed yourself to “give” into trust, even if just a little. In that moment, the room shifts. The air becomes still. And I begin to witness something most people never get to see: the quiet choreography of your inner world.
I don’t see your secrets. I see your courage.
I see the flicker of a memory you didn’t know was still alive. A colour that means something to you. A place your nervous system remembers as safe. I see the part of you that’s been waiting to speak, not with words, but with sensations, images, metaphors. Sometimes it’s a river. Sometimes it’s a locked door. Sometimes it’s just silence—and that silence is enough.
Hypnotherapy isn’t about control. It’s about listening differently.
When your eyes close, my role is not to lead but to accompany. I watch for the subtle shifts: the breath that deepens, the shoulders that drop, the moment your voice changes as you speak from somewhere deeper. I listen for the language of your subconscious—the symbols, the repetitions, the pauses that hold meaning. I hold space for the parts of you that are tired of performing.
And when you open your eyes again, I see something else: the quiet astonishment of having been witnessed without judgment.
This work is not dramatic. It’s not theatrical. It’s not about unlocking hidden powers or rewriting your story in one session. It’s about honouring the complexity of your inner landscape. It’s about offering you a sanctuary where your mind can wander safely, where your nervous system can recalibrate, where your parts can speak without interruption.
What I see when you close your eyes is not a diagnosis. It’s not a label. It’s not a problem to be solved.
It’s you.
Unfolding.
And that is always enough.
