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We’ve all heard the phrase “can’t see the wood for the trees” – getting so lost in detail we miss the bigger picture. We know that experience all too well.

In helping professions we can get so caught up in the day to day to do list. Perhaps it’s back to back appointments, targets and competing demands. There’s paperwork and data entry. Too many meetings with too little focus. The scramble to book rooms, cars and other limited resources.

We often need to remind ourselves to take a step back and reconnect with what we’re really here for, the bigger meaning to all the busyness.

We can also extend the concept to ourselves. When we see ourselves as one tree in the woods, we are more likely feel disconnected. We may be tempted to compare ourself to other trees, notice who is bigger, or stronger, or who gets more sun. When we see our differences, we increase the potential for competition or the risk of feeling insignificant.

But when we see ourselves as part of the one forest, we can connect to something bigger than us. Feeling a part of a community of care relieves the pressure to be everything to all people and allows us to make our contribution as well as we can. We don’t have to have all the answers for our part to still be helpful.

In an ecosystem of empathy our combined strengths and aptitudes add up to something far more beautiful and profound than any one individual needs to be.

We’re often told to “Find your passion!” Others tell us to forget passion, and find our purpose – the feel good factor may come once we discover what is meaningful. Even if the best path lies somewhere between the two, such advice can feel like a lot of pressure.

If so, we can find a starting point in the softer idea of potential. We may not yet have answers, but we can look for clues. We might now have a clear direction but we can discover stepping stones worth exploring.

We can pay attention to what sparks an interest in us, tune in to what gives us a feeling of energy, excitement, wonder or adventure. And we can also notice what feels valuable or fulfilling. We can look for evidence of what is genuinely helpful, where we can see that it makes a difference to other people’s lives.

If there’s an overlap between the two, even better. It might be worth investigating further. If there isn’t, or there are too many overlaps, we can look for something that is good enough for now – an experience that might lead to more options later.

Perhaps there is a key criteria like feeling intrigued or pays the bills without burning us out. We might want to choose a next step that aligns with a value or introduces us to interesting people or learning.

What we really need is a place to start. And do that. And then do that some more. And then see where that takes us. Because the real learning will come from the doing, not from the finding.

Sometimes we need to slow down and do less. It’s not about giving up but topping up. We need to refuel, to rebuild our energy reserves. We need to refresh, to sustain our curiosity. Taking a step back can bring clarity or new perspectives.

We might need recovery time in our career – a holiday, a secondment, a change of direction. But we can also catch our breath within our conversations.

Doing less can make what we have already done more effective. We all know the power of a simple, heartfelt apology that isn’t diluted by explanations or justifications.

It’s easy to get caught in the momentum of a conversation. A pause may help us to continue with clearer intention. Asking ourselves “What is this person really telling me?” or “What’s not being said?” may take the work deeper. Asking the other person “What have I missed?” or “What are you hoping we will focus on?” might take us in a surprising or more meaningful direction.

We can do less in the moment too. If we have reflected back our understanding, we don’t need to go straight into another question. Leaving silence between our words lets the person hear their own thoughts.

If we’re halfway through a reflection and it feels like it’s hard to finish, we can just stop. Chances are we’ve already reflected back a complete thought that stands on its own.

We can simplify questions without feeling like we need to guess what to explore next. Perhaps a simple prompt of “What are your thoughts?” or “What else?”

We know this. It’s not new. But a lot of our training leaves us feeling like we’ve got to work hard, be busy, be clever. But the space between the doing is just as valuable.

Certainty is currency. It sells books and speaking tours, builds fan bases and markets. Confident and convinced voices dominate our media, our professions and workplaces, our world. Uncertainty is often dismissed as a sign of incompetence, weakness even. Come back when you’ve made your mind up.

Not knowing can be uncomfortable. Sometimes profoundly so. Shedding assumptions and preconceived solutions can feel disorienting. If not that, then what?

And we don’t want a lack of definitive answers to become a lack of hope. Not knowing does not mean having nothing. There are paths to try, both well worn and emerging. There are threads to follow, patterns to explore and stepping stones that have held others well.

But there is also a joy in not knowing. A sense of wide, expansive wonder. Like a native forest, uncertainty pulses with life. In contrast, conclusions delivered with the authoritative air of fact can feel like pinning dead butterflies to a display in a museum. Reality is far more magical and mysterious.

Providing therapy can feel like starting a thousand books you never got to finish. We see people for this slice of their life, maybe a chapter or two, and rarely get to find out what happens after that. Funding models that rely on brief interventions can feel like reading just a few pages.

We need to be careful not to overgeneralise and have our window of engagement define the person, where ‘this moment’ becomes ‘this person’. And we need some gentleness with ourselves. It’s not easy holding so many unfinished stories with so many unanswered questions.

As helping professionals and carers, we too are an unfinished book. We too run the risk of defining ourselves based on this slice of time, this chapter, this role. Our work of supporting others, and our relationship with it, is an unfolding story. And like any good tale, there may be unexpected twists and turns.

Our skills, our interests, our strengths evolve. What challenged us once may no longer hold the same fascination. What we used to be able to take on board may now feel too heavy or too much to carry. We may fall out of love with one kind of work only to fall in love with another. We may decide to run away with an entirely different career altogether.

We want to be where we are right now, in this chapter, with integrity and curiosity. But we also need to stay be open to new paths forming that may take us in unexpected directions.

Conversations are made of bits. Individual skills, wording, tone, rhythm. The spaces between of silence and anticipation. The flow, the pace, the music.

Much like doing scales on a musical instrument or drills at sports training, we can practice the individual elements of good communication away from the people we support. And the more we do that, the more honed and flexible those skills will be when they most matter.

Many of us grew up with the phrase “practice makes perfect”. And later maybe got the more refined version “perfect practice makes perfect”. Because if we practice with bad technique, all we do is reinforce bad habits.

Which all makes sense in theory, but in reality it puts a lot of pressure on us. And increases the chance we don’t do any practice at all.

We don’t do practice to get perfect at practice. We practice to have better conversations with people. The aim is not to get it right every time, the aim is to learn. And the best way to learn is to enjoy the process. Have fun, hold it lightly, be playful.

Yes, we want to be informed and intentional. And yes, we absolutely want to reflect on the experience and how to improve. But we also need to make room for curiosity. We want to feel free to try things out, make mistakes, laugh at the convoluted phrases we form on the way.

And maybe the more comfortable we get with the messiness of our own learning, the better able we will be to support others through their own trials and errors and growth.

On the surface, the idea of evidence-based practice is solid. We don’t want to be acting on assumption, impulse or “I reckon it’s a good idea”. Decades of research have clearly shown that what one person thinks will be helpful for another person isn’t always the case. 

However we also need to take a considered approach to the evidence base we are drawing from. The techniques we choose only account for a modest prediction of positive outcome. They’re important but far from enough. 

This broader body of research highlights that the quality of the therapeutic relationship and the qualities of the helper have a greater impact. Who delivers the treatment, and how, matters. 

It is easier to recommend a specific intervention, write manuals and roll out training. It is harder to create systems that prioritise workers feeling well-rested, supported and resourced to be their best self for the people they work with. 

We can take the lens even wider. There is a solid body of research that emphasises the importance of more systemic factors, such as feeling connected to a community, to nature, to meaningful work. Or the relief of secure accommodation or employment.

And it is much easier to fund six sessions of a clearly prescribed intervention than to address social and financial inequality, ensure fair and safe workplaces, tackle the threat of climate change or the need for affordable housing. 

But if we only focus on the evidence for specific techniques, we risk being evidence-biased by selecting narrow fields of research at the expense of other just as valid ones.  

Well-constructed, well-conducted scientific method has been invaluable in the helping professions to focus and evolve treatment. It has helped us to direct our energy toward what is more likely to be helpful and to keep questioning and improving as we go.

But there is another side of helping others that is more art than science. More Goldilocks and the Three Bears than peer-reviewed journal, where how we do something is as important as what we do.

We often talk about the qualities we want to embody, but in reality we’re aiming more for a series of delicate balances that create a therapeutic potential. We want to be curious but not intrusive. Authentic, but not unfiltered. Optimistic but not unrealistic. Non-judgemental but not undiscerning. Self-aware but not hyper self-conscious.

We want to be responsive without being inconsistent or inauthentic, and consistent without being rigid or inflexible. We want to be present but not at the expense of losing our focus on why we are there together in the first place. We want to be friendly but not in an unboundaried way. And definitely not in a creepy way.

If we think of a surfer skilfully riding a big wave, there’s a lot of physics going on there, a lot of opposing forces. But when experienced surfers talk about it, they typically don’t talk about the individual mechanics. They talk about flow, being at one with the wave, the board, their body, their whole experience.

And while science may be able to describe it, the way we want to be with people is more of an exquisite balance than a fixed state. And like all good balances, we may never arrive, or if we do it’s for a fleeting moment as we sail past into the opposite.

And maybe that’s OK. If we can hold our destination more lightly, we are more able to attune and recalibrate. If we are less focused on achieving an ideal, we can be more in the process. We may not find those unicorns of perfect balance. But we may experience more flow, both within ourselves and with the other person.

Let’s say you’re walking along and stub your big right toe. Would your first reaction be “Wow, my left toe feels fantastic!”? If you’re anything like me, you’re probably too busy swearing.

And yet it does. Try it right now. Bring your attention to your big left toe, or some other part of your body that is not experiencing pain, and notice how it feels. The absence of pain is quite lovely and spacious. Luxurious even.

As humans we are far more oriented to the stubbed toe. The pain, the shock, the message that something isn’t right, that something needs to change. And we need to pay attention, it’s important. But let’s not forget the parts of us that are ok, resilient and allowing us to stand.

As helpers, if we only attend to the pain of others, we can feel overloaded, at risk of compassion fatigue and burnout. Equally if we only pay attention to strengths, we run the risk of minimising distress or becoming a relentlessly positive cheerleader that people would rather avoid.

True empathy is not just connecting with the suffering, in the way empowerment isn’t just believing in someone’s potential. It’s about seeing the whole person. The pain, the resilience and the hope. They are all real. If we focus on one at the expense of the others we are missing the full story and, in doing so, we miss the quiet gift of the unstubbed toe.

When resources are scare, we need to get the best out of every role, and out of every person filling them. Including managers. Even when we feel like maybe they ought to know better, do better, be better.

I don’t mean suck up to them, play to their ego or tell them what they might want to hear like pampered poodles. And I definitely don’t mean turn a blind eye to bullying, threats or intimidation.

I just mean that managers are people too, often caught in the middle management sandwich – more judged than praised by both more senior executives and the team they manage. Their role is typically isolating, without peers with the exact same position description.

It’s a position of high expectation and low validation, where success is often defined by the absence of disaster. It requires a fluid blend of mentor, administrator and bearer of bad news. And a lot of the tasks are repetitive, with no satisfaction of a finish line.

Like anyone else, they will have strengths, weaknesses, blindspots and insights. They will make assumptions and assumptions will be made about them. They will make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes.

A title or a pay check don’t guarantee performance. Managers’ roles are defined and shaped by relationships, up, down and sideways. While each person is ultimately responsible for how they conduct themselves, no role exists independently of others. And like any relationship, it is a two way street where the foundations of kindness, curiosity and acceptance matter.