Why I Became the Supervisor I Wished I'd Had

In 2025 I had the privilege of contributing a chapter to a book about being an autistic therapist. The chapter was titled To Be the Supervisor I Wished I'd Had, and writing it gave me the opportunity to reflect on how my own experiences have shaped the supervisor I am today.

The truth is, I didn't become a supervisor because I wanted another qualification or a different role. I became a supervisor because I wanted to create the kind of supervision space I had spent years looking for myself.

Like many counsellors and coaches, I've experienced supervision that felt more like reporting to a headteacher than a collaborative professional relationship. I often left wondering whether I had done something wrong. Challenge felt like criticism. Questions felt like tests. I was trying so hard to prove that I was a competent practitioner that I wasn't always able to be completely honest about the things I most needed support with.

Looking back, I can see how much my own neurodivergence played a part in that experience. Rejection sensitivity, masking and a lifelong fear of getting things wrong meant that supervision sometimes felt like somewhere I had to perform rather than somewhere I could think.

Over time, I realised something important.

If supervision is the place where we are supposed to reflect on our work, our ethics, our wellbeing and our development, then surely it needs to be somewhere we can bring our whole selves.

Not just our successful clients.

Not just our polished case presentations.

Not just the parts that make us look competent.

All of us.

The doubts. The mistakes. The uncertainty. The questions we're almost afraid to ask.

That belief has become the foundation of my supervision practice.

I want supervision to feel like somewhere you can exhale.

A place where you don't need to mask, impress or prove yourself. A place where we can think deeply together, explore what's really going on beneath the surface, and have the kinds of conversations that help us grow as practitioners and as people.

Of course, supervision has important ethical and professional functions. It should challenge us. It should support safe practice. It should help us develop our skills and understanding.

But I also believe supervision should be human.

I want to know how you're doing.

I want to know whether your practice is sustainable.

I want to know whether you're burning out, whether you're losing confidence, whether you're trying to carry too much on your own.

Because counsellors, coaches and helping professionals don't leave their humanity at the door when they sit down with clients. We bring all of ourselves into the room. Our wellbeing matters. Our relationships matter. Our values matter. Our lives matter.

The more I work with neurodivergent practitioners, the more convinced I become that many of us have spent years adapting ourselves to fit systems that were never designed with us in mind. Supervision can become a space to gently unpack those assumptions, challenge internalised ableism, and create ways of working that are more authentic, sustainable and aligned.

That's why I became the supervisor I wished I'd had.

Not because I have all the answers, but because I know what it feels like to need a space where you can think out loud without fear of judgement.

A space where you can be honest.

A space where you can be yourself.

And perhaps most importantly, a space where you leave feeling lighter, clearer and more confident than when you arrived.