The Story Behind Mercy Counselling

When I first started dreaming about opening my own counselling practice, I kept returning to one question: what do I want this space to stand for? Not just in theory, but in the day-to-day moments when someone walks through my door carrying something heavy. I knew the name needed to say something about the type of healing I believe in and the kind of presence I want to offer.

The word that stayed with me was mercy. It followed me through conversations with clients, through my own reflections, and even through quiet moments when I was thinking about the stories people carry. I chose Mercy Counselling because mercy has shaped my life in ways I never expected. It taught me what it means to release the weight of the past, to soften toward myself, and to respond to others in a way that does not add more pain into the world.

A lot of the people I meet in therapy come carrying hurts that have been with them for years. Some can point to particular experiences that changed them. Others cannot remember a specific moment but they feel the effects in their bodies, their relationships, or the way they talk to themselves. There are wounds that become so familiar we forget there was ever a time before them. I understand that deeply because I lived it too.

For a long time, I carried my own hurts without knowing what to do with them. I thought ignoring them meant they would fade on their own. Instead, they took root. Something small would happen and I would react more strongly than I wanted to. I felt a tension inside that I couldn’t always explain. Looking back, I can see how resentment was building quietly, the way weeds grow between cracks in concrete. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was steady, and it slowly changed the way I treated people around me.

Bitterness is sneaky. It can feel like strength for a while, like armour that protects you from ever being hurt again. But eventually that armour becomes too heavy. It hardens the heart in ways that make connection feel unsafe or impossible. I reached a point where I realized the pain I was carrying wasn’t just hurting me anymore. It was spilling into my relationships, colouring my words, and shaping parts of me that were meant to be softer than that.

That was when I began learning about mercy. Not the kind that dismisses harm or pretends nothing happened, but the kind that lets you face your pain honestly without letting it define you. Mercy helped me understand that I could acknowledge the impact of the past without living in it. It taught me that I could hold someone accountable without holding on to resentment. It allowed me to see that forgiveness and boundaries can exist together.

Forgiveness is often portrayed as something simple, but most people know it doesn’t work that way. It takes time to untangle what happened, how it shaped us, and what still hurts. Sometimes forgiveness comes in small moments, not dramatic ones. Sometimes it begins with understanding our own story. Sometimes it begins with finally naming what we went through.

For me, forgiveness was not a single event. It was a slow unwinding of beliefs I had carried for years. Learning mercy was practicing to release myself from patterns that were keeping me trapped. It showed me that holding on to bitterness didn’t protect me. It only kept me connected to what I wanted to move beyond.

There came a point when I made a firm commitment to myself: I would not hold other people’s offences against them. Whether the harm was deliberate or accidental, whether they ever apologized or not, I would choose release instead of resentment. Not because they deserved it, but because I needed it. Because I didn’t want bitterness to determine the kind of person I became.

Choosing mercy doesn’t mean staying in harmful situations. It doesn’t mean tolerating disrespect or pretending everything is fine. It means refusing to let old wounds dictate your future. It means making space inside yourself for softness again. It means deciding you will not let that hurt have the final say in your life.

As I continued to work with clients, I saw variations of my own story reflected back to me. The details were different, but the emotional landscape was familiar: the ache of betrayal, the exhaustion of carrying unspoken anger, the longing to be free of what someone else’s actions left behind. I watched people wrestle with whether forgiveness was even possible. I watched others uncover pieces of their past that suddenly made their present reactions make so much sense.

And I also witnessed the quiet unfolding that happens when compassion enters the room. When someone finally sees themselves with gentleness instead of judgment. When they realize their reactions were shaped by hurt, not weakness. When they discover that understanding their story opens the door to healing in a way they never expected.

Little by little, mercy finds its way in. Sometimes through tears. Sometimes through insight. Sometimes through a surprising moment of clarity that shifts everything inside. And in those moments, something inside a person becomes just a little freer.

That is the heart of Mercy Counselling. My hope is that anyone who sits with me will not only find a supportive space to process what they carry, but will also begin to experience a sense of release, however small or gradual. I hope they discover the possibility of forgiving others not as a favour to anyone else, but as an act of self-liberation. I hope they find room to breathe again.

Even when justice feels distant.
Even when the harm still feels unfair.
Even when the past has left marks that are hard to speak aloud.

Forgiveness is not about erasing the past. It is about rediscovering your life from it. Mercy creates room for that. It allows people to reconnect with parts of themselves that got buried under pain. It helps them build relationships that are not shaped by fear, bitterness, or guardedness. It empowers them to choose who they want to become instead of letting old wounds decide for them.

I named my practice Mercy Counselling because mercy changed me. It softened what had become hardened. It helped me rebuild connections I thought were broken beyond repair. It allowed me to show up in relationships with more grace and less fear. It taught me that healing begins when we stop gripping our pain as if it is the only thing protecting us.

And I have seen it change others too. Clients who once felt hopeless begin to feel movement inside. Clients who struggled to understand their own reactions start to see themselves with compassion. Clients who believed forgiveness was impossible begin to feel the first signs of release. Healing happens in these small shifts. Mercy makes those shifts possible.

This practice exists because I believe no one should carry their hurts alone. Because I believe people deserve a place where their pain is understood without being magnified, where their story is honoured without being the end of the story. I believe people deserve the chance to move through life with more freedom, more clarity, and more compassion for themselves and the people around them.

Mercy Counselling is my way of living out that belief. It is a reminder of the journey that shaped me and the journey I now walk with others. It is an invitation to step toward healing with courage, honesty, and meekness. It is a space where forgiveness is explored gently, where old wounds are met with insight instead of shame, and where a different way of living begins to take shape.

So when it came time to choose a name for my practice, it felt more like a quiet promise to the people who would sit with me one day. A promise that they would not need to perform strength here. A promise that their wounds would not be met with judgment. A promise that even in moments when they could not yet hold compassion for themselves, someone else would hold it with them until they could.

My hope is that people who walk through these doors will find something that meets them where they are and helps them feel safe enough to begin again.