Liam Wakefield

Today I share both love and gratitude for a day that, in the past, would carry apprehensions and fear. But now, on this day, fills me with life and love.

Every birthday is an invitation to celebrate both what has been and what remains unknown. It marks the completion of another chapter and the exciting possibility one we cannot yet read. It must unfold through the very act of simply being. A birthday is a milestone along an uncertain path heading to a certain end.

As our story unfolds, the narrative devolves, the prose will change. Characters will arrive and depart. Joy will erupt and heartbreak crumble foundations, and each twist and turn will take etch something beautiful to the very bones of our existence. To live is to perform an internal drama of becoming.

Life, in its finitude, asks something of us. It asks us to live. To resist growing old long before our time through fear, comfort, or hesitation. To remember that every ordinary moment is astonishing simply because it exists and we are witness to it.

So, as I often quote, ‘do not go gentle into that good night’. Not because the certainty of death should be feared, but because life deserves to be met with equal intensity, and each birthday is a reminder of just what story we are writing for ourselves.

Peace is not found in waiting for life to begin. It is found in the courage to fully inhabit the one that is already unfolding before us.

I give thanks to the people in my life who have helped shape a story I am truly proud to live. A life I am grateful for, and something I cherish with all my heart.

https://youtu.be/nCZ5j7C3728?si=ospNFb0EnXJIoHRe

Recovery with Impact - A Short Film presented by the Invictus Games Foundation What happens when adventure becomes part of recovery?The short fi...

Armed Forces Day 🇬🇧 ⚔️

“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

I joined the Army as a reckless and lost teenager, and entered my twenties through war. By my thirties I had to completely rebuild.

Adversity can shape a state of being that matters not in the observation of others, but in our own awareness of self. The truest measure is not found in comparison with those around us, but in reflection upon yesterday’s self… who we were, what we endured, and what we became through it.

Through my years of service, through the good times and the hard ones, the extraordinary experiences and the unique circumstances I found myself in, what became most clear and meaningful to me was the damn fine connection forged between people. And how those continued long into the waking night and tomorrow’s unknown day. Men and women I fought beside that had no right to care so deeply, yet did. The purest connection, a noble and courageous act to put one’s life in the hands of the person beside you, and trust that they will share the weight of what’s hard.

Connections made in moments that stand as testament to the human capacity to face life’s hardships together. The humour when there was little else to offer. The loyalty. The unspoken understanding. The willingness to step into unknown, into the darkness, with courage, sacrifice, camaraderie, and the parts of ourselves that only emerge when life asks more of us than we believed we had to give.

Facing hardship is inherently noble, not because suffering automatically makes us better. It does not. And though I bang on about adversity and growth a lot, the truth is, in the right company connection and trust can reveal something that endures so much more, it endures time and distance.

Today I think of those I served beside, those still serving, and those who continue to carry the weight of service long after the uniform has come off.

To all of you, thank you for allowing me to be a part of something I will carry forever.

Getting back to normality after a few weeks of travelling has not been easy.

I have spent much of my life deploying, moving, travelling, and living out of bags. But this was the first time I had properly stepped away from something I had built, and from a home I have grown to really love.

Since opening my private practice, I have rarely taken more than a few days away from the work. Even when I was not in the clinical room, I’d find my mind often clawing back to my work. So taking three weeks away, I knew that returning to the rhythm and dance of clinical life would take some adjustment. I managed to be away and fully invest my presence into being away, but that has certainly made the return harder.

It is my first week back, and the dust is still settling. My mind is pulling books from the shelves and trying to catch up, but I am also trying not to fall straight back into the intensity I was carrying before I left.

I love my work, but burnout has been knocking at the door constantly.

Trying to make room again for creating, playing, training, being with the people I love, and remembering that a meaningful life cannot be built through work alone.

A lot came up for me during the time I spent with The conversations I had there gave me a renewed sense of hope, and deeply sharpened something I have been feeling for a while… I want to find a way to take this work beyond the four walls of a consulting room, and make it more accessible to people who may never otherwise find their way to it.

I have returned with more questions than answers. But perhaps that is where anything worth building begins.

So here is to the next steps of this evolution, and the exciting possibilities ahead!

Some of the first and most meaningful relationships I found in my younger years were not only interpersonal, but discovered between the pages of books. Amongst them, I learnt about myself, and realised I was not entirely alone when I ventured inward.

Throughout my teenage years there brewed a torrent of chaos and change that so often erupted internally, making the embrace of life feel difficult. On the surface I appeared calm, tempered, almost still like a placid shoreline, yet underneath raged something untameable.

It was through books, and through words scratched into journals that would ache from the weight of the words, that I first began trying to make sense of the abyss. Or at least grasp the magnitude of something perhaps none of us can truly understand.

Yesterday, sat in hospital while my vision blurred and distorted, I watched words begin slipping from the page. Each attempt to grasp the next line failed as it tumbled out of sight, sentence by sentence dissolving beyond reach...

——

This is not just an essay about illness or suffering. It is about identity, meaning, language, and the strange way books can become companions through chaos.

Somewhere between the shelves and the silence, I realised how much of myself had been built from words.

New essay: Don’t Take My Eyes
Link in bio.

Psychotherapy

It’s been a ride, fast with sharp turns and sudden stops, rarely a straight in sight. But when the road opens and the hills begin to roll beneath a sky that feels newly made, you start to understand why the chaos was necessary, why a life that, at times, unsettles you is often the only one that can show you something beautiful.

I took a week away from the therapy chair to meet the twists and turns of difficult things that I couldn’t outrun. I put on a suit that fit, stood in front of a camera, and I let a part of me out that has long been shackled deep, afraid to stand up and be seen. Being there brought about a lightness to the days, a simple pleasure of play and joy. I sat in the space of romance, playing at life as though each moment was a new verse of a poem, and for that moment, life took shape in a way I had never seen it.

Excited to see more of this side, and to step with ease into spaces that are light and joyful, and meet wonderful people like those I got to work with mentioned below!



Wedding Planner & Creative Direction
Creative Direction & Coordination
Hair & Makeup .brides
Venue
Photographer
Videographer
Tableware
Florist, candles & vases
Bridal Dresses
Designer (Day Dress):
Designer (Evening Dress):
Veils
Cake
Content Creator
Favours & Macaron Tower
Jewellery & Hair Accessories
Stationery
Shoes
Suits
Models
Cake Table Draping
Head of Events

After leaving my practice in London on Friday, I slingshot my way to Italy, and until Monday’s flight home I let myself surrender to the beauty of creativity in its most unapologetic form. Embracing the poetry of life and the essence of humanness in a way that could only be met with appreciation. I was in awe.

It was a stunning writing trip to Rome for a dear friend’s birthday, but also a much-needed reconnection to myself.

Pages filled in worn notebooks. Thoughts half-formed, then suddenly clear. Feelings that didn’t need explaining, only space. Conversations that wandered, deepened, and stayed with you long after they ended.

Good music drifting through dimly lit streets, the sound of my boots striking cobbled paths quietly announcing my presence. Wine that slowed time just enough to let the moments breathe. Food that reminded me how simple pleasure can be when you are actually present for it.

And somewhere in all of it, a quiet correction. A part of me that had felt stuck, lost, or slightly out of reach began to return. Not through force, but through allowing. A gentle reclamation.

A reminder that life is rarely found in the big, defining moments we chase, but in the ones we almost overlook.

In the passing glance.
The contemplative pause.
The sentence that lands.
The laugh that lingers.
A moment, fully felt.

Rome has a way of doing that. Not changing you, but bringing you back.

A return to something steadier. Something quieter.
A return to the real… carrying something new within it.