Sometimes, Trauma.

09/02/2026

A therapeutic journey with your feet? These parts of us that ground us to the earth, that carry us all our lives:

From Birth, they have kicked the air –
Sought connections to push against,
To make Safety the enclosing feeling.
With arms, baby-me whirled,
Almost informing my forming brain
That I exist cosmically in this time and plane
After a billion years of nothing.
There will have been a first day
For them to securely hold my world upright:
The first grass felt under:
The first pathway of travel in sight.
How often since have I not felt them as they mobilise me,
Whilst in return they avoided every root, pavement stepped upon,
They’ve accelerated away from each danger, every slowing down
To meet my loved ones
In a kiss.
These toes have wiggled out my bliss.
The pads have stomped anger –
And both turned inwards when shy remiss
Takes hold.
Now bunions creep…and angles deep
Leap into toes, as age seeps to
The whole frame.
But these older feet are happier on the soil
Than ever.
They know who they carry.
They know the soul can’t be harried
From this life and experience of ME.
They know the rhythm they beat
Will cease – but complete
Beyond their own existence –
The echo of their passing
In the landscape and ripple
Of my infinite life.

I have been taking photos of my feet in diferent landscapes for several years now, and photos of feet in general. The conscious act of grounding: stopping to...

03/02/2026

Sometimes trauma casts a long shadow.

We don’t always realise though that it holds something precious for us, as we work through the layers of meanings we have held from that place of fear and disintegration. As we re-write our meanings, climb step by step away from a nervous system wired by fear, towards one wired though regulation and curiosity, it can be that we claim a new view and an integration with “shadow” that makes everything more vivid and acute. Meanings can emerge that shift what we carry. That’s not to say it’s not tough, troubling, hard, unfair, devastating - but it can also be a most beautiful act of reclamation.

26/01/2026

In February 2025, Sometimes Trauma held a Retreat Weekend in Devon for experienced therapists working with complex trauma. As part of our offering, we created a 60-page, full colour Emotional Regulation Toolkit for use with clients overcoming and working with their trauma. We have decided to make this available to a wider market of therapists and clients.

It contains resources gathered from over more than twenty years of practice and extensive specialist training. Our main goal was to have everything in one resource in a way that is navigable and shareable.

In the toolkit, there are “old favourites” that therapists return to repeatedly as they are valued for their immediate application for client work. There is also distillation of more modern approaches to Trauma, such as Polyvagal theory, introductions to memory processing and the impact of trauma on the brain. These tools then give a skill base for different personalities and needs in clients: from brain to body (top down) approaches such as Cognitive Processing Therapy, to body/brain (bottom up), such as tapping (EFT, Collarbone tapping) and movement practices. These practices are linked to regulation video content online.

For a quick look at what’s inside, click on the video here.

Emotional Regulation Toolkit for Therapists: Essential ResourcesTo purchase the Emotional Regulation Toolkit, click this link to visit our website, https:/...

23/01/2026

Sometimes

A sad woman asked me
“Can this be changed?”
and hoped I would have
a key in my pocket
to fit the lock of her
despair.

The lonely man asked
“What shall I do?”
as we both sat,
with his chain ankle ghost,
that manacled
freedom.

Sometimes,
we keep our souls
in a locked box
on the windowsill
and fear death’s fingers
if it rattles.

Sometimes,
we seek to hear only
clattering dialogue of thought,
clanking down the
one-way tracks to
contention.

And sometimes
the trauma is hidden in cell-seeds,
trapped in shoulder stories;
or the anxious rope tale
of your skipping
stomach.

“What does your body say?”
I want to ask.
The answers
will hold their
breath and wait
for you.

But only in that
rejected, split off
holder, in the
soft sacred
fruiting
body bowl

Will you ever feel
the right question to ask.
The question that
tells you, finally:
it is time
to harvest.

This is a poem written about how Trauma lays hidden in the body, waiting to be invited into the therapeutic conversation - so that you can finally heal and b...

04/01/2026

The New Year has rolled in and I’m getting ready to go back to work. I imagine therapists and clients across this frosty country are preparing to resume work together. Other than one day set aside for vulnerable clients, I have been grateful for some downtime over the holiday period. Usually I go away in my van, but this year decided to stay at home, which has meant finally finding time to work on Ricochet, another poem from the Therapy Sandwich Anthology.

This poem wrote itself over a decade ago, after a particularly “full” therapy workday, where my heart broke for a client with a very high trauma load. Words were used like a battering ram to defend against sitting still with pain and meaning. Beside a swelling heart, I had intrusive images of her as a child, desperate for her own attention. I also adored her in all her defences and wished she could offer herself this love.
This behaviour is recognisable as a common client presentation in the therapy space. With time to devote to this, we wanted to make an audio version of the poem that tries to convey some of the stress of the client’s inner process as well as that of the therapist as they try to hold space.
I deliberately wanted to stress/repeat the words to underline the meaning and reflect the feeling of intensity of the therapy session. Dave McKeown has cleverly built sounds using a wide range of things found around the house. These include spinning coins, singing bowls, and even a cigarette lighter. The images have been chosen/made very deliberately. It may not be comfortable viewing, but I think it reflects something of what it is like to invite someone to sit with their pain and slow down, whilst holding a loving space for them.
The original poem is below:

Ricochet

Your words
Tumble out of your mouth
With a ricochet
Whilst all the time
You try so hard
Not to stay
With the painful moment.

We circle each other a while.
Wild gesticulations,
Eyes everywhere
But meeting mine.
Your words
And a land slide of story,
The tools you use to push past
The open heart,
To all I know
Underneath them
That is gory,
And abandoned,
And utterly sad.

“Shhh, little girl”
I want to say.
Though in years
You have advance on me.
But perhaps it was easier for me
To shed those tears
My own wounding made.

“Look, sweetheart!”
I want to say.
“There is a little girl
Stuck on a harsh rock, crying.
She needs you to take care of her.
She needs you to be still.
She needs you to rock her gently,
Back to loving herself.”

And I know you will.
When the standoff
With frightened wild horse-words has bolted,
Run out of steam,
And come back through the open gate.
When you can both invite and respond to yourself.
And when you can trust
That I really do love the little girl I see in you.

🎬 Ricochet, by HanJan, (Therapy Sandwich), Sometimes Trauma 🎬Sitting With Pain | A Trauma-Informed Spoken Word & SoundscapeThis poem wrote itself over a de...

21/12/2025

On the shortest day just a thought: Maybe sometimes, the mirage of our future healed selves prevents us from stepping in - to love the messy, turbulent selves we are today.

17/12/2025

It's such a stressful time of year for so many people. Sometimes, there are historic body-held memory of traumatic Christmases - or sometimes there are no memories, showing the dissociation that was needed to get through. We also have a higher here-and-now potential for conflict. Regulation is about building safety in the body. This video shares 6 very practical breathing exercises that can be used for Regulation.

Breathing in a way that helps us to soothe and calm the nervous system can be at the heart of any "Phase One, Safety and Stabilisation" phase in trauma thera...

10/12/2025

This note to myself was attached to the Christmas lights when we put up the tree. I totally forgot that it existed. It reads: “Hannah, do yourself a favour and put these on the front of the house or garden room and buy new ones for the tree (you prefer white/cream lights anyway). These are a KING MARE to take off the tree! (Hope you had a good 2025 and are okay). xx

Every year at this time, I encourage clients to write a letter to themselves that is full of love and support and that has a voice of kindness. I have been doing this now for maybe 15 years and still find it a meaningful process. Finding additional care notes like this hold a similar function: past me takes care of present me. Present me can advocate and set intentions for future me.

Someone in the family went out and bought Christmas lights for the tree and put them up. Without seeing the note, I put the old lights along the hedge and some lights on the garden room. I found the note on the floor under the hedge after I had done it. I have no memory of writing it.

This is the best part of the magic I believe can come from writing little love notes to yourself: somehow you remember what you wrote unconsciously as an invitation. Sometimes you do things you forgot you challenged yourself to to - or asked yourself to do as a defiant act of self love. A letter to yourself does not have the hardness of a “resolution” list. It’s the gentleness of an intention, spoken from a kind place. On 31st December I will get to read the letter I wrote to myself in January. This is what New Year is for me. I’m looking forward to it, especially as I know that the main force behind this idea is to always be loving and kind to yourself.

05/09/2025

“Secure”, “Disorganised”, “Anxious” or “Avoidant”…
…how our caregivers have held us, or abandoned us, has a deep impact on subsequent experiences of relationship. These Attachments in early childhood inform our ability to let go of unhealthy relationships or dynamics.

This is an original story/image poem about attachment and relationship from Sometimes Trauma.

In the UK, children at 8 go on a residential school trip for a working week. For many, it's the first time away from home.

Sometimes, being prepared to defend our inner child takes a "Dark Night" moment. The process of personal growth is hard for us all.

This poem was written at a time of great change in my life, as I became prepared to defend, (and change), what I was allowing myself to let in and what I knew I needed to let go of.

https://youtu.be/-sD_7iq9NPA

"Sometimes, Trauma" is an organisation specialising in working with clients and therapists within the Trauma Therapy field, providing therapy, groups, one-to-one supervision, couple/family work and psychoeducation to those that can benefit from it.

You can find more information at www.sometimestrauma.com. This organisation is run by Hannah Duncan/(HanJan) who is a therapist with over 20 years' experience of working as a therapist and facillitator.

“Secure”, “Disorganised”, “Anxious” or “Avoidant”……how our caregivers have held us, or abandoned us, has a deep impact on subsequent experiences of relations...

17/07/2025

Sad that the world lost this giant poet this week. Glad that these words and many others are echoing in the wake.

13/07/2025

https://youtu.be/-sD_7iq9NPA?si=ag0BpMPdZ1ImSBnn

Here is the latest audio poem from the Sometimes Trauma Therapy Sandwich collection. It features a very beautiful clarinet quartet arrangement which is worth listening to for itself! In this poem, we are looking at Attachment and how sometimes you have to break your own attachment pattern to protect the vulnerable child parts of yourself, as well as (in this case) the very real vulnerable child you are trying to protect from your own relational choices.

“Secure”, “Disorganised”, “Anxious” or “Avoidant”……how our caregivers have held us, or abandoned us, has a deep impact on subsequent experiences of relations...

30/06/2025

Midsummer and the evenings are just delicious. It strikes me - as I come back home from a walk by the coast path - that this garden room is a pretty peaceful and wonderful place to come for therapy.

(And my fish all let me stroke them this evening as they begged for food like little water dogs!)