Innovative Resources

In recent years, there have been more and more books and articles arguing that we can use design principles, or ‘design thinking’, to generate a ‘plan’ for our lives. There are even university courses dedicated to this idea.

As educators, psychologists and social workers, this concept can sometimes feel a bit jarring. This may be because we work alongside people every day whose lives have been characterised, often through no fault of their own, by instability, uncertainty, trauma, socioeconomic disadvantage, illness, and a variety of life challenges that ‘design’ couldn’t have predicted or accounted for, so design-thinking may not feel possible or relevant.

It may even feel disrespectful or judgmental to engage with this approach, as the people we work with may feel like they have ‘failed’ because their life hasn’t progressed according to societal ideas about success.

And yet, if we pause for a moment, aren’t we all engaged in supporting the people we work with—whether they are children, young people, families, communities, or individuals—to come up with an empowering plan for their lives moving forward?

we are already using ‘design thinking’

As educators, we aim to set children and young people up for a meaningful and engaged life and career. We support them to develop social and emotional literacy so they can build relationships, teach skills so they can find employment, and help them learn time management, emotional regulation, teamwork, adaptability, and how to learn new things. All of this is done so they can feel empowered to live a life that is meaningful and purposeful.

As social workers and psychologists, we often work alongside people working through significant life challenges. We help them navigate these challenges by supporting them—at least in part—to create a future picture that feels more hopeful, meaningful and connected. We then assist them to identify key steps or actions they could take towards making that future a reality. This process means that we are, at least in part, trying to assist them to reclaim ‘agency’ over aspects of their life.

So perhaps the question is not whether we are involved in life design, but how we do it, and what frameworks we use to guide this work.

You might find that some of the principles of design thinking look familiar—that’s because there is quite a lot of crossover with strength-based, solution-focused approaches.

what do we mean by ‘design your life’?

So, what is design thinking?

As Caryle Lauff, PhD in Design Theory and Methodology, explains, ‘Design thinking is an innovation management philosophy that has five core tenants to solving complex problems: empathise, define, ideate, prototype, and test.’

Empathise, in a human service context, might mean asking a person lots of curious questions about what’s important to them, what they value, what’s currently working for them and what they’d like to change, and how they connect, so you gain an understanding of their goals, beliefs and hopes. Define is about looking at what is working and what isn’t—what is the problem the person is trying to solve. Ideate is brainstorming lots of different ideas. Prototype is about creating a model or a ‘design’. Then test it out.

Rinse and repeat!

In practice, design thinking is a playful, iterative, action–reflection process rather than rigid linear process.

In his TED Talk How to Use Design Thinking to Create a Happier Life, Stanford professor and designer, Bill Burnett, describes design thinking as both a process and a mindset. He suggests that rather than starting with rigid goals, ‘design thinking says you should start with empathy and lean into what you’re curious about.’

should we be following our passions?

One of the most common assumptions about life design is that we should be ‘following our passion.’ However, Burnett argues that this belief is not supported by research.

‘…it turns out less than 20 percent of people have a single identifiable passion in their lives. It’s a dysfunctional belief. You don’t need a passion to start designing your life, and the reframe is “you are OK, just where you are.”’

This reframe is particularly important in educational and therapeutic contexts, where people may already feel overwhelmed, disenfranchised, or left behind by society. The idea that you must discover a single passion in order to live a meaningful life may feel deeply discouraging, when you are in survival mode.

Burnett also challenges the belief that it is ever ‘too late’ to make changes. He suggests that life is fluid and non-linear, and there is not one ‘best’ version of us waiting to be discovered. There are many possible lives we could live that are hopeful, meaningful, and connected.

His suggestion is to focus less on outcomes and more on process—to stay curious, to experiment, and to see life as something that unfolds over time.

life is unpredictable — so what is the point?

For many people who are just trying to get through the day, life can feel chaotic, unpredictable and constantly changing. Many of the most significant events in people’s lives are outside may feel outside their control.

So, what is the point of ‘designing your life’ in such an uncertain world?

Design thinking isn’t about creating a life plan that we ‘set and forget’. It is about inviting us to identify the things that are most meaningful and joyful in our lives, and increasing the likelihood we can experience more of those things.

It is about recognising and even embracing the fact that life is unpredictable, and setting up strategies and practices that allow us to find hope and meaning, even when things get tough.

One way we can do this, as Burnett points out, lies not in trying to control outcomes, but in identifying what is within our influence. While we cannot always control what happens around us, we do have some influence over what we focus on, how we interpret events, how we respond emotionally, and the actions we choose to take.

Design thinking, in this sense, becomes less about predicting the future and more about cultivating agency, flexibility, and responsiveness. It helps people notice choices, align actions with their values, and find meaning in small moments rather than waiting for a perfect future to arrive.

meaning versus happiness

Often people think that happiness and meaning are two sides of the same coin, that if we are happy, we must have meaning in our lives. But as humans, we are actually not very good at identifying the things that will actually make us happy.

Popular culture, for example, often suggests that happiness comes from winning the lottery, achieving individual success, receiving awards, going on expensive holidays, owning the right car or house, having an ‘Instagram-able’ relationship, or changing our appearance to align with current ideals of beauty. Research consistently shows that these factors have little lasting impact on wellbeing.

In fact, researchers have found that the pursuit of happiness can actually make us unhappy. In Psychology Today, article titled, ‘3 Beliefs About Happiness That Are Making People Unhappy’, author Susan Krauss Whitbourne argues:

‘Although positive psychology’s focus on happiness and wellbeing was a welcome change from so-called “negative” psychology’s emphasis on symptoms and disorders, this philosophical shift may have come at a cost. If happiness becomes the goal in and of itself, and you fail to reach that goal, there must be something wrong with you.’

People often focus their energy on chasing moments of happiness, yet these moments are unpredictable and fleeting. Many of us have had the experience of doing something we think we should enjoy, only to feel distracted, irritable, or emotionally flat.

Instead, if we ‘design’ our lives around identifying the things that bring us lasting joy or meaning, we are more likely to have a model that can endure the inevitable ups and downs of life. The famous long term study of happiness by Harvard University found that:

‘Close relationships, more than money or fame, are what keep people happy throughout their lives, the study revealed. Those ties protect people from life’s discontents, help to delay mental and physical decline, and are better predictors of long and happy lives than social class, IQ, or even genes. That finding proved true across the board among both the Harvard men and the inner-city participants.’

What is often more sustaining than happiness is a sense of meaning. Meaning is not about constant positive emotion, but about purpose, connection, and a sense that one’s life matters.

Moments of joy and meaning can be found in everyday experiences—sharing a joke, helping someone else, creating something, spending time in nature, or feeling absorbed in a task. These moments are often missed when life becomes dominated by ticking things off your ‘life plan to-do list’ rather than noticing moments of flow and connection.

reframing and perspective

Design thinking principles are particularly useful when people feel stuck. They offer a way to pause, reassess what matters, and experiment with small changes, rather than having to ‘fix’ everything that isn’t working for them. Burnett says that, as a designer:

‘I get stuck and unstuck and stuck and unstuck all the time.

‘One of the most important ways to get unstuck is reframing. It’s one of our most powerful mindsets. Reframing also makes sure that we’re working on the right problem. Life design involves a lot of reframes that allow you to step back, examine your biases and open up new solution spaces. Reframing is essential to finding the right problems and the right solutions.’

When people are immersed in challenges, they may be telling themselves a particular story about what’s happening—often these stories are characterised by self-blame, guilt, frustration and feeling of overwhelm. The problem or issue may feel all-encompassing and it can be difficult to gain perspective or notice anything positive.

In these contexts, inviting people to reframe or notice moments of joy or meaning beyond the situation must be done gently and respectfully, as future-focused thinking can feel unsafe or even impossible when basic needs are not met.

At the same time, sometimes giving people permission to imagine a future—however tentative—can be profoundly empowering. Techniques such as reframing, noticing strengths, and gently exploring values can help people move from a sense of being trapped to a sense of possibility.

As practitioners, we are not immune to life stressors and challenges. Educators, social workers and psychologists are often weighed down by funding requirements, curriculum demands, and bureaucratic processes that reinforce ‘to-do list’ thinking. This can make it difficult for us to step back, reflect, and reconnect with why we do this work in the first place.

When we get caught up in this type of thinking, it can be difficult to give the people we work alongside the time, space, and permission to take a step back and explore what makes life meaningful for them, where they find peace, connection and hope, and how they can invite these things into their lives more.

This is why it’s important we create the time and space for ourselves to step back from institutional or bureaucratic thinking, and bring some ‘design thinking’ into our own lives. Not only for the wellbeing of our students and clients, but also to enhance our own sense of wellbeing.

imagining a future

One way design thinking can be applied sensitively is through the development of a ‘picture of the future.’

This might involve using miracle questions like, ‘If you woke up tomorrow and everything was exactly how you’d like it to be, what would be different? What would you notice? What would other people notice about you?’

Or it might be taking people through a Five Column Process to enable them to start to build a hopeful plan for moving forward, focussing on where they are now, where they would like to be, what their strengths are, what’s getting in the way and what could help.

Rather than setting rigid goals, this approach encourages curiosity: If things were a little better, what might be different? What would you notice first?

This shift—from outcomes to direction, from certainty to exploration—can help people reconnect with hope without feeling pressured to have everything figured out.

in what ways can we ‘design our lives’?

When people are feeling stuck or considering change, design thinking principles can be applied in small, practical ways.

At its core is the recognition that while we cannot control everything, we do have choices—how we think, how we respond emotionally, how we interpret events, and what actions we take next. Even small choices can accumulate over time.

Reframing by questioning the stories we tell ourselves and examining where they came from is a powerful part of this process. Asking questions such as—Is this belief true? How do I know? Who taught me this? What alternative story might be more helpful?—can open up new possibilities.

Design thinking also encourages experimentation. Rather than making dramatic changes, people can ‘try things on.’ Talking to someone who works in an area of interest, sitting in on a class, shadowing someone for a day, watching videos, reading, or volunteering can provide valuable information without the pressure to commit or perform.

Another useful practice is noticing what already brings meaning, joy, hope, or awe. Over the course of a week, people can record moments—large or small—that feel nourishing. Once these patterns are visible, it becomes easier to intentionally create more space for them.

Clarifying values is also central. Using tools such as the ‘5 whys’ can help people move beyond surface goals to understand what truly motivates them. Values provide a stable anchor when people’s circumstances are unstable or uncertain.

Finally, identifying strengths can help restore perspective. Noticing what we are good at, what others appreciate about us, and what helps us feel engaged and connected can counteract the deficit-focused narratives many people carry.

limitations and ethical considerations

While design thinking offers useful tools, it is not a solution to systemic inequality, trauma, or mental illness. There is a risk of individualising problems that are structural in nature or implying a level of control that people simply do not have.

Design thinking must therefore be applied with care, humility, and consent.

Used well, design thinking is not about fixing people or forcing optimism. It is a flexible framework that can support reflection, agency, and meaning—when, and only when, people are ready.

one final thought …

Perhaps the most helpful way to think about ‘designing your life’ in human services contexts is not about creating a master plan, but instead, cultivating curiosity, compassion, and responsiveness—for ourselves and for the people we support.

Design thinking, at its best, reminds us that lives are not problems to be solved, but stories that continue to unfold.

By Sue King-Smith

When Jacqueline Hautot talks about primary prevention, she reaches for the clearest picture she can find: the ambulance at the bottom of the waterfall. Response services save lives after the fall; prevention is about moving upstream to understand why people fall in the first place. In the context of family and gender‑based violence, that means addressing the underlying drivers early—long before stereotypes harden and power imbalances calcify.

‘We operate from Our Watch’s Change the Story framework,’ Jacqueline explains. ‘We know gender inequality is the key driver, and stereotypes are the piece we work with most in early years.’

from a link list to a movement

Level Playground didn’t arrive fully formed. It began in 2018 as a practical response to a practical problem.

‘There was lots of good material out there on promoting gender equity with young children,’ Jacqueline says, ‘but educators and families didn’t have time to sift through it.’

The team at FVREE (Free from Family Violence) created an online hub and social channels to curate what mattered, then noticed the gaps—and started filling them. Fact sheets, posters, training. A newsletter. Partnerships with councils, community health services, libraries and playgroups. Everywhere young children gather, Level Playground tries to show up with useful, doable ideas.

That community‑first approach is woven through FVREE’s broader mandate. As the specialist family violence service for Melbourne’s Eastern Metropolitan Region—spanning seven local government areas—FVREE provides response and recovery services and houses a small, ‘mighty’ prevention and early intervention team, that Jacqueline is a part of. Prevention is not an add‑on; it is an essential lane on the same road.

why early years? because stereotypes are formed early.

Ask any early childhood educator: kids are meaning‑makers. By preschool, many already hold surprisingly rigid ideas about what boys and girls ‘should’ wear, or do. The consequences are not abstract. Stereotypes constrict play, narrow skills, and limit future options; over time, they also reinforce unequal power dynamics and expectations—the soil in which violence grows.

As Jacqueline says, Level Playground’s agenda has two main aims. ‘To open up possibilities for every child, and bring about generational change.’

Conversations about gender are increasingly visible in early years settings, and educators are often the trusted adults who hear disclosures about family violence from parents or children. With that visibility comes pushback, particularly from parents.

Level Playground doesn’t shy away. Jacqueline says their advice is deceptively simple and deeply relational. ‘Make time for the conversation; be curious rather than critical; and look for shared values, because most parents want the same thing: more options for their child, not less.

‘Gender equality isn’t about taking anything away,’ she says. ‘It’s about breaking down stereotypes so all children can explore who they are.’

the turning point: a plastic tub that became an essential kit

In 2019, a small community grant from Yarra Ranges Council seeded a pilot: a ‘gender equity tub’ that services could borrow for a term. Educators told the team what would actually help in classrooms and homes; Level Playground listened.

Demand for the tubs was way higher than they expected and the team quickly realised they needed to rethink the model. The result of that pivot is the Gender Equity Resource Kit: a comprehensive package of resources designed with and for educators, and refined through years of consultation.

‘We only put it on sale last year,’ Jacqueline says. ‘It’s been a long time in the making, and very much shaped by the people who use it.’

What’s inside (and why it matters)

The kit is satisfyingly tangible. ‘Five or six kilos,’ Jacqueline jokes, ‘about the same as my cat.’ But its weight is not the point; its architecture is. Seven posters anchor everyday messages—Emotions are for everyone; Colours are for everyone; Activities are for everyone—so children see inclusion on the walls, not just hear it in a lesson.

A whole‑of‑service handbook helps leaders embed equity across policies, environments and practice, ensuring the work survives timetable changes and staff turnover. A communications plan anticipates parent questions and equips educators to explain the ‘why’ with confidence. And twelve lesson plans—aligned with the Early Years Learning and Development Framework and the National Quality Standard—translate principles into playful, developmentally appropriate activities any educator can run.

Books are the beating heart. The kit includes durable picture books plus a set by Australian author Jayneen Sanders on consent, body safety and equality—titles chosen because stories are a gentle way to talk about fairness, feelings and friendship. There are emotion cards and play cards, too, so children can name what they feel and try what they haven’t yet tried. Every element is designed to slot into a real day in a real room, among glue sticks, sandpits and snack time.

practice, not prescription

Level Playground’s philosophy is pragmatic: make the inclusive choice the easy choice.

A favourite activity asks children to sort toys: ‘Is this for girls? Boys? Or everyone?’

‘At first, many preschool-age kids choose rigidly,’ Jacqueline explains. ‘After discussion—sharing what they enjoy and noticing friends’ choices—the penny drops. All toys are for everyone. It’s a small classroom moment with a big ripple: a new idea goes home in a backpack, retold at dinner and lived in play.’

Libraries have become unexpected allies. With targeted professional development, librarians used the kit to run gender equity‑themed storytimes during the 16 Days of Activism—sessions that some staff say they wouldn’t have felt confident to offer before. The format is simple: a themed book or two, a ‘colours are for everyone’ message, some dancing with bright scarves. The impact? Positive feedback from families—including a grandparent who left with ‘something to think about’. The team has since built a library‑specific version of the kit, because meeting communities where they already gather matters.

a personal lens on possibility

Jacqueline’s own parenting offered a humbling reminder of how environment shapes choice. When her son arrived years after her daughter, many of the ‘traditionally feminine’ dress‑ups and toys lived in his sister’s room—out of reach and out of sight.

‘Simply moving them into a shared space unlocked new play,’ she says.

Today, dress‑ups are a favourite with her son. The story underscores a broader cultural asymmetry: we readily cheer girls into ‘boyish’ pursuits; we still hesitate to nudge boys toward the full palette of colour, care and creativity. The work ahead includes closing that gap—with patience, playfulness, and invitations rather than edicts.

from posters on the wall to patterns in the world

It’s tempting to see the Gender Equity Resource Kit as a box of beautiful things (which it is) and stop there. But the kit’s deeper promise is cultural: to help adults curate daily micro‑moments that widen the world for children—moments that tell them emotions are human, not gendered; that curiosity outruns conformity; that possibility belongs to them.

In Jacqueline’s words, ‘It’s not about taking away—it’s more options, more opportunities. The and, not the or.’

Level Playground started as a list of online links. Today, it’s a living practice across classrooms, libraries and lounge rooms. Equality from the start isn’t just a slogan; it’s a series of choices we make with and for children, every day. And with this kit built by educators, for educators, those choices just got a lot easier.

by John Holton

Alice Peel had tried all sorts of ways to start conversations with kids about mental health and resilience. But the day she walked into a primary school classroom with a bag of toy animals, everything shifted.

‘Within minutes, the students were animated,’ she says, ‘leaning in, connecting dots, telling stories about their ‘barking guard dogs’ and ‘forgetful elephants’.

Alice knew she had found it—the thing that had been missing from years of teaching children wellbeing strategies: story.

That moment, humble and unplanned, would become the seed of Grow Your Mind—a social venture now supporting hundreds of schools, thousands of families, and an ever‑expanding global community hungry for resources that help children understand themselves, tolerate discomfort, and cultivate joy.

But the real story doesn’t begin in a classroom. It begins in the Northern Territory.

Public health, drums, and the ‘joy factor’

Alice’s pathway into wellbeing work stretches back to her university days studying public health. She was fascinated by prevention—how small interventions early in life could shift long‑term outcomes. Her first job in Darwin with Anglicare was a crash course in meeting young people where they are.

Working with a group of young Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander pregnant teenagers, she quickly realised that wellbeing couldn’t be delivered through boring lessons or information pamphlets. The girls were yawning through nutrition talks. They needed connection. They needed joy.

‘So, I started Mums with Drums,’ she recalls, ‘a drumming group that travelled all the way to Brisbane’s Dreaming Festival.’

Terrified and frozen in the Brisbane “cold”, the girls wouldn’t speak until Alice pulled out a tattered deck of Strength Cards she’d packed as an afterthought.

‘Suddenly they were alive,’ she says. ‘Each girl named a strength she’d need to get through the next few days. The shift was instant. The girls carried those strengths like talismans, returning to them whenever fear threatened to take over.’

It was a pivotal moment. Joy + strengths + story. A formula she didn’t yet realise would define her future work.

Becoming a teacher… finding the real work

Later, Alice became a teacher and landed what she describes as an ‘awesome job’ at Gawura, an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander school in Sydney. But while she loved the students, her interests skewed away from literacy and numeracy and toward the state of each child as a human being.

Alice discovered the questions she really cared about were things like: ‘Have you eaten breakfast today?’ ‘How are you feeling?’ and ‘What’s going on at home?’ Since the school didn’t have a wellbeing program, she was asked to create one.

Her first attempt—the Dolphin Project, based on the idea of ‘dolphin thinking’ versus ‘shark thoughts’—was promising but missing something. She returned to postgraduate studies in positive psychology, ready to come back and ignite classrooms with her new knowledge.

The kids were unimpressed.

‘They were so bored,’ she laughs. ‘It was devastating.’

So, she tried something radically simple. She brought in animals.

Guard dogs, wise owls, and sensitive octopuses

With the support of neuroscientist Dr Sarah Mackay, Alice designed a cast of animal characters embodying core brain functions. The amygdala became a barking guard dog. The prefrontal cortex became a wise owl. The insular cortex became a colour‑changing sensitive octopus attuned to empathy and emotion.

The next day, she walked into class with her bag of animals. Instant magic.

‘The kids didn’t just listen—they leaned in,’ she says. ‘The story carried the science. The metaphor gave the strategies meaning. Suddenly, mindful breathing wasn’t “boring”—it was a way to calm your guard dog. Gratitude wasn’t abstract—it woke up your wise owl. Empathy became the octopus noticing when a friend’s colours changed.’

Parents and other teachers started sitting in on the lessons. Alice had found a language children understood.

The birth of a social venture

Among the parents captivated by Alice’s storytelling was Kristina Freeman, an acupuncturist who’d been experimenting with wellbeing kits for her own young children. She’d noticed the teens she treated could talk endlessly about exercise and sleep, but froze when asked about joy.

During a walk with Alice one day, she made a suggestion: ‘Why don’t we create a social venture together?’

The two women pooled their talents: Kristina’s business and social acumen and Alice’s educational vision.

From a small bag of animals emerged a rapidly expanding wellbeing program, now used in hundreds of schools. And as it grew, Alice kept asking the same question: ‘How do we keep this engaging and real for kids?’

The answer arrived—unexpectedly—in the form of a global pandemic.

A podcast for a planet in lockdown

Grow Your Mind already offered free resources, but Alice believed they could have a bigger reach. So, she gathered their most essential wellbeing concepts and recorded six episodes of a children’s mental‑health podcast—scripted with students, recorded in cupboards and improvised studios, created on zero budget.

Then COVID hit.

‘The timing was fascinating,’ Alice says. ‘Suddenly children everywhere needed support navigating fear, uncertainty, and isolation. The final episode of that first season, The Perfect Antidote, centred on hope—what you can control when the world feels uncontrollable.’

The podcast took off. Each year since, the Grow Your Mind team has built new seasons inspired by real letters from kids and teachers.

And that’s when a publisher came knocking.

How to be a good enough kid

A publisher had heard the podcast and made a simple request: ‘Can you make a book?’ Alice knew her title instantly.

How to Be a Good Enough Kid is both a wink and a warm invitation—an antidote to perfectionism in a culture obsessed with excellence. Its premise: life isn’t about mastery. It’s about trying. Failing. Trying again. Learning how to repair after mistakes. Building character strengths instead of chasing trophies.

Alice hopes the title disarms young readers—and their parents.

I wanted people to relax, maybe even laugh,’ she says. ‘This isn’t about being the best kid. It’s about being a human.’

The book is designed to be dipped into. Feel lonely? Jump to the chapter on friendships and longevity. Hate reading? Start with the wacky comics where an octopus eats its boyfriend. Need a reset? Use your ‘gratitude hand’—five fingers, five things going right.

It’s all anchored in the same philosophy that began with those animals: give kids stories, and they’ll give you themselves.

Why it all works

Grow Your Mind’s work is grounded in a simple truth: children—and adults—learn best through story, metaphor, and lived modelling. You can lecture a child on resilience, or you can show them how to breathe when you’re stuck in traffic. You can tell them to seek joy, or you can let them see you snorkelling, painting, reading, laughing.

‘Kids buy in if we live the strategies,’ Alice says.

Her call to parents is just as clear: help your kids develop resilience not by removing discomfort, but by asking better questions.

Not What did you achieve today? but Who did you help today? Who was kind to you? What joy did you make time for?

‘These are the metrics of a well‑lived life’, Alice reminds us.

A movement rooted in humanity

Grow Your Mind began as two women trying to make wellbeing interesting. Today it’s a program, a podcast, a book, a movement.

But at its heart, it remains exactly what it was in that first classroom:
A story.
A wise owl.
A barking guard dog.
A sensitive octopus noticing when a friend needs help.

A reminder that being ‘good enough’ is more than enough.

by John Holton

Practitioner, Rohan Souter, describes spiritual care as the space where questions of meaning, identity, connection and belonging find a home.

When Rohan Souter walks into a room, he brings more than just his guitar and a folder of song lyrics. He brings presence. He brings curiosity. And he brings a deep reverence for human stories—especially those that are still unfolding.

Recently recognised with the Best of Care award at the Spiritual Care Australia National Conference, Rohan’s work as Bendigo Health’s Spiritual Care Practitioner in Mental Health is not only appreciated—it’s celebrated. The award honours excellence in spiritual care practice, and Rohan’s nomination was backed by heartfelt testimonials from colleagues and clients alike.

‘He’s one in a million,’ said one. ‘Rohan’s a legend,’ said another.

But behind the accolades is a story of a man whose path into spiritual care was anything but linear.

‘I was a country boy originally,’ Rohan reflects. ‘I’ve had a varied career—music, theatre, teaching. I taught English as a second language, worked with people with disabilities. But I always felt drawn to the personal and interpersonal growth of the people I worked with. That’s where the real stuff is.’

That ‘real stuff’ eventually led him into the world of spiritual care—a space where questions of meaning, identity, connection and belonging are not only welcomed, but central.

‘My earlier life was full of doubt and confusion,’ he says, ‘trying to understand my place in the world, human relationships, my inner landscape. Now I’m in a role that’s all about addressing people’s existential material.’

In mental health settings, those questions often come to the surface in raw and powerful ways.

‘People say, “I know who I was once upon a time, but all this stuff’s happened … and I’m in a place of great disillusionment.” My role is to gently hold space for those reflections. What’s brought you to this place of crisis? And what’s the potential for growth here?’

Rohan’s approach is deeply person-centred, and his practice is infused with humility, humour and heart. He’s not there to prescribe meaning, but to help people uncover their own.

‘I think when people hear “spiritual care” they expect the finger of God to come down at any moment,’ he laughs. ‘But I’m a very errant sheep, I suppose. My filter is my gut and my heart. If it feels right, I trust it.’

That openness is reflected in his use of Innovative Resources’ card sets—especially The Bears, Signposts, and Everyday Strengths.

‘They’re a key part of what I do each week,’ he says. ‘We usually start our groups with meditation—just observing thoughts and sensations. Then The Bears come out. They change the whole vibe in the room. They’re disarming, they don’t take themselves too seriously.’

Participants are invited to choose cards that reflect where they’re at, and then share—if they wish.

‘We’re not here to fix each other,’ Rohan explains. ‘We’re here to experience the magic that happens when we trust in our own capacity to unfold. The Bears help us do that. There’s no prescription.’

The sessions often end with Everyday Strengths, especially when tenderness is in the air.

‘They’re so affirming and safe,’ he says. ‘They help create a warm, nurturing feeling to close the group.’

Music also plays a central role in Rohan’s practice. Every Wednesday, he runs a music group in the acute unit.

‘We have songbooks, people choose a song, we sing, and they talk about why it’s relevant. Music taps into the whole person—the heart, the gut, the nervous system. It operates in that liminal space where the ordinary meets the extraordinary.’

He recalls a moment when a former patient approached him after a session.

‘He said, “I want to apologise. I wasn’t as evolved last time we met. I see things differently now.” Then he said something about the shape of my face and how he could tell I was evolved. It was just so beautiful. He was offering me a truer reflection of my esteem. That’s the kind of sacredness that can happen.’

Rohan’s pathway into spiritual care was shaped by his own journey and a commitment to personal growth. He completed Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), a rigorous process involving hospital placements, peer reflection, and supervision.

‘It’s very deep work,’ he says. ‘It’s about developing awareness of Self and the capacity to sit with another person and honour their unfolding.’

At Bendigo Health, spiritual care is professionalised and integrated into the broader health system. Practitioners undergo the same induction as other staff and are selected based on their qualifications and CPE training. Rohan’s role is unique—he’s the only full-time spiritual care practitioner in the mental health unit, a position created and funded by the unit itself.

‘I have a lot of autonomy,’ he says. ‘I waltz in and out. I run groups, respond to referrals, and maintain a presence in the inpatient units.’

His collaborative approach is widely appreciated. He’s in regular contact with the Aboriginal Health Liaison team and works alongside colleagues from diverse religious backgrounds.

‘I always seek to promote spiritual care as an equal and essential partner in holistic health care.’

Rohan’s reflections on the broader mental health landscape are both poetic and provocative.

‘We’re meeting people at a place where the ordinary meets the extraordinary, where the “sane” meets the unexpected. If we had a more imaginative health system, would we be supporting people in more spiritual, emotional, creative ways?’

He sees the current mental health crisis as a symptom of a deeper societal malaise.

‘We live in a reductionist, materialistic society,’ Rohan says. ‘The one with the most toys wins. It’s ridiculous. But I see beautiful compassion every day. And I sing the praises of Bendigo Health—I feel supported and trusted here.’

Self-care is an ongoing journey for Rohan.

‘I’m doing pretty well with meditation at the moment,’ he says. ‘My wife’s a great exemplar—she meditates two hours a day. Nature helps too. When I take leave, I need time to decompress before I can really rest.’

Ultimately, Rohan’s work is about honouring the living human document—the person’s own story.

‘It’s not the Bible. It’s not the Koran. It’s the person’s narrative. And our capacity to be with that and honour it.’

In a world that often rushes to fix, Rohan Souter reminds us of the power of presence, the beauty of listening, and the healing that can happen when we simply hold space.

By John Holton

Featured resources:

The Bears

Signposts

Everyday Strengths

Supervision is an important part of any human services role—whether it be as the supervisor or supervisee—but not every experience is positive. Clinical supervisor, Jess Marsh, has developed a way to make supervision a safe, creative and unique experience for everyone involved.

When Jess Marsh first stepped into a leadership role, she did what many do—she figured it out as she went. Like countless professionals thrust into supervisory positions, she hadn’t experienced good supervision herself, let alone clinical supervision.

‘I remember thinking, what am I even meant to be doing?’ she recalls. ‘I struggled a lot with imposter syndrome and just hoped I was doing a good job.’

That early uncertainty planted the seeds for what would become a transformative journey—one that led Jess to develop a new approach to supervision, grounded in psychological safety, creativity, and deep listening. Today, she’s a counsellor, clinical supervisor, and the creator of the Supervision Menu, a flexible framework that’s helping practitioners across the sector rethink how they support each other.

Jess’s pathway to supervision

Jess’s turning point came during her time at the Australian Childhood Foundation, where she worked for four years.

‘I had brilliant supervision and a mentor who helped me discover who I am as a supervisor,’ she says.

That experience gave her the confidence to experiment with new ways of engaging her team. She noticed that how supervision began—whether with deep breaths, calming music, or a body scan—could set the tone for the entire session.

‘I had this moment of … there’s something here,’ she says. ‘It made me think, what if I had options people could choose from?’

That question led to the first version of the Supervision Menu—a rough draft, by her own admission, but one that laid the foundation for a more intentional, person-centred approach.

‘I wanted to connect with people based on what was happening for them that day,’ she explains. ‘Not just rely on talk-based strategies.’

The Supervision Menu: a framework for flexibility

The Supervision Menu is structured like a meal—entrée, main course, dessert—with each section offering different ways to engage, reflect, and finish well. It’s designed to be fluid, adaptable, and responsive to the needs of both the supervisor and supervisee.

‘What works for one person doesn’t work for another,’ Jess says. ‘So, I always start with a supervision agreement. What’s worked for you before? What hasn’t? What kind of communication do you prefer?’

At the heart of the menu is the idea of psychological safety—creating a space where people feel held, heard, and empowered. Jess is clear: supervision should never be a space people dread.

‘Too often, supervision is used to tell people what they’re not doing,’ she says. ‘It becomes a task list, not a space to unpack what’s really going on.’

Instead, Jess sees supervision as a relational, creative act.

‘If the people I’m supporting feel safe and held, that translates into their practice,’ she says. ‘And their clients receive the best possible support.’

Cards on the table: Innovative Resources in practice

Jess’s approach is deeply informed by her love of Innovative Resources card sets.

‘I’m a bit of a fangirl,’ she laughs.

Over the years, she’s collected sets like The Bears, Body Signals, Strength Cards, and Picture This, using them to bring expressive and somatic strategies into supervision.

‘These cards help people make meaning of what’s happening for them,’ she explains. ‘Not just a debrief and a dump, but actually processing the work.’

In one group supervision session with a youth mentoring service, Jess used The Bears cards to help participants reflect on each other’s emotional states.

‘They were able to say, “I’ve noticed you’ve looked upset this week,” and have that conversation,’ she says. ‘It built connection and transparency.’

She also uses the cards digitally, integrating them into online sessions via Microsoft Whiteboard.

‘People can circle options, choose a card that represents their week, and we can explore that narrative together,’ she says.

Supervision as a creative act

Jess is passionate about making supervision a space for creativity and authenticity.

‘As adults, we sometimes shy away from creative approaches,’ she says. ‘There’s this idea that good supervision is just sitting in a room and talking. But so many people aren’t actually processing the work.’

The menu offers options, not prescriptions.

‘It doesn’t have to work for everybody,’ she says, ‘but it gives people the chance to try something different.’

That includes tailoring the menu to cultural contexts. Jess is deeply committed to working respectfully with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, adapting her approach based on the lands and traditions of her supervisees.

‘It might mean doing supervision out on Country,’ she says. ‘Or connecting in a different way.’

The menu includes a blank section for people to add their own ‘course’—whether they’re working in schools, allied health, LGBTQIA+ contexts, or community settings.

‘It’s about meeting the person in front of you,’ Jess says. ‘Culture has many layers, and we need to celebrate and integrate that into the work.’

Wellbeing as the final course

For Jess, supervision isn’t just about professional development—it’s about wellbeing.

‘Dessert is an important part of the menu,’ she says. ‘How do we finish well? Do you need a break? How do you orientate back into your workspace?’

She’s seen firsthand how burnout affects frontline workers, especially nurses and teachers.

‘I’d love to see the stats on whether adequate supervision could reduce burnout and vicarious trauma,’ she says, ‘because in my private practice, a lot of my counselling clients are nurses and teachers.’

Jess believes everyone deserves good supervision.

‘It’s about being authentic,’ she says. ‘Not just booking a random time between meetings. How do we keep this person well?’

BeWith: A philosophy of presence

Jess’s private practice is called BeWith, a name that reflects her philosophy of being alongside people on their journey.

‘Supervisees know they have you holding them through it,’ she says. ‘They don’t have to figure it out alone.’

She often quotes Lisa Dion: “You are the best tool in the workshop.” For Jess, the relationship and rapport between supervisor and supervisee are the most important resources.

‘Yes, the cards and the menu can complement the work,’ she says, ‘but you are the key resource.’

The Supervision Menu is more than a tool—it’s an invitation to rethink how we show up for each other. It’s a reminder that supervision can be spacious, creative, and deeply human. And it’s a testament to Jess Marsh’s belief that when we feel safe, we can do our best work.

By John Holton

To purchase the Supervision Menu

Why are we so drawn to water?

Is it because water is full of emotions? Constantly changing—from solid, liquid, to gas, from gentle to raging— water can be easily drawn on as a metaphor for feelings and life challenges.

Is it because our need for water is something that connects every living thing so it has become a symbol of interconnectedness, growth, and renewal?

Is it because water is a source of beauty and intrigue, with poets and artists endlessly fascinated by its nuances and hidden depths?

There are so many reasons we might link water with our wellbeing and sense of connection to the world. Perhaps, most fundamentally, we are between 50-75% water ourselves (depending on our age and gender). Our bodies are linked to all other ‘bodies’ of water in the world, due to the tidal pull of the moon and the fact that water is also essential to most animals and plants.

The idea that we are made of water becomes tangible when we breathe on a cold morning—our breath full of moisture. Or when we sweat in the heat.

We can only survive for a short time without water. In many ways, then, our sense of existential fragility arises out of our relationship with water.

Let’s explore what water means for us as humans in a bit more depth.

Water as emotion

We often use water metaphors to describe emotions.

Roaring oceans, raging rivers, rips that drag us under, storms, soaring, pounding surf, reflect our intense or powerful emotions.

Calm forest pools, trickling water features, misty mornings, represent peace, calm and tranquillity. We may use a soundtrack of the ocean or rain to lull ourselves to sleep.

Rainy days are often described as miserable. Dark clouds are often used to describe depression or sadness. When we can’t get our thoughts together, we describe our brains as being foggy. When we feel stuck or overwhelmed, we may describe ourselves as stagnating, wading through mud, or drowning.

The phrase ‘cold as ice’ is often used to describe someone who lacks empathy.

Water is capable of great patience, for example, it can carve canyons, ravines and river valleys. And is there anything more marvellous than the way stalactites and stalagmites are formed by water droplets over tens of thousands, or even millions, of years?

In a very physical sense, when we are feeling emotional, tears appear—of sadness, laughter, anger or pain.

We also talk about feelings as coming in waves, ebbing and flowing.

No matter our culture or geographical location, we all have a relationship with water. You might try to explore the symbolism of water yourself or with clients or students, as a creative activity in a classroom, or as a personal reflective activity.

You could ask (yourself or others):

If you were to describe what kind of body of water you are right now, what would it be (a gathering storm, a gentle river, a drought-struck dam, a frozen lake, an ocean current)?
What would you like to be (a pond full of water lilies, a white-water river, a glacier, a small stream)?
Would being around water help you create a sense of wellbeing?
How might you spend some time around water this holiday season

Water as healing

While spending time in green spaces has been shown to improve mental health and wellbeing, there is more and more research into the impact of blue spaces on wellness.

Elle Hunt argues in her article in The Guardian titled, ‘Blue spaces: why time spent near water is the secret of happiness’,

‘The benefits of “blue space”—the sea and coastline, but also rivers, lakes, canals, waterfalls, even fountains—are less well publicised, yet the science has been consistent for at least a decade: being by water is good for body and mind.’

Referring to research by White, she notes,

‘… time in and around aquatic environments has consistently been shown to lead to significantly higher benefits, in inducing positive mood and reducing negative mood and stress, than green space does.’

There is an increasing body of research in this space, which is both fascinating and hopeful.

All over the world, mineral springs have long been seen as places of healing. From Egypt’s Bahariya Oasis to Pamukkale in Türkiye (a UNESCO World Heritage Site, people have been using hot springs for healing for millennia. We also use water for healing in simple ways, like putting an ice pack on a sprained ankle, using ice baths after sport, or sitting in steaming saunas that relax tight muscles and release toxins.

The sound of water has also long been associated with contributing to a calming, meditative state of mind. For example we listen to the sound of waves to help us sleep, and the gentle patter of rain is often described as peaceful and cosy.

On the flip side, dehydration, i.e. a lack of water, has been linked to lack of energy, increased irritability, headaches, low mood, anxiety and it can even impact on brain structure and function in people with long term dehydration.

In an article in The Conversation, titled, Water really can provide some relief from anxiety and help us see the glass half full, they summarise research in the field of nutritional psychology, noting:

‘Overall, negative emotions such as anger, hostility, confusion and tension as well as fatigue were found to increase with dehydration.’

Dehydration has also been linked to lower serotonin uptake and increased cortisol levels, both of which can contribute to increased anxiety. Even mild dehydration (1–2%) can impair concentration, memory, and mood. It has also been linked to poorer sleep.

The good news is that the research also finds that increasing water intake, no mater how much you normally drink can increase a sense of wellbeing.

Of course, for millions of people around the world, poor water quality can be a source of diseases such as cholera, diarrhoea, dysentery, hepatitis A, typhoid and polio.

According to the World Health Organization,

In 2021, over 2 billion people lived in water-stressed countries, which is expected to be exacerbated in some regions as result of climate change and population growth (1).
In 2022, globally, at least 1.7 billion people used a drinking water source contaminated with faeces.

With so many people in the world not having access to good quality drinking water, water is also a social justice issue

Water as connection

Rivers, oceans, lakes, and other bodies of water can be understood as connectors between communities and geographical locations. In fact, for thousands of years, our maps used to be based on waterways rather than land routes.

In Robert MacFarlane’s wonderful book, The Old Ways, he invites us to re-imagine the history of Europe…

‘…blank out the land interiors of these countries—consider them featureless, as you might previously have considered the sea. Instead, populate the western and northern waters with paths and tracks, a travel system that joins port to port, island to island, headland to headland, river mouth, to river mouth. The sea has become the land…’

Various consequences follow from this way of thinking. We no longer imagine land borders or nation states, since communities are connected via water rather than land. He also notes that these old ‘sea roads are dissolving paths whose passage leave no trace beyond a wake…’ even if the road has been a sea route for 5000 years, which means they are ephemeral, like a ghost network connecting the world.

Nowhere is our socio-cultural dependence on water more evident than in Egypt. All culture and community is along the Nile, as it has been for thousands of year. According to National Geographic, the entire Nile River basin—made up of interconnected streams, lakes and rivers—threads its way through 11 African countries. Being the last country on the river, Egyptians are dependent on good relationships with all of these countries for water, food, and continued existence.

The Social Life of Water, edited by John Richard Wagner, describes how every community organises itself in relation to water. Humans need a stable source of water for drinking, growing, hygiene, social gatherings, food, supporting livestock, fishing. From ancient times, water has been central in our communities. In contemporary society, water has become a commodity that is becoming more scarce in many parts of the world. In others, they risk being overwhelmed by rising waters, unseasonal storms, and wild weather resulting from climate change.

Immersing ourselves in water can also generate a sense of connection to the natural world. When we are submerged, our whole body is being held by the water – it lifts us up, surrounds us, skin on skin. This can feel nurturing and deeply connecting. The dampening of sound under water can create a sense of womblike peace and serenity.

Water as spirit

Many religions and spiritual systems see water as sacred.

For example. First Nations Australians have always treasured, sacred for a respected the value of water:

‘Water is core to life for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. Protecting and managing water is a custodial and intergenerational responsibility. If the cultural and spiritual values of water are sustained by providing water that is sufficient in both quantity and quality, then many other components of Indigenous life will be healthy.

‘Cultural and spiritual values may relate to a range of uses and issues, including spiritual relationships, language, song lines, stories, sacred places, customary use, the plants and animals associated with water, drinking water, and recreational or commercial activities.’

At the Indigenous Climate Hub, they say:

‘Water is more than a chemical compound of hydrogen and oxygen; it is the essence of life itself. Indigenous cultures worldwide, especially those residing along the interior rivers, bays, lakes and coastal regions, have long recognized water as a living entity imbued with spirit, agency, and autonomy. This understanding transcends metaphor—it is rooted in an intimate observation of nature and a profound respect for water’s role as the life-giver and decision-maker for all beings on Mother Earth.’

The wonderful First Nations poet and biologist, Robin Wall Kimmerer, describes how, for First Nations peoples of North America, including her own Citizen Potawatomi Nation, many words that are nouns (or things) in English, are actually verbs (or actions) in her native language, especially water. In her deeply poetic and soulful book, Braiding Sweetgrass, she says,

‘A bay is a noun only if water is dead. When bay is a noun, it is defined by humans, trapped between its shores and contained by the word. But the verb wiikwegamaa—to be a bay—releases the water from bondage and lets it live. “To be a bay” holds the wonder that, for this moment, the living water has decided to shelter itself between these shores, conversing with cedar roots and a flock of baby mergansers. Because it could do otherwise—become a stream or an ocean or a waterfall, and there are verbs for that, too. To be a hill, to be a sandy beach, to be a Saturday, all are possible verbs in a world where everything is alive.

‘Water, land, and even a day, the language a mirror for seeing the animacy of the world, the life that pulses through all things, through pines and nuthatches and mushrooms. This is the language I hear in the woods; this is the language that lets us speak of what wells up all around us.[…] This is the grammar of animacy.’

Taoism often uses the image of water to describe the passing of time and the ephemeral nature of reality. As Lau Tzu describes:

‘Water is fluid, soft, and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield. As a rule, whatever is fluid, soft, and yielding will overcome whatever is rigid and hard. This is another paradox: what is soft is strong.’

Water also has sacred symbolic dimensions in Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism.

Thinking about your spiritual tradition, what does water represent?

Water as a source of mystery and awe

Our oceans contain some of the last unmapped environments on Earth. As of June 2025 27.3% of the global seafloor had been mapped. As such, oceans are liminal, largely unknown places.

They are mysterious, full of alien entities, light-generating sci fi creatures that feel like dream creatures. This can generate a sense of fear, wonder, curiosity, and awe.

The oceans also cover around 70% of the earth, which means we actually know very little about our planet, despite our sense that as humans that we are knowledgeable, informed, scientific, beings.

Looking out over the ocean from high places or a plane can induce a sense of awe. Awe is an emotion that encourages us to see our smallness and fragility, which can, in turn, create a sense of perspective, humility and gratitude. Experiences of awe have been shown to increase our wellbeing in a range of ways.

Seek out some awe during the holiday season and notice how your mood changes.

How to draw on water’s nuanced and powerful qualities this holiday season

This holiday season, maybe carve out some time to spend in your favourite manifestation of water. Sit under a sprinkler on a hot day; go for a paddle in a canoe; relax on a lilo, a tube, or just in floaties; sit on a river bank and go fishing; have a gelato or a water gun fight; dig your toes in sand and let seawater tickle through your toes; or dive into the shocking cold of a swimming pool. If you’re in the northern hemisphere, build a snow man, take a hot bath, or jump in some winter puddles.

Here are a few other ideas for reconnecting with water:

Go snorkelling, scuba diving, in a glass bottom boat or to an aquarium and be awed by the creatures that live beneath the ocean.
Staring at water can have the same calming effect as staring at fire. Find a mesmerising body of water—maybe a small waterfall, a pond, or a water feature in a garden—and take some time to sit and absorb the sounds of the water. Meditate on the animals that depend on it, and notice your own breath gently coming and going. Try to connect with your heartbeat—how do the rhythms of your heart connect with the rhythms of the water?
Go to a mineral spring and soak in their healing waters.
Spend some time in a hot tub, hot shower, or sauna.
Get a fishtank. Research has shown that being around these small aquatic spaces has positive impacts on people in aged care facilities.
Hike to a high point at dawn or dusk and marvel at the vastness and beauty of the ocean.
Watch birds playing in a birdbath – enjoy their joy and irreverence.
Feel invigorated! Alternating between hot and cold water can give bring you alive—as Scandinavians have known for centuries, with their sauna then cold plunge. In Australia, you may get a similar experience at the southern beaches in summer, when on a 40-degree day, you jump into the freezing Antarctic waters of the ocean.
Observe droplets of water on a flower or insects flitting across a pond – noticing the micro can help us appreciate the small moments of wonder all around us, which can increase our sense of connectedness and joy.
Make a conscious decision to focus on staying hydrated—you might be surprised how it lifts your mood and energy levels.
Go to a stream and meditate on how the water moves around obstacles. It isn’t judgemental, it is flexible. How could you be less judgemental, go with the flow, move around immovable object?

How will you enjoy water this holiday season?

By Sue King-Smith

Innovative Resources is thrilled to announce the release of a new edition of Note to self, a beautifully reimagined card set that has been helping people navigate life’s challenges for more than 15 years.

Created by author and founder of Seeker & Sage, Gena McLean, this updated edition brings fresh energy to a timeless resource—with all-new artwork, revised questions and statements, and a thoughtfully crafted digital booklet to guide your journey.

Note to self is a set of 24, full colour illustrated cards featuring more than 70 powerful, hopeful, and sometimes challenging questions. These questions are designed to be catalysts for change—to help unlock our inner strengths, shift perspectives, and make meaningful choices. Whether you’re facing a difficult moment, seeking clarity, or simply wanting to deepen your self-awareness, these cards offer powerful ‘notes to self’ to support your journey.

The new edition is steeped in the principles of choice theory and strengths-based practice, making it an ideal companion for counsellors, social workers, life coaches, and mental health practitioners. But its reach goes far beyond professional settings. Note to self is equally powerful for journalling, personal reflection, or simply as a daily reminder that we always have choices—even when life feels overwhelming.

Each card is paired with three thought-provoking questions, encouraging deeper exploration; prompts that invite us to pause, reflect and reconnect with what truly matters.

‘Note to self is about using encouraging and supportive self-talk,’ Gena explains. ‘It provides the opportunity for us to be kind, compassionate and forgiving toward ourselves and others and promotes responsibility through acceptance and respect. It helps us resume control when we feel like we have none. And it offers hope.’

The first card in the set—I have choices—is the foundation of the entire deck. It’s a gentle but powerful reminder that even when we can’t change what’s happening around us, we can always choose how we respond.

Another important note to self—I am a work in progress—offers a compassionate nudge to embrace the journey, imperfections and all. These cards aren’t just affirmations—they’re invitations to explore, to question, and to grow.

Like all Innovative Resources card sets, this new edition of Note to self also includes a digital version of the cards and booklet, plus access to an online toolbox full of extras—making it easier than ever to integrate into your personal or professional practice. Whether you’re working one-on-one with clients, facilitating group sessions, or simply journalling at home, Note to self is designed to meet you where you are.

The artwork in this edition is by long-time Innovative Resources collaborator, Katie Jardine, whose illustrations have brought warmth, whimsy and emotional depth to beloved sets like Strength Cards and Anxiety Solutions for Kids. Katie’s intuitive, playful style has helped thousands of people around the world connect with their strengths and emotions, and her contribution to Note to self adds a fresh layer of creativity and heart.

Katie’s journey with Innovative Resources began almost 20 years ago with a serendipitous encounter at a central Victorian printing press. She brings a whole new look and illustrative style to Note to self, built around collage, watercolour, line drawings and an ingenious use of text as image.

Now a primary school teacher, Katie brings a deep understanding of emotional literacy and creative expression to her work, both in the classroom and in her art.

‘I love to be creative and make something out of nothing,’ Katie says. ‘It isn’t always drawings, but sometimes creating with clay, sticks, string or wire. I enjoy the process—not knowing what might appear.’

As Gena reflects on the journey of creating Note to self, she feels a sense of both nostalgia and pride.

‘It’s over 15 years since the first edition hit the shelves,’ she says. ‘But the wisdom and learning that exists within the cards still rings true.’

‘The phrase “note to self” was originally about those everyday mental reminders—”note to self … check the pockets next time!” or “note to self … leave ten minutes earlier!”’ Gena recalls.

‘If we can remind ourselves about the little things, I wondered, then what about the big things—the things that really matter?’

From that insight came a distillation of a 50,000-word book manuscript into 24 essential reminders—each one a lifeline for those navigating change, challenge, or simply the desire to grow. These cards are not just tools, but companions for the journey, helping us rewrite the scripts we’ve been living, one ‘note to self’ at a time.

Whether you’re a seasoned practitioner or someone seeking a little more clarity and kindness in your day-to-day life, the new edition of Note to self is a gentle yet powerful tool for transformation. It’s a reminder that we are all works in progress, and that every moment offers us the chance to reconnect with our values, our strengths, and our sense of purpose.

Note to self is available to purchase now!

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Our much-awaited Teacher Wellbeing Cards have hit the shelves!

And not before time. A recent 2023 national survey of 4000 teachers by the Black Dog Institute in Australia found that poor ‘teacher mental health and burnout could halve the workforce’.

Even UNESCO is recognising that we need to have a strong focus on wellbeing if we want to attract and retain teachers, saying:

‘Addressing teacher shortages requires a holistic approach. Beyond recruitment, factors such as teacher motivation, wellbeing, retention, training, working conditions, and social status need attention.’

A fundamental part of being an effective educator is taking care of yourself, but we often neglect to talk about what best practice looks like in relation to self-care. Or if it is discussed, it is in general or broad terms rather than specific, concrete strategies. This is currently resulting in many teachers experiencing burnout before they seek support.

Drawing on extensive research by education lecturer and teacher, Dr Kristina Turner, and psychologist, Professor Monica Thielking, Teacher Wellbeing Cards are grounded in evidence about what works for teachers in terms of increasing wellbeing, and reducing stress, overwhelm, burnout and compassion fatigue.

These evocative cards, with stunning illustrations by artist, Kain White, are perfect for opening-up honest, reflective conversations about building personal and collective cultures of support, meaning, and hope in educational settings.

But don’t just take our word for it. Here’s what educators are saying:

‘When I unwrapped these wellbeing cards for teachers, I literally gasped at how good they looked. And then a second gasp, because they’re actually so good. They’re clearly grounded in the evidence base of wellbeing science. I shouldn’t have been surprised, given the amazing authors, Kristina Turner and Monica Thielking, but it’s a good reminder that something grounded in research can also be beautiful and genuinely useful.

Now to get these beauties to all the teachers.’

Kelly Ann-Allen, Associate Professor (Research) & ARC DECRA Fellow

‘In my thirty years as an educator, I’ve never before seen a resource so attuned to the specific day-to-day challenges and life stresses faced by teachers. Well-thought out conversation starters addressing the experiential realities of the teaching life, are augmented by evocative, soulful images designed to help teachers transcend workplace routines in order to reconnect with the deeper well-springs of their profession.’

Dr. Ian Irvine, Tafe teacher and university lecturer for over 30 years

‘The Teacher Wellbeing Cards are a simple yet powerful tool for supporting staff wellbeing. Easy to use and thoughtfully designed, they’re perfect for sparking meaningful conversations, whether one-on-one or in small groups. The open-ended questions allow individuals to reflect in a way that feels comfortable, while also encouraging strength spotting and a shift away from negativity bias. Best of all, they’re grounded in solid research, making them a trustworthy and effective resource for any school team focused on wellbeing.’

Michael Morrissey, Assistant Principal – Wellbeing and Inclusion, Bendigo Senior Secondary College

The Teacher Wellbeing Cards include 32 beautifully illustrated cards with a theme on the front and three sentence starters on the back. Every set also comes with a digital booklet full of ideas for using the cards in different settings, a digital set of the cards, a card hack video, and lots of additional content with suggestions for using the cards.

Use Teacher Wellbeing Cards to have conversations about:

re-discovering meaning and joy in your work
the importance of celebrating successes
establishing meaningful work-life boundaries
seeking support and building connection
embedding simple self-care practices into your day.

Designed to be used even when you’re short on time—in that 5-minute break between classes, as a reminder on your desk or fridge, or as a quick prompt in a debrief with colleagues—they are also perfect for staff meetings, professional development, team building and creating a culture of support, respect, kindness and trust.

For all educators—from primary and secondary teachers, to early years educators, trainers and university lecturers—and the people who support them, including wellbeing staff, counsellors and psychologists.

Buy now!

Ask Pip Westwood what she loves most about being a play therapy practitioner and her passion for the role is palpable.

‘It’s the honour of being entrusted with children’s stories,’ she says. ‘Being able to witness, first-hand, a child’s growth and development as they overcome something in their past that seemed so bleak.

‘Each child comes with different strengths and needs, and when you meet them, their heart is on their sleeve.’

Pip works in private practice with two other play therapists under the banner of Wildflower Play Therapy in Adelaide. Since graduating with a Bachelor of Psychology in 2011 and going on to complete a Masters in Child Play Therapy, she has seen the industry slowly grow and gain traction in Australia as a respected and successful form of therapy for working with children.

Play therapy is an evidence-based approach for working with children backed by decades of practice and research, particularly the work of American psychologist, Virginia Axline, in the mid-20th century. Axline developed child-centred play therapy and a set of principles that guide therapists in creating safe, supportive, and non-directive environments where children can explore their feelings, make choices, and develop self-awareness through play.

‘Because of pioneers like Virginia Axline, Garry Landreth and Athena Drewes, everyday I journey into the intimate stories that children choose to share with me through the power of play,’ Pip says. ‘Because play is their number one form of communication, my role as a therapist is to discover, analyse, and unpack their experiences.

‘It’s about giving children the opportunity to be heard in their language. If I’m asked to describe it, it’s like each child comes into the playroom with an itch they need to scratch—a need that’s met within the playroom. They gravitate towards the resources they feel called to.’

Every play therapy room has a diverse range of toys and resources aimed to provide kids with the words to tell their story. Pip often sees children gravitate towards a ‘self-figure’—something they feel connected to and might use to experience their journey.

Like the young boy (who was selective mute) who immediately connected with a dragon puppet in Pip’s play therapy room.

‘This young boy tied up the dragon’s mouth with a piece of rope,’ she remembers. ‘He then chose two little dinosaurs with move-able jaws and made them snap and pinch at the dragon.

‘It was one of those play therapy moments where I could feel the emotional weight of what I was seeing—knew it was significant—but I didn’t have the context to interpret the metaphor being expressed to me.

‘In a review meeting with his mum, she told me there were two children at her son’s school who were pinching and bullying him during class to try and induce him to make sounds. With the help of the dragon, he was playing out the experience of having his mouth almost tied—not being able to speak out.

‘That was such a powerful experience for him. Being able to come in and tell that story, not with words, because he didn’t really speak to me at all, but through play he could communicate the experience he’d had.’

Play therapy is still in early stages of development in Australia—it is much more established overseas, particularly in countries like the United States and the United Kingdom. While awareness and interest in the therapeutic benefits of play are growing, Australia still faces challenges, such as limited formal training programs, inconsistent professional recognition, and a lack of widespread integration into mainstream mental health services.

‘In Australia we’re still establishing regulation,’ Pip explains. ‘Regulation around what a child is going through, how to keep them safe, and how to keep us safe as professionals. Theoretical grounding and the right kind of qualifications—all these things are still playing out.

Pip says that while word of mouth is one of the main ways parents come to hear about play therapy, professional referrals continue to increase.

‘We have children referred to us by Child Protection, paediatricians, GPs, and other allied health professionals,’ she says. ‘Schools will often recommend that kids come to see us. There are a growing number of pathways to our door.’

Pip is also a big fan of Innovative Resources’ cards when it comes to helping kids talk about their experiences and feelings, using sets like The Bears and Cars’R’Us in creative and spontaneous ways.

‘I’ll often use The Bears to play a type of charades,’ she says. ‘I’ll choose a card at random, then have the child act out what’s on the card and guess the emotion. It can be a really great way to build emotional intelligence, but also social acumen—understanding how others are feeling and being able to read those really subtle facial expressions.’

Pip also remembers a powerful interaction with a young boy using Cars’R’Us.

‘I was working with a child who had some pretty complex issues in his home life, particularly in relation to parental addiction. I simply asked him to, “choose a card that tells me how you’re feeling”.

‘He chose the card that depicts a car stopped at a crossing with a line of ducklings crossing the road. In my head I’m starting to get a bit curious, but also mindful of my own interpretations of the card.

‘”So, why did you chose that one.” I asked. He said, “well, this is me and my brothers and sisters (pointing to the ducklings), and this (the car) is my mum ready to mow us down”.

‘If I had jumped in with my own interpretation I would have completely missed it. For him, that card resonated in a completely different way and helped him express what he was feeling in the moment.’

When Pip isn’t in the play therapy room you’ll find her at Deakin University, investing in the next generation of Masters of Child Play Therapy graduates—teaching, supervising placements, and guiding them to become passionate advocates for the language of play as a way for children to share their stories.

She’s passionate about promoting play therapy as a valid and vital intervention in mental health support for children.

‘We shouldn’t always be turning to verbal forms of interventions for children, when we can communicate with them in their natural language. Play.’

by John Holton

In the sterile, high-stakes environment of a neonatal intensive care unit, where every second counts and emotions often run high, Dr Huang Peiqi—a paediatrician specialising in neonatology at KK Women’s and Children’s Hospital in Singapore—has found an unexpected source of healing: clay.

Dr Huang’s journey into the world of art therapy began not with a brush or a canvas, but with a grant from the SingHealth Duke-NUS Medical Humanities Institute (SDMHI). Inspired by the department’s annual theme, ‘Stronger Together’, she envisioned a pottery workshop that was both practical and symbolic, creating a space for growth and transformation.

‘Clay transforms through fire into something more resilient and beautiful,’ she explains. ‘I wanted the act of sculpting clay to symbolise my department being shaped by challenges and emerging stronger together.’

What started as a simple idea evolved into a powerful initiative when Dr Huang partnered with Phylaine, a senior art therapist and SDMHI faculty member. Together, they merged the therapeutic potential of art with the reflective practices of medical humanities, creating a three-part workshop that brought together doctors, nurses, and allied health professionals from the neonatal unit.

The workshop began with a reflective session using the Innovative Resources card set, Two Worlds. Participants were invited to contemplate the metaphor of ‘a vessel’—what do we hold and who holds us—and select cards that resonated with their personal and professional journeys.

‘The visual prompts made it easier for participants to be vulnerable and articulate their complex emotions,’ Dr. Huang says. ‘Even the simplest images held profound meaning.’

One image of burning logs sparked two vastly different interpretations. For one participant, it symbolised passion and dedication; for another, it represented burnout and the need for self-care. Another card, showing an animal trapped in the rain, prompted reflections on the emotional isolation patients and families may feel, and the privilege of being able to offer comfort and safety.

Dr Huang herself was drawn to a picture of a clock—a poignant symbol in neonatal care.

‘We call out the time when a baby is born, and we call out the time a baby dies,’ she shares. ‘Time never stops, and it made me realise how important it is to cherish the time we have.’

Following the card reflections, participants sculpted clay vessels that represented themselves, culminating in an intimate sharing session. The experience was deeply moving, she notes.

‘Participants shared that discovering an additional facet of their colleagues’ lives helped them understand each other better and deepened a sense of connection,’ Dr Huang says. ‘Knowing others shared similar experiences helped them feel part of the same team.’

The workshop’s success lies not only in its emotional resonance but also in its alignment with the principles of medical humanities—a field that integrates arts and humanities into medical education and practice.

‘Medical humanities explore both the human experience of illness and our understanding of professional identity,’ Dr. Huang explains. ‘It helps trainees explore their emotions and form a sense of who they are as healthcare workers.’

KK Women’s and Children’s Hospital has long embraced reflective practice. From mandatory reflective writing during medical training to initiatives like MhOSAIC (Medical Humanities Offer Self-discovery through Arts for Improved Care), the hospital fosters a culture of introspection. During the COVID-19 pandemic, a film discussion program helped frontline doctors process the emotional toll of the crisis, sparking powerful conversations about resilience and purpose.

According to Dr Huang, the Two Worlds cards proved to be a particularly effective tool for facilitating these conversations.

‘They provided a safe entry point for difficult topics,’ Dr Huang says. ‘We didn’t have to ask uncomfortable questions—participants could use the cards to approach what affected them most.’

One card featuring a birthday cake prompted reflections on the uncertainty faced by parents in the neonatal unit—wondering if their child would live to see their first birthday. These organic, heartfelt discussions helped participants reconnect with their ‘why’—the reason they chose healthcare in the first place.

‘The work we do can be heavy,’ Dr Huang acknowledges. ‘We can’t do it in isolation. These conversations help us realise we’re not alone in our challenges. They renew our sense of purpose and remind us to care for our own wellbeing.’

The feedback from the workshop has been overwhelmingly positive, and Dr Huang is exploring ways to expand the program within the hospital and across the SingHealth cluster.

‘At the end of the day, we are all human,’ she says. ‘We have deep needs—the desire to do our best for our patients, the desire for purpose, and the desire for connection. It’s important we don’t lose sight of that.’

In a field defined by precision and urgency, Dr Huang’s initiative offers a gentle reminder: healing isn’t just for patients. Sometimes, it begins with a lump of clay, a picture card, and a conversation.

by John Holton

Just the other day, I was talking to a social worker who was trying to access support for a person experiencing a serious mental health crisis. She’d tried different programs within her service (which was not focussed on mental health) and all the local mental health services, including crisis services, only to be turned away and told they were overstretched and unable to help.

Sitting with the person, with whom she had built trust and rapport, she felt powerless and compromised. She was concerned that if the person left, they may harm themselves, but she was unable provide the support she knew they needed.

Even though this was not her fault, she felt responsible. She also felt a sense of betrayal, that she was betraying the client’s trust, and the system was betraying them both.

I could also see that she was carrying the stress and concern with her, even when she wasn’t at work.

When I asked her if this was a common experience for social workers, she said it happened pretty regularly.

While we often talk about things like burnout, compassion fatigue, mental health, and vicarious trauma, we often don’t talk about how being forced to act in ways that don’t align with our values can significantly impact on our health, wellbeing and sense of identity.

what is moral injury?

The term ‘moral injury’ was first coined by psychiatrist, Jonathan Shay, while working with Vietnam veterans in the 1980s. He noticed that while many veterans experienced trauma, despair, or PTSD, their symptoms appeared to be worse if they felt they had been complicit in actions or events that went against their values. The shame or guilt they felt exacerbated their symptoms and made it more difficult for them to recover.

As The Ethics Centre describes:

‘Shay saw that these veterans were not just traumatised by what had happened to them, they were ‘wounded’ by what they had done to others. He called this new condition “moral injury,” describing it as a “soul wound inflicted by doing something that violates one’s own ethics, ideals, or attachments”.’

Moral injury involves specific experiences—often involving moral transgressions, either perpetrated or witnessed—and can lead to lasting psychological harm. It is a betrayal of a person’s moral code, either by themselves or others.

While this term is still most commonly used in military contexts, it is increasingly being talked about in other fields like social work, counselling, education and health.

Writing in The Conversation about moral injury in the education system, Glenys Oberg says:

‘…studies on moral injury in schools have shown how rigid disciplinary policies, high-stakes testing regimes and chronic underfunding often force teachers to act in ways that contradict their professional judgement. This can lead to frustration, guilt and professional disillusionment.

‘Recent studies have reframed moral injury as a systemic issue rather than an individual psychological condition. This is because institutional constraints—such as inflexible accountability measures and bureaucratic inefficiencies—prevent teachers from fulfilling their ethical responsibilities.’

In a study coming out of the School of Social Work, University of Texas, about the impact of moral injury on medical social workers, they found that, ‘… encounters of potentially moral injurious events (PMIEs) may result in longstanding psychological trauma that impact healthcare workers’ mental health and wellbeing.’

how is moral injury different from burnout?

Moral injury may be mistaken for stress, burnout, or compassion fatigue, and although there can be some crossover, experts agree that moral injury is distinct. People can experience stress, burnout, or compassion fatigue without compromising their values, identity or beliefs.

Moral injury is also different from other forms of distress because it impacts on a person’s sense of identity. Professionals in fields like social work, psychology, health, and education often derive their sense of purpose and self-worth from their ability to help others. When they face ethical conflicts, it threatens not just their professional integrity, but their personal identity as well. This clash can lead to a crisis of self, as individuals begin to question their core values, competence, and worth.

This compromising of identity or moral coherence can feel like an existential trauma.

Given that moral injury is about a violation of a person’s deeply held values and beliefs, people may eventually feel like they are inherently bad people with a profoundly corrupted sense of identity.

The symptoms of moral injury often include things like guilt, shame, anxiety, depression, disconnection, erosion of sense of self and personal identity, and alienation from job, family, or community. As these symptoms can be similar to those of burnout, it is important to explore the causes of the symptoms in nuanced and curious ways, to identify if moral injury is a contributing factor.

what does moral injury look like in practical terms?

Whenever we are working with individuals or groups of people, we are often working from a set of values or principles. If we are working from a strengths-based perspective, for example, we might believe:

Everybody deserves to be treated with respect and dignity.
Everyone has strengths, skills and wisdom.
The problem is the problem; the person is not the problem.
Every person has a right to have their basic needs met.
People are doing the best they can with the resources and knowledge they have.
Every person should have access to quality food, housing, education and healthcare.
Every person has the right to feel safe.

If we hold these values, we may feel compromised if we are made to act in ways that don’t align with what we believe.

This might take the form of things like:

Not being able to provide housing for a family experiencing homelessness when you know they are desperate and have no other options.
Having to deny people medical care as you have limited resources, or only being able to give care to patients who can pay.
Offering a service to one person experiencing suicidal thoughts over another as there aren’t enough beds.
Having to complete forms or ask for personal information when you know the person is needing you to be present.
Having to spend time completing paperwork rather than being with students, clients or patients.
Witnessing systems or institutional structures that perpetuate or increase trauma, shame, or harm.
Not following up with a student you know is experiencing difficulties at home because you simply don’t have time.
Supporting someone who has committed acts that have harmed others.
Witnessing practices that marginalise or exclude certain people within your organisation but not feeling like you can do anything about it.
Having to report a family you’ve been working with for a long time to child protection, knowing they may have their children removed (knowing also, that this may cause additional trauma).
Having to teach a one-size-fits-all curriculum, knowing that this will not work for many of your students.
Witnessing violence or abuse, but not being able to intervene as it’s beyond your job role.
Making students who are neurodivergent take tests designed for neurotypical students, knowing the results will be unfair and inaccurate, and some students will be alienated from education as a consequence.

Events leading to moral injury may be one-off circumstances, or they may be an accumulation of small events that happen over time.

how to address moral injury

To combat moral injury, it’s essential to understand that healing does not just involve emotional support, but also the reconstruction of moral identity.

Here are a few ideas for how you can explore moral injury in a meaningful way:

Naming – create safe spaces where you can openly discuss moral conflicts without people fearing judgment or reprisals. This may be in supervision, peer supervision, in teams, counselling, or even with friends or family. Reflection allows individuals to integrate their feelings of guilt or shame into a larger understanding of their role and responsibility. It is also important to acknowledge what is within your control to change and what isn’t.
Acknowledgement – be aware that sometimes our teams or organisations may have become desensitised to moral injury. This may manifest in the normalising or justification of behaviours or practices that are ethically questionable. Sometimes this has become a culture in a team over time or sometimes it results from people trying to deal with the reality that they are under-resourced. Challenging your team or colleagues to think differently, or ask deeper questions, may feel confronting or uncomfortable but it can also be empowering. You might find other team members have been sitting with the same concerns.
Reconnect with your values – moral injury can feel all-encompassing, like your whole being has been compromised. But this is rarely the case. Chances are, there are very specific circumstances where you’re feeling morally compromised. By identifying your values and exploring the specific instances you felt compromised, you can then consider if there are any solutions or changes you can make that allow you to continue working in a way that you feel is ethical. If the sense of moral injury has become debilitating, you may require professional support like counselling or external supervision.
Parallel practice – many organisations now have a set of guiding values designed to direct the work of the organisation at all levels. Building in regular opportunities for staff to reflect upon where their work aligns with organisational, and personal, values can help to identify places where policies, processes and practices don’t align and therefore increases the likelihood of moral injury. These can then be addressed at a systemic level. Moral injury can also be reduced if people believe their concerns are being taken seriously and change is likely, so it’s important to build in an action-reflection process to ensure people know their concerns are being acted upon.
Professional development – as moral injury is a relatively new concept in human services work, it may be valuable to organise some professional development or reflective practice sessions to understand what moral injury looks like for you and your workplace. The benefit of doing this collectively is that you can also start to explore potential solutions as a team or group. Make sure you spend time exploring how you can stay aligned to your values, even when things are tough. It is also important to talk about strategies for navigating challenging ethical terrain.
Understanding the broader context – moral injury isn’t just an individual issue; it reflects broader societal problems. It can be viewed as a symptom of an imperfect system—one where systemic inequalities, inadequate resources, and bureaucratic constraints force people to act in ways that are contrary to their beliefs. Addressing moral injury also means looking critically at the structural issues that create these ethical dilemmas in the first place.

Have you experienced moral injury? We’d love to hear your insights or reflections.

by Dr Sue King-Smith

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resources mentioned

what is moral injury?

how is moral injury different from burnout?

what does moral injury look like in practical terms?

how to address moral injury

Jess’s pathway to supervision

Water as healing

Water as connection

Water as spirit