There's no fixed answer, and anyone who promises one is guessing.
Some people come for a handful of sessions; others stay longer because they're working through something that took years to build.
If you're here as a couple, you'll notice the same old argument stops swallowing the whole evening. If you're here on your own — untangling a breakup, or a pattern that keeps repeating — the shift often shows up quietly: you catch yourself reacting differently, choosing differently.
Either way, you won't be left guessing. We'll agree early on what "better" looks like for you, and keep checking against it.

Almost certainly, yes — though I'm careful with the word "like," because what makes your situation hard is rarely the headline.
Affairs, drifting apart, constant friction, a breakup you can't move past, the same kind of relationship ending the same way again: this is familiar territory, whether you arrive as a couple or alone. You won't be telling me something I haven't sat with before. But your particular version is yours, and I won't pretend to understand it before you've shown it to me.
The experience matters less as a checklist and more as a quiet reassurance that the messy, unflattering parts are welcome here.

That decision is yours, because you're the one who lives inside it long after our sessions end. The same holds if you're single and weighing whether to reach out to an ex, or whether you're ready to date again: I won't push you toward or away from anyone.
What I can do is help you see clearly, without the fog of resentment, fear, or loneliness that usually clouds these choices. Sometimes that clarity brings people closer; sometimes it helps them let go with more kindness than they expected.
The choice stays yours — just a clearer-eyed one.

Then you'll be in exactly the right place.
Tears, going blank, the words refusing to come — that's not failing at therapy; it's often where the real work begins. This can feel especially exposing on your own, with no partner beside you and the full attention on you, and exposing in a different way as a couple, saying things out loud you've only ever thought. Both are welcome.
You don't have to arrive composed or with everything neatly explained. We'll move at a pace that feels manageable, and if something's too raw to touch yet, we'll leave it until it isn't.

The current session prices can be found in the “Sessions” section. They usually last for about 50 min, both for couples and individuals.
Most people find that meeting weekly gives the work enough continuity to build on without feeling overwhelming. We can adjust that rhythm to better suit your needs or life situation.
If you need to rearrange, I ask for 48 hours' notice so the time can be offered to someone else; changes inside that window are subject to a £50 cancellation fee. What you share with me stays confidential, with the few exceptions every therapist is bound by — chiefly where there's a serious risk of harm. I'll walk you through all of this properly before we begin.

I can't promise an outcome, and I'd distrust anyone who did — but "broken" is rarely what's really going on.
Far more often, two people who still care have fallen into a cycle that leaves them both feeling unheard, and that cycle is something we can genuinely work with. What matters most isn't how bad things have got, but whether there's still some willingness, even a reluctant flicker of it, to understand each other again.
If that's there, therapy usually has something to offer. We'll get a feel for it together in the early sessions, honestly and without pressure.

No. You won't walk out of a session feeling I've appointed a winner and a loser — that helps no one and isn't how this works. The truth is that the problem usually isn't one of you; it's the pattern the two of you get caught in, where each reaction feeds the other until you're both stuck.
My job is to be on the side of your relationship, which means caring about how each of you experiences it. You'll both feel heard, even when you disagree — especially when you disagree.
Change tends to come not from deciding who was right, but from each of you understanding what drives the other: the worry or hurt sitting underneath the anger, the longing beneath the withdrawal.
Once you can see what's really happening between you, you can start responding to each other differently.

That exhaustion deserves to be taken seriously, not talked out of — if you've been bending, adapting, carrying the effort, then hearing "just change more" would be the last thing you need, and it's not what I'll ask of you.
Often, the people who feel this way have been changing in the wrong direction: giving more of themselves while getting less, until there's nothing left to give. The work here usually isn't about doing more. It's about being honest, perhaps for the first time, about what you need and what hasn't been working — and helping your partner truly hear it.
If anything shifts, it shifts for both of you, not just you again.

It isn't a failure, and I won't treat it as one. Therapy isn't a test you pass by staying together; sometimes, the most honest, caring outcome two people can reach is to part well.
If that's where you arrive, I can help you do it with less damage — more understanding, more respect, and real care for any children involved. Ending a relationship thoughtfully is its own kind of work, and it matters.
My role isn't to keep you together at all costs, but to help you find the most humane path forward, whichever direction that turns out to be.

You can, and you're welcome to.
But it's worth looking at what sits behind your partner's reluctance first, because a refusal often carries its own meaning — fear, hurt, or hopelessness worth understanding rather than pushing against. Sometimes, approached with compassion instead of pressure, a hesitant partner becomes willing to come, and I'm glad to help both of you whenever they're ready.
That matters because couples therapy draws much of its power from having both perspectives in the room: I can hold both experiences at once and help you understand each other better.
If you do come alone, we'll focus on you — feeling steadier and clearer in yourself. It will then be your task to carry the changes home, putting them into practice with your partner without me there to help.

Yes — these are at the heart of what I do. Couples who can't stop fighting, or who've drifted into a quiet, lonely distance; the aftermath of an affair, with all its shock and broken trust; intimacy that's faded until you feel more like flatmates than partners; relationships hanging in the balance — none of this will unsettle me or be too much to bring.
These are some of the most painful places a relationship can reach, and also, often, where the most meaningful work happens. Wherever yours sits right now, you don't have to tidy it up before you come.

This happens sometimes, and it doesn't mean therapy is going wrong — often it means we're finally reaching what matters. When you stop avoiding the hard conversations and start actually having them, things can feel rawer before they feel better, a bit like cleaning a wound so it can properly heal.
But you won't be left to manage that alone. The therapy room is there to hold those harder moments, at a pace you can bear, and part of my role is making sure you both feel steadier leaving than when difficult feelings first surfaced.
We go toward the pain carefully, never recklessly.

What you share as a couple stays confidential outside the room, with the usual exceptions every therapist is bound by — chiefly, serious risk of harm.
The more delicate question is what happens with anything you tell me individually, in a one-to-one session or a message. I work openly: I won't hold significant secrets that affect your relationship, because honesty between us is what makes the work trustworthy for you both.
That doesn't mean blurting things out — I'll always help you find a way to share what matters. I'll explain exactly how this works before we begin.

It's genuinely for you too.
So much of how we love, choose and connect is shaped long before any particular partner comes along — in the patterns we learned, what we expect from closeness, how safe it feels to need someone. Working on that on your own can be some of the most valuable relationship work there is, precisely because there's no one else's reactions to navigate.
Whether you're between relationships, recovering from one, or have never quite found what you're looking for, you're not on the edges of this work. You're right at the heart of it.

Because we're quietly drawn to what feels familiar, even when it hurts — familiarity can masquerade as chemistry or connection. The "type" you keep finding is rarely about them; it's about a dynamic that echoes something you already experienced, often from long before. You recognise it without realising, like a key fitting a lock.
None of this means you're broken or doomed to repeat it. Once we can see the pattern clearly — where it comes from, what it's trying to protect — it begins to loosen its grip, the magnetism softens, and people who once felt "not your type" start to register differently.

Absolutely — and there's nothing to fix, only you to care for. Grief over a relationship is real grief, and it doesn't follow a tidy timeline or respond to being told to move on. Sometimes what keeps us tethered isn't the person themselves but what they came to represent — hope, belonging, a version of the future, or even our hopes and fantasies. That holds even for dysfunctional relationships.
Together we can make sense of what this relationship meant, why it's holding on so tightly, and how to slowly loosen that grip. You're not being weak or dramatic. You're mourning something that mattered, and that deserves care.

No — but I understand the obvious comeback: if nothing's wrong with me, why am I still single? The honest answer is that being single is rarely about a single cause, and almost never about your worth.
Timing, circumstance, who happened to cross your path, and yes — patterns in how you connect or protect yourself — all play a part. That last one isn't a flaw to be ashamed of; it's simply something to work with.
So "nothing is wrong with you" doesn't mean "nothing to explore." We'll look honestly at what's been getting in the way — not to fix you, but to understand it. You don't have to believe in your own worth yet; we'll work towards it together.

This is one of the most human frustrations there is.
You've done the hard part of seeing the pattern — but insight lives in the thinking mind, while the pattern itself runs deeper, in how you feel and react, often faster than thought can catch. Knowing you pull away when you're scared doesn't stop the pulling away in the moment. That's not a failure of effort or willpower; it's simply where understanding can't reach alone.
Therapy works at that deeper, felt level, where change actually takes root — slowly turning understanding into something you live differently, not just something you know.
The gap between knowing and doing is exactly where the work happens.