There’s a kind of support that doesn’t always look like “help” — not at first glance.

It happens in a small room, a circle of chairs, a soft conversation. It’s a steady presence, a grounding exercise, a moment where someone breathes a little easier. No fanfare. No waiting lists. No clinical forms. Just human connection.

This is the heart of A Positive Start CIC.

Our work is trauma-informed, person-centred, and holistic. It brings together nervous system education, body awareness, gentle language, lived experience, and creativity. But because it doesn’t come in a medicalised package — it is often overlooked, misunderstood, or quietly dismissed.

Holistic support is too often framed as “soft,” “alternative,” or “nice-to-have.” For some, it seems “less than” — not because of the outcomes, but because of how unfamiliar it feels. It doesn’t follow the same protocols or wear the same badges. It’s not top-down. It’s not commissioned. And that seems to make people uncomfortable.

And instead of asking why it makes them uncomfortable, people often retreat behind familiar narratives:

  • “It’s not real therapy”
  • “It’s a bit woo-woo”
  • “Where’s the clinical evidence?”

This reflexive discomfort says more about our societal conditioning than it does about the work itself.

There’s a quiet hierarchy in the world of care — a kind of unspoken snobbishness. If you’re not commissioned by government or embedded in an institution, you’re seen as fringe. Even within the third sector, where collaboration should thrive, independent projects like ours can feel left out of the circle — excluded from inclusion.

It’s an irony that cuts deep: the same systems that tell people “you matter” often exclude those doing the grassroots work to prove it.

And what’s the cost of that?

We see it in the core beliefs people carry into our sessions:

  • “I’m not good enough”
  • “I don’t belong”
  • “I’m not worth investing in”

The systems mirror the very wounds we’re trying to heal.

In grassroots spaces like ours, people pour everything they are into their work. This isn’t a 9-to-5. It’s heart-led graft — long hours, unpaid evenings, and the quiet work of holding others in their most vulnerable moments.

And because it’s done with love, it can be easy to overlook the cost.

A recent joyful collaboration brought that into sharp focus for me. It’s been creative, uncomplicated, ego-free — just honest, easy communication with a shared mission. The kind of project where everyone brings what they can without hierarchy, without games. The work itself felt light, fun, and deeply connected.

As the project nears its end, I’ve felt an unexpected sense of sadness — a kind of loss. Because the truth is: this kind of working relationship shouldn’t feel novel. But it did.

That feeling — that ache — told me what had been missing.

At A Positive Start CIC, we still offer:

  • A free initial assessment for all
  • Eight fully funded sessions for those most in need ( when funding is available)
  • “Pay what you can” counselling starting from £5 a session
  • Free CBT, trauma support, and group workshops

We offer a safe haven — a moment to step outside the anxiety-stricken world that demands so much from us.

A place to exhale. To be met as you are. To feel what needs to be felt — safely, without judgement — and in a space where the care is real, present, and can be felt.

But we are not government-funded. We are not NHS-backed. We are not a tick-box service.

We are real people doing real work — and like many others in our position, we are sustained not by structure, but by passion, perseverance, and personal sacrifice.

Recently, I put out a quiet invitation — a request for small contributions to help sustain this work. The ask was modest, just £5 per session. Some responded with generosity. Others chose to step away. Those who did respond — their support helps keep the doors open for others who truly can’t afford it. I’m deeply grateful for them — not just for the donation, but for the trust, respect, and mutual care it represents.

And again, this isn’t about blame. I know times are hard. But the response revealed something else: a discomfort with the idea that emotional support has value. That healing should be worth something — even if it’s just appreciation, reciprocity, or the price of a coffee.

The expectation that healing be free — always and indefinitely — reveals how invisible this work has become. And how easy it is to take it for granted.

People often don’t know what they have until it’s gone. That’s not a threat — it’s just human nature.

But as someone who has poured my time, energy, and finances into creating something meaningful — I feel a responsibility to speak this truth, even gently: If we do not value community-rooted care, it will disappear.

And we will be left with longer waiting lists, clinical burnout, and people falling through the cracks that projects like ours once caught.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting not just on the work, but on myself — on who I am, and who I choose to be. I stand for compassion, justice, and kindness — but also for boundaries. The kind that protect us from being drained by those who only see benefit as a one-way exchange.

It’s true: survival can be selfish. But healing is a choice. Consciousness is a choice. Living in alignment with the principles we offer to others is a choice. And part of that is recognising what we’re willing to accept — and what we no longer will.

It’s easy to deflect discomfort. To frame gentle truth as blame. But growth asks more of us. It asks for reflection, for congruence, and for responsibility.

We all like to imagine we’re not the one acting from entitlement or dysregulation. But healing spaces — real ones — ask us to look closer, not look away.

After all, Community Interest — the clue is in the title. It’s about care. It’s about belonging. It’s about recognising our shared responsibility to nurture the spaces that hold us.

A Closing Thought

This post is not about blame. It’s about clarity.

I still believe in the power of community. I believe in people. And I believe in creating spaces that welcome the whole human — not just the diagnosis.

But I also believe this work deserves to be seen, supported, and sustained.

If you believe that too, you’re already part of the solution.

If spaces like ours have ever held you — or someone you love — please help hold them too.

Because without community support, these spaces quietly disappear.

And what they take with them can’t always be replaced.