For those who don’t know - a little about me…
I’m Helen. I'm in my 40s, a proud Northerner, and an experienced counsellor working with young people and adults, especially those navigating life’s messier transitions. I also work as a supervisor, supporting fellow counsellors and professionals in the wellbeing world.

☀️ It’s a four-week half-term, exam season is officially underway, and maybe... the beginning of some nicer weather.

If you're supporting a young person through exams (or if you're in the thick of them yourself), I’ve written an Exam Season Survival Guide. It covers what stress might look like, why comparison can be toxic, and a few practical tips for getting through it all intact.

I had a loft bedroom back in the day (we won’t say how long ago). During my GCSES and A-levels, those loft walls were plastered with mind maps, post-it notes, and colour-coded summaries of every topic I needed to know. I followed my hand-drawn revision schedule religiously. I’ve never had a good memory, and I envied those with photographic recall whilst painstakingly filling out revision cards, all my faith pinned to gel pens and pastel highlighters.

As a child, I dreamed of being a writer, a dancer, a painter, a musician, a textile artist, and a jewellery designer. I never quite got there.

Her heart was vibrating with rage.

Last night had been the biggest fight at home yet.

Her Dad, yet again, just stood taking the verbal and physical slaps until the front door rattled in the frame as her Mam slammed the door on her way out.

Yesterday had been a good day, one of those days when you glide through with low effort and ease.

It seemed I saw someone I knew around every corner, and saying hello or giving a nod to lots of people makes me feel popular, like I belong. I answered a question in class and even told a teacher I didn’t know the answer without wanting to curl up in embarrassment. No one laughed.

I didn’t move. To Emmy, I’m fairly sure nothing changed - but inside, my heart froze. Just for a beat, and then it jump-started at double speed. My body tightened, and my breath vanished. At that moment, it felt like her life was in my hands. Maybe it was.

☀️ Sunny Skies, Endless Revision & the Looming End of the Academic Year

Easter is such a curious time in the academic world. As the days grow longer, the air warms, and the world outside invites us to reconnect - with friends, hobbies, and movement. But just as nature reawakens, the pressure of upcoming exams reminds us that, for many, a significant time is coming to an end.

A Practical Guide for Working Therapeutically with Teenagers and Young Adults by Helen Gifford Branch Counselling

The Daily Grind

Jain hadn’t slept well the night before. He wondered what had changed in the past few years - when he was 10, he’d fall asleep easily and wake up 10 blissful hours later, refreshed. Now, he lay there for hours, replaying every awkward decision he had ever made.

Callum had always been big. In primary school, that meant "fat," which was fine, until Year 5, when he became a target. That year was the worst. He learned to hold back tears, stay on his feet when shoved, and keep quiet when called names. He rounded his shoulders, trying to make himself as small as possible. It didn’t work. He watched for testosterone-fueled aggression in the yard and did his best to stay far away.

Helen had been working with Sara for some time now. She had known for a while, that there was more Sara hadn’t shared, something heavy, something that, if spoken aloud, would likely lead to a safeguarding concern. Using the Dixit cards had revealed glimpses of that weight - the sadness, the responsibility. Sara was meant to be a teenager, worrying about grades and friendships, but instead, she carried herself like a young mother, anxiously trying to keep the electric meter fed at home.

I love March. The days stretch out a little longer, purple crocuses and yellow daffodils pop up, and the world feels like it’s waking up. It’s also my birthday month, which means there’s cake - always a win.

Tabi swung her bag over her shoulder as she left the school gates, waving goodbye with a cheery “See ya tomorrow! Snap me if you find the homework.” But as she walked, a familiar tightness crept into her chest. Had Sara seemed distant just then? She’d left her at lunch to talk to other friends… maybe Tabi was boring her.

James sat stiffly in his chair, 28 pairs of eyes staring at him. The fabric of his trousers pinched his groin uncomfortably, but there was no way he was adjusting himself, not here, not now. He was teaching a sex-ed class, his worst nightmare.

The phone buzzed aggressively against the wooden bedside table, jolting Sara awake. It was her second alarm - they were running late. She felt Owen shift beside her; at some point in the night, he had found his way into her bed again.

Sara sat in her second counselling session, trapping her shaking hands between her thighs—only slightly less terrified than the first time. Helen seemed nice enough on the surface, but Sara still felt like she had done something wrong to end up here.

A relative suggested I watch Yellowstone. For those that don't know, it is an American neo-western drama series (I'd call it a ranch-based EastEnders). Throughout the first series, I watched with anger and frustration. It's well written, acted and shot, but the story presents one bad thing after bad luck, after bad choice, after another.

Andrew, Mr Snaith, as he was known to the students, marched quickly down the large hallway. Cold coffee cup in one hand and a confiscated pair of obscenely large gold hoops pincered tight in his other. He'd been loudly informed they were real gold, and her Da' would kill him if he lost them.

Sara was terrified. The cold sweat between her legs clung to her itchy tights, and she shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. Mr. Downey’s gaze swept the room, narrowing before he would lock eyes with the student whose fear was the most palpable.