Exhibit A: The version I thought I was supposed to be.

Exhibit B: The one who shows up - with an open heart, a lot of courage, and the occasional existential wobble. (Okay, fine, more than occasional).

Listen, I tried to look professional.I really did.

And then I remembered who I am.

Yes, I can be eloquent.Yes, I know my stuff.

But also yes: I trip over my own feet (literally and metaphorically), forget people’s names the second they’ve told me them, and agonise over what I’m supposed to do with my face during Zoom calls.

I’ve spent a lot of my life masking—performing the version of myself that seemed acceptable, polished, “together.”

I got very good at it. Olympic-level, actually.

I could present as accomplished, confident, emotionally bulletproof—all while quietly panicking, doubting myself, and wondering, not if I left my real personality at home, but if I had a real personality at all.

Grief? I masked it.

Neurodivergence? Masked.

Overwhelm, fear, not fitting in? Oh look, more masks.

But here’s the thing: the longer you wear the mask, the more you start to believe it is you. And eventually, something breaks.

Now?

I refuse to pretend anymore. This silly, sweary, compassionate, messy human is the one who shows up.

As a grief trainer and therapist, I believe we need more humans in this work. Not robots. Not flawless experts. Just people who are willing to sit in the mess and be honest. So that others feel safe to take their own mask off, even for just a little while at first.

Fallibility, realness, open-heartedness, these are the non-negotiables for the Grief Guides team.

If you want grief training that’s dull, traditional, and emotionally distant - well, it’s out there, trust me.

If you want training that’s alive, human, gently irreverent, and built around real connection, you're in the right place.

Lean into your humanity. That's where the magic is, people.