I was raised in a little post industrial mill town in the north of England by a jazz musician father with mental health challenges, and a schizophrenic opera-singing, champion Latin American dancing mother. I was rarely with both at the same time. I learned early on about the power of the mind, about the stories we live by and about the impact and influence of music, words and language.

 

Growing up in a house filled with rhythm and melody, creativity wasn’t a choice, it was a way of life and means of survival. As a child navigating my parents' complex worlds, I learned how creativity can both elevate and challenge the human mind and spirit. Music, for me, wasn’t just something I heard, it was an emotional experience, a tool for healing, and sometimes, a source of torment.

 

These early lessons sparked a lifelong fascination with the mind and the way it processes creativity. I became obsessed with understanding how creativity—especially music—affects us, emotionally and mentally. But instead of becoming a musician, I found my calling in words, storytelling, and eventually, therapy.

I've spent decades studying the intersection of creativity, the mind, and human experience. One thing has always fascinated me: the stories we tell. Whether it's the stories we're handed by others or the narratives we create ourselves, these stories shape our lives. And just like a song can be rearranged and rewritten to invoke very different responses, so too can our personal stories.