Trueform Therapy

Tag: mental health

  • How Language Shapes Who You Are

    You move to a new country, learn a new language, and suddenly you’re the shy one at parties. Back home, you could talk the ears off a donkey. Here, you’re nodding politely while someone explains the bus timetable for the third time. Or maybe it’s the other way round. You were always quiet in your mother tongue, but now in another language, you’ve developed a sudden flair for dramatic storytelling and ordering coffee with flair. A lot of people who speak more than one language say they feel like different people depending on which language they’re using. But is that just in our heads, or does language really reshape our personalities?

    What the research says (yes, actual science)

    It turns out it’s not just in your head. Studies have shown that people really do behave differently depending on the language they’re speaking. In one experiment, bilingual participants described themselves differently in English than in their native language. They were more assertive, individualistic and achievement-focused in English and more community-minded and humble in their first language. Same person, same day, different vibes. Psychologists think this might be because each language activates different cultural frameworks, like switching between mental apps. You load up English and suddenly you’re talking about your personal goals. Switch to Spanish, and now it’s all about the family WhatsApp group.

    What this means when you move countries

    So, you’ve packed your bags, moved to a new country, and suddenly you’re a slightly different person. Not in a dramatic soap opera way (no evil twin involved), but maybe you’re quieter than you used to be. Or more polite. Or more apologetic, especially if you’ve moved to Britain and have absorbed the national pastime of saying “sorry” to lampposts.

    This shift isn’t just about language skills. It’s about context. The version of you that existed in your home country had a history, inside jokes, and unspoken rules. You knew how to order your coffee and complain about the weather properly. Now, you’re in a different culture, with different expectations, and sometimes you’re just trying to figure out if “How are you?” is a real question or not.

    All of this can quietly shake your sense of identity. It’s easy to start wondering: if I can’t express myself in the way I used to, am I still me?

    Why it matters in therapy

    When people come to therapy, they often bring the version of themselves they know how to explain. But what happens if that version is shaped by a second language? Or if the really raw stuff, the stuff that shaped you, only lives in your mother tongue?

    Therapy in a second language can feel like trying to cry underwater. The emotion is there, but it doesn’t always come out right. Maybe you can’t find the word for a feeling. Maybe you do, but it doesn’t hit the same. Maybe your therapist is kind and warm, but they don’t laugh at your jokes because humour doesn’t travel well.

    On top of that, cultural norms around emotions can be wildly different. In some cultures, naming your feelings is normal. In others, it’s like saying Voldemort out loud. So when therapy invites you to “explore your inner world”, you might find you need a translator. Not just for the words, but for the whole emotional landscape.

    This is not a reason to avoid therapy. It’s a reason to find one that gets this. Because feeling like yourself, all of your selves, matters. Even the version of you that mispronounces “anxiety” or accidentally says something rude when trying to be deep.

    Reclaiming all your selves

    Here’s the beautiful part: living between languages doesn’t make you fragmented. It makes you layered.

    You don’t have to choose between the version of you who laughs too loud in your native language and the quieter, more careful one who speaks English. They’re both real. Both you. And neither of them is a failure just because the right words don’t always come quickly.

    Therapy can be a space to explore all your selves. Not to fix them, but to understand them. To notice who shows up in different contexts. To grieve the parts that feel left behind. And maybe, to gently reintegrate the voices that haven’t had space in a while.

    Whether you’re fluent or fumbling, accented or code-switching, your story matters. And it deserves to be told in whatever language feels most like home.

  • Why We Avoid Talking About Death and Why It Matters That We Do

    We know we’ll die. That’s not the problem.
    The problem is how awkward we get about it. Like we’re trying to quietly back out of the room without making eye contact with the Grim Reaper.

    We avoid the word “death” like it’s bad luck. We say “passed away” or “lost them” or “gone to a better place”. It sounds kind, but also a bit like someone wandered off and joined a travelling circus without leaving a note.

    Photo by V Marin on Pexels.com

    And yes, I get it. Death is uncomfortable. It’s sad. It makes us feel small. Sometimes it makes us cry in the middle of the supermarket. So we do what most people do with uncomfortable things. We avoid it. Change the subject. Or joke about it to make it feel less scary.

    But here’s the thing. All this avoiding doesn’t protect us. It just leaves us unprepared.

    Why do we find it so hard to talk about?

    We’re not weird for dodging the topic. We’re human. And most of us were never taught how to talk about death in a way that felt okay.

    Some of it’s cultural. In the UK, we’re famously good at saying “sorry” when someone steps on our foot, but not so great at sitting with someone’s grief. We keep things respectful, which often just means silent.

    And there’s the fear.
    Fear of saying the wrong thing.
    Fear of getting emotional.
    Fear that if we talk about death, we’ll somehow make it happen. We won’t.

    It’s easier to change the subject. Or pretend we’re fine. Or assume the other person doesn’t want to talk either.

    Sometimes, both people in the room are grieving and both are pretending they’re not. You end up with two people making tea and talking about the weather while trying not to cry into the biscuits.

    What this silence really costs us

    When we avoid talking about death, we’re not just avoiding pain. We’re also avoiding truth, clarity, and connection.

    People die without having said what mattered.
    Families are left guessing at funeral wishes.
    Friends drift apart because they don’t know how to show up for each other in grief.

    And for the people left behind, it can feel incredibly lonely. Not just because someone they love is gone, but because no one wants to talk about it.

    Photo by Bacho Grigolia on Pexels.com

    Grief becomes this quiet, invisible thing people carry around while trying to act normal.

    And when we can’t talk about death, we also can’t talk about life. Not fully. We can’t say, “This is what I want.” Or “This is what I’m afraid of.” Or even just, “I’m scared.”

    Something That Stuck With Me

    There was a time I avoided the topic too. I’d sidestep it in conversations or just offer some polite version of “I’m so sorry” and hope that covered it.

    But then someone said to me, after losing someone they loved, “I wish people would stop pretending this didn’t happen.”

    And that hit me.
    Not talking about it didn’t protect them. It just made them feel invisible.

    Since then, I’ve tried to be braver. Not always eloquent, but honest. Sometimes it’s just sitting in silence with someone. Sometimes it’s saying, “That must be really hard,” and meaning it.

    What we can do differently

    We don’t have to become poets of mortality overnight.
    We don’t need the perfect words.
    We just need to start being real.

    Real might look like saying
    “I’m here.”
    “I don’t know what to say, but I care.”
    “Do you want to talk about them?”

    Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

    It might mean having the slightly uncomfortable conversation with someone you love about what they’d want or what you’d want. You don’t have to make it formal. You can start with, “I know this is a weird thing to bring up, but…”

    These conversations might feel strange at first. But they’re also the ones people remember.

    If You Take One Thing from This…

    Avoiding death doesn’t make it go away. But talking about it, even a little, can make us feel less alone in the face of it.

    And if you’ve made it this far, you’re already doing it. You’re thinking about the thing we’re all quietly carrying.

    So this Death Awareness Week, maybe let’s stop whispering about it and just talk.

    Even if it’s a bit awkward. Even if no one has the right words.

    Sometimes, saying something imperfect is the most human thing we can do.

    If you’re feeling the weight of something unspoken or just need space to sit with whatever’s coming up, you’re not alone.
    You can find out more about how I work at trueformtherapy.co.uk — when you’re ready.

  • Burnout: When Your Brain Quietly Packs a Bag and Leaves

    Most people don’t recognise burnout straight away.

    It usually starts as something familiar: tiredness. The kind you assume will go away with a good night’s sleep or a quieter weekend. But over time, something shifts. Rest stops working in the way it used to.

    A common description I hear in sessions is this:
    “I’m sitting in front of my laptop, and I know what I need to do—but I can’t seem to start.”

    The task is there. The intention is there. But the capacity isn’t.

    What Burnout Feels Like (From Someone Who’s Been There)

    Burnout is not usually dramatic or sudden. It tends to build gradually.

    At first, it can look like:

    • Feeling more tired than usual
    • Taking longer to get through simple tasks
    • Losing interest in things you normally enjoy

    Over time, it becomes more noticeable:

    • Concentration drops (reading the same sentence repeatedly)
    • Small tasks feel disproportionately effortful
    • You feel more irritable or emotionally flat
    • Social interaction starts to feel draining rather than restorative

    One way to think about it:
    It’s like running on a very low battery, but without a clear way to recharge.

    Sleep helps a little, but not enough. Time off helps briefly, but the feeling returns.

    What Burnout Actually Is

    Burnout is not just “being tired.” It is a recognised response to chronic, unmanaged stress.

    Research commonly describes three core components (e.g., via the Maslach Burnout Inventory):

    • Emotional and physical exhaustion
    • Increased mental distance or cynicism
    • Reduced sense of effectiveness

    You might also notice:

    • Persistent fatigue
    • Headaches or muscle tension
    • Difficulty concentrating
    • A sense of detachment or numbness

    This is your system signalling that current demands are not sustainable over time.

    Photo by Andy Lee on Pexels.com

    Burnout is particularly common in people who:

    • Take on a high level of responsibility
    • Care about doing things well
    • Find it difficult to set limits
    • Tend to prioritise others’ needs over their own

    This often includes roles like healthcare, education, and caregiving—but it is not limited to these. The common thread is prolonged effort without adequate recovery or support.

    How it develops (often without being noticed)

    Burnout rarely comes from a single event. It tends to build through patterns over time:

    • Saying yes when capacity is already stretched
    • Skipping breaks or working through fatigue
    • Staying in “doing mode” without enough recovery

    At the time, these choices often feel reasonable or necessary. The difficulty is that the cost accumulates gradually.

    There may not be a clear breaking point. Instead, people often describe a moment of realisation:
    “I’m here, but I’m not really functioning the way I used to.”

    A brief note on autistic burnout

    There is also a distinct experience known as autistic burnout, associated with autism spectrum condition.

    While it overlaps with general burnout in terms of exhaustion, it differs in important ways. It often involves a more significant loss of functioning and is linked to long-term mismatch between the person and their environment (e.g., sensory demands, social expectations, masking).

    This is a separate topic, but it is important to recognise that not all burnout experiences are the same.

    What Actually Helps (Spoiler: It’s not a Bubble Bath)

    A common misconception is that burnout can be resolved with quick “self-care” fixes. In practice, recovery usually requires more substantial changes.

    Helpful steps often include:

    • Setting clearer boundaries around time and energy
    • Reducing workload where possible
    • Taking breaks before reaching exhaustion
    • Creating space for genuine rest (not just passive distraction)
    • Talking things through with someone you trust, or a professional

    It can also involve adjusting expectations—doing less, and recognising that this is part of recovery rather than failure.

    Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

    If This Feels Familiar

    Burnout can be difficult to recognise when you are in it, especially if you are used to pushing through.

    If you are noticing that rest is no longer restoring you, or that everyday tasks feel harder than they used to, it is worth paying attention to that.

    Burnout is not a sign of weakness. It is an indication that something about the current way of functioning is not sustainable.

    Recognising it early makes it easier to address before it deepens.

    Feeling this too?
    If any of this hits close to home and you’re ready to talk it through, I’ve got space. You can book a session directly through my website.