chriscain, Author at 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?