Liberation Therapies & Coaching

Liberation Therapies & Coaching Hypnotherapist and Mental Welfare Coach. Supporting you through every stage of your life. Hypnotherapy for Menopause and Oncology as well as general issues.

I mentor successful 40+ women to navigate the menopause and feel inspired to unleash an AMAZING life. Hillary is available to speak at conferences, dinners and groups.

You are not a machine. You’re a wild soul wrapped in skin and bone, here to taste music like honey on your tongue, to dr...
09/07/2025

You are not a machine. You’re a wild soul wrapped in skin and bone, here to taste music like honey on your tongue, to drink in sunsets like medicine, to weave moments of laughter and quiet joy into the fabric of your days.

Life was never meant to be an endless treadmill of stress and survival.

Pause.

Look up.

Let the sunset pour its colours into your chest and remind you: you are not here to hustle until you break. You are here to live.

Life is not a to-do list to conquer. It is a river to wade into, a dawn to stand in awe of, a gift to unwrap slowly each day.

Walk as if the earth is holding you like a beloved child. Hug as if your arms are roots entwining with another’s soul.

Laugh as if your laughter is the sound of spring returning.

Love as if your heart is the sun and everything it touches blooms.

Yes, the clock is ticking. But you… your presence, your spirit, your silent knowing are timeless.

We’ve been conditioned to believe our worth is measured in output and grind. But we were not designed as factories.

We are orchards needing rain, forests needing stillness, wild meadows needing light.

Wonder, connection, rest - these aren’t prizes for how hard you work. They are the soil, water, and sunlight without which you wither.

Let yourself belong to life.

I see you.

Art ~ Pol Ledant

08/07/2025
For my beautiful client Amy…You spend so much of your time trying to make everyone happy. Trying to be what they want, s...
01/07/2025

For my beautiful client Amy…

You spend so much of your time trying to make everyone happy. Trying to be what they want, say what they want to hear, do what they expect. You shape yourself to fit their moods and their needs, hoping they will like you, hoping they will stay.

And whatever is left of your time, you spend worrying – wondering if they’re upset, if you did something wrong, if you should have done more, said less, been different.

It’s exhausting, isn’t it?

Imagine for a moment that your life is like a stage play. You’ve been acting out your part so well that everyone claps and smiles and says what a wonderful job you’re doing.

But inside, it doesn’t feel wonderful. Inside, it feels like you’re disappearing.

Maybe it’s time to step off that stage for a while. To take off the costume and set down the script.

To simply rest.

Because you are not here just to please others. You are here to be you. To be your amazing, wonderful self!

There is a quiet place inside you that knows who you really are – beyond all the trying, beyond all the pleasing. It’s waiting for you to come home to yourself.

You have played your part so beautifully. Now, just for a moment, allow yourself to simply be.

Without performance.

Without fear.

Just you – and that is more than enough.

I see you.

Art ~ Nino Dobrosavljevic
On Stage

For Those Without a Dad This Father’s DaySome days land softly.This one doesn’t.It taps you on the shoulder with an old ...
15/06/2025

For Those Without a Dad This Father’s Day

Some days land softly.
This one doesn’t.
It taps you on the shoulder with an old familiar ache…not sharp, just… tender.

The world is busy with cards and barbecues, but maybe your celebration
looks more like quiet remembering.

Grief isn’t always grand or dramatic.
Sometimes it’s just the way
you still pause by his old jumper
or hear his voice in your head when you’re trying to wire a plug.

It lives in small things:
The smell of cut grass.
That particular brand of humour you carry around without meaning to.
The way you instinctively reach for his advice, even now.

He may not be where you can call him, but he’s tucked into the way you love,
the way you face things head-on,
the way you get back up.

So today, if a tear comes, let it.
If a smile sneaks in, let that, too.

Say his name.

Tell his stories.

Raise a mug, a memory, a moment.

You don’t have to “get over” love like that.
You just weave it in, thread by golden thread, into who you’re becoming.

To those without a dad this Father’s Day:
You’re not forgotten.
You’re not alone.

I see you.
Photo ~ Peter and Hillary, Ceylon 1958

You were never meant to sit in the high courts of judgment, weighing hearts on golden scales, deciding who is worthy of ...
09/06/2025

You were never meant to sit in the high courts of judgment, weighing hearts on golden scales, deciding who is worthy of kindness and who must earn their way back into the light. That job belongs to time, or the wind, or something far older and less tangled than we are.

No, your place is down here in the undergrowth, among the brambles and the broken things. Among the ones whose knees have buckled and whose voices have faltered. Hands muddy, heart open. You are not the judge; you are the witness. The one who kneels beside the fallen, not to analyse the fall, but to say, “I’ve been here too. Let’s rise together.”

You are the warmth in winter.
The unexpected shelter in a storm.
The cup of tea pressed into trembling fingers.
The quiet voice in the shadows that says, “You are not alone.”

You are not here to hand out worthiness like rationed bread.
You’re here to remind people they were never unworthy to begin with.

It is not your work to fix, correct, or even fully understand.
It is your work to be present.

To soften.

To stay.

Because when a soul is bruised, what heals it is not scrutiny, but sanctuary.
Not instruction, but attention.
Not doctrine, but a human heartbeat nearby, saying, “I see you. I won’t look away.”

When we stop being gatekeepers and start being gardeners by tending to people, not sorting them… it is then we begin to understand something vital:

That healing moves in all directions.
In lifting the fallen, we rise a little too.
In tending another’s wound, something in us stitches closed.
And in sitting quietly with the broken, we find pieces of ourselves we didn’t know were missing.

This is the quiet, radical work of love.
Unmeasured.
Undeserved.
Unafraid.
And it changes everything.

I see you.

Art ~ Mohita Garg
Kindness links us together.

We’re all just walking each other home.Some of us limp, carrying invisible burdens. Others have calloused feet and softe...
03/06/2025

We’re all just walking each other home.

Some of us limp, carrying invisible burdens. Others have calloused feet and softened hearts, worn by the long road but still willing to reach back and offer a hand.

There’s holiness in this. Not the stained-glass kind, but the everyday sacred. The holiness that lives in a cupped hand, a patient pause, a breath shared in silence.

We meet each other in fragments, sometimes as strangers, sometimes as mirrors. And if we’re lucky, or open, or both… we remember.
We remember that underneath all the fixing, striving, defending, and doing - there is something still and holy holding us.

A presence that doesn’t demand perfection, only honesty.
A love that doesn’t rush but waits patiently.
A grace that shows up, again and again, in the form of another human being who says “I’ll walk with you.”

Maybe that’s what healing really is.
Not a destination.
Not a cure.
But a sacred returning.

To ourselves and to each other.
To the divine thread that stitches us all together.

We’re not lost.
We’re just finding our way…
Together, homeward.

I see you.

Art ~ Luciana Mathioudakis
Walking Home

For my beautiful client Laurel. I hope this helps. Staying PresentThe present moment is a quiet companion. It doesn’t ch...
01/06/2025

For my beautiful client Laurel. I hope this helps.

Staying Present

The present moment is a quiet companion. It doesn’t chase you down or raise its voice. It waits like the still surface of a lake -until you remember to return.

So how do we find our way back?

We create small pockets of stillness in the in-between moments of the day. Just a few conscious breaths. That’s all it takes. Not dramatic, not mystical, just intentional.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Here I am.

It’s not about meditating on mountaintops or clearing your mind of every thought.

It’s about presence in the ordinary.

Feel your footsteps as you walk.

Taste your food instead of just eating it.

Listen… not to reply, but to really hear.

These simple acts become anchors, holding you steady in the now.

Every time you choose presence over autopilot, you stitch a golden thread through the fabric of your day. A thread that leads you home to yourself, again and again.

Come back. Come often.

The moment is waiting.

I see you.

Art ~ Eun Yun
A cup of tea with leisure

You were love, long before you were flesh.Before breath and before even the whisper of your name - you were love, dreami...
01/06/2025

You were love, long before you were flesh.

Before breath and before even the whisper of your name - you were love, dreaming itself into form.

Not assembled, not constructed,
but woven in the quiet hush of a womb that hummed like a temple at dawn.
A lullaby of belonging, ancient and beyond language.

You were spun from the same luminous thread that holds galaxies in their spiral dance.
Not separate from the sacred - but saturated with it.

Holy from the inside out.

And still, this world, in all its forgetting,
tried to teach you otherwise.
Taught you to close and to carry pain like a surname.
To mistake the wound for your identity.

But hear me, beloved.

You are not the fracture.
You are not the scar.

You are the weaver and you are the thread.
You are the loom and the breath that moves through it.
The divine didn’t break off a piece to make you. Oh no… it poured itself whole into your bones.

This is how we heal.
Not by fixing or forcing or frantically patching up what was never truly broken… but by softening.

By loosening the grip,and remembering - with the tenderness of a mother brushing hair from a child’s face,
that we were always made of light.

Believe me when I tell you, we are not mistakes needing correction.
We are music made solid.
Fabric woven from love, stitched together by stars and starlight and soul.

Every moment is a thread.
Every breath, a needle.
And every act of remembering pulls us closer to wholeness.

You are already home.
Now… just let yourself return.

I see you.

Art ~ David Isles
The Weaver

You look at a flower and a thought drifts by. A feeling hums beneath your ribs. Something beautiful, or painful, or utte...
30/05/2025

You look at a flower and a thought drifts by.
A feeling hums beneath your ribs. Something beautiful, or painful, or utterly ordinary appears and we say, “I am aware of this.”

But look a little closer.

That “I” - the one who’s supposedly doing the seeing, the thinking, the feeling, isn’t quite what you think.

Language tricks us.
It turns the mystery into a narrative. It slices the seamless into subject and object - me and that, watcher and watched.

But you are not the one having awareness.
You are awareness!

You are the field in which it all arises.
You are not in the experience - the experience is in you.

And deeper still… beneath the layers of story, memory, ego, and effort…

You are soul.

A spark of the Divine.

Call it God, call it Source, call it the Infinite - words are too small. But whatever name you give it, you are of it.

You are from it.

And you are never separate from it.

This part of you is eternal.
It cannot be broken, lost, or diminished.
It doesn’t need to be improved - just remembered.

The moment you stop chasing a version of yourself to become… and instead rest into what you already are…
The knowing, the presence, the soul -
everything shifts.

You’re no longer trapped in your story.
You’re no longer trying to solve yourself like a problem.

And life?
It becomes less of a burden.
Less of a test.
More of a dance.

You begin to see the sacred in the ordinary. You feel the softness beneath the striving. And what once felt heavy starts to feel light, even playful.

This world is form dancing through the formless.
And you, my beloved, eternal, divine…
You are not the dancer.
You are the song.

I see you.

Art ~ Rodrigue Semabia
Song from the Soul

Some truths don’t shout.They hum.They sit quietly in the corners of our days, waiting for us to notice them again.Like t...
27/05/2025

Some truths don’t shout.
They hum.
They sit quietly in the corners of our days, waiting for us to notice them again.
Like the way sunlight catches dust in the morning, or how a child curls into sleep as if gravity is a cradle.

And this morning, one of those truths stirred in me:

Children aren’t just small people trying to become something.
They are something.
Unfiltered.
Undiluted.
Unafraid.
Not because they’re innocent, but because they’re tuned in.
Still fluent in the language of the body.
Still fluent in the rhythm we’ve spent years trying to unlearn.

They don’t consult calendars before closing their eyes.
They don’t swallow tears to make others comfortable.
They don’t ration joy like it’s something to be earned.

They just are.
And maybe that’s not childish.
Maybe that’s holy.
Maybe that’s what we were before the world asked us to be palatable.

Rest.

You are not a productivity app.
You’re a wild, breathing ecosystem.
Some days, you bloom.
Some days, you shed.
Some days, you sleep in the dark under new roots.
This is not laziness.
This is nature.

Your body knows when to stop.
So Listen.
Collapse, if you must.
There is power in pausing.
Not everything sacred makes noise.

Tears.

Don’t hold the flood back.
Don’t dam the grief for the sake of someone else’s comfort.
Your tears are not inconvenient.
They are ancient.
They know the way through.
They are the rain before new life, the salt that cleans the wound, the river that clears the path.

Let them fall.
Let them soften the sharp edges.
Let them speak what your words can’t say.

Laughter.

Joy doesn’t need permission.
It’s not a reward for having suffered enough.
It’s a spark - unpredictable, divine, sometimes ridiculous.
It lives in sideways glances, in warm toast, in the way your dog sighs when it lies beside you.

Don’t wait for joy to be “earned.”
Let it catch you off guard.
Let it surprise you.
Let it remind you how good it is to feel alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And here’s the truth I’m still learning, slowly and with grace:

Healing doesn’t always look like progress.

It often looks like undoing - like peeling back the layers you were told made you “good,” and finding out you were whole before you learned to perform.

You don’t need to explain your softness.
You don’t need to justify your joy.
You don’t need to apologise for your tears, your naps, your laughter that comes from nowhere.

You just need to remember.
The child in you does.
They never forgot how to be.
They’re just waiting for you to stop hurrying long enough to join them.

So if you’re tired today - rest.
If you’re aching - cry.
If you’re laughing - let it echo.

Live today not like someone healing
but like someone remembering the rhythm that was always there.

I see you.

Art ~ Dustyn Bustos

We live in a world that sells sunshine by the bottle, while quietly outlawing the rain. Everywhere you look, there’s a b...
27/05/2025

We live in a world that sells sunshine by the bottle, while quietly outlawing the rain.

Everywhere you look, there’s a billboard in the soul whispering, “Be happy, stay grateful, smile more.”

But what if you’re just sad?

What if the ache in your chest isn’t a sign of brokenness, but a flare from the deep - your inner compass calling for adjustment, not avoidance?

Sadness, like a low tide, reveals what’s usually hidden. But instead of honouring it, we cover it with emojis and mantras and tell ourselves to “focus on the positives,” as though sadness were a misstep rather than a messenger.

No wonder we’re exhausted.
No wonder anxiety creeps in like damp through the floorboards.
Our denied emotions don’t vanish; they just grow claws in the dark.

Maybe feeling down isn’t a disorder. Maybe it’s just the soul’s weather shifting… clouds before clarity, darkness before depth.

Life will always have its teeth.

Some days we dance on mountaintops. Other days, just getting dressed feels like a summit. That’s not a failure of mindset. No, that’s being human.

Perspective doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine. It means knowing the storm will pass, and that your sadness might be the most honest thing in the room.

I see you.

Art ~ Giselle Ayupova

Be True.To the trembling that starts in your stomach and rises to your throat.To the not-knowing, the needing, the momen...
25/05/2025

Be True.
To the trembling that starts in your stomach and rises to your throat.
To the not-knowing, the needing, the moments when you whisper,
“I can’t do this alone.”

Be true to the fire that flares -
that righteous, untamed spark that shouts when your boundaries are breached.

And to the softness that follows
when the body curls inwards and the tears finally arrive,
not as weakness, but as wisdom being released through water.

Be True.
To the scattered pieces of your becoming.
You have not always been whole.
You have not always been wise.
You have loved poorly. You have walked away too soon.
You have stayed too long. You have broken things.
And you have built them again and again, with bruised hands and a heart that still beats hope into mornings.

That matters.

Be true to the glorious disasters.
To the days you dropped every ball and forgot your own name.
And to the nights you stayed anyway -
when no one was watching, when it didn’t earn applause, when it was just you and the work of holding yourself
together… again.

Be True.
Because here we are.
Mortal, muddling, magical, having this strange and exquisite experience of being human.

We are not gods.
Not untouchable.
Not immune to the ache of time.
We get grey and saggy and silly and slow.
We say the wrong thing.
We take the wrong turn.
We spill the milk and the secrets and the dreams we swore we’d protect.

Still… here we are.
Learning.
Failing.
Reaching for the light.

So, dear one,
Pause.

Lay down the heaviness of needing to get it right.
Loosen the laces on perfection.
It’s not about letting yourself go -
it’s about letting yourself BE!

The tired version.
The curious version.
The one that doesn’t sparkle today but still dares to speak.

Be True.
To the Self beneath the show.
To the quiet beauty that blooms in the background when nobody is looking.
To the you that craves rest,
that finds sanctuary not in productivity,
but in presence.

Be True.
Because the world will always ask for more.
More polish, more hustle, more proof.

But your soul?
That eternal part of you.
It asks only for your presence.
Not your performance.

Let your Self grow back.
Wild and fragrant, like herbs in forgotten soil.
Let your taste for real life return:
the tang of laughter, the salt of tears,
the bittersweet honesty of just being here.

Be True.
Not perfect.
Not pleasing.
Not always polished or poised.

But present.
Open.
Alive.

Let us walk together - this twisted, holy road - with dirty hands and open hearts,
knowing that sacred things are often messy.

That healing isn’t a straight line.
That growth sometimes looks like grief,
like stumbling, like surrender.

And in the end…
when all the trying falls away, we’ll meet ourselves again.
Not at the finish line, not at the top of some mountain of achievement, but in the soft, surprising beauty of simply being…

Right Here.
Right Now.

Exactly as we are.

I see you.

Art ~ Felicia Bade
Just Be

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Ludlow

Opening Hours

Tuesday 10am - 5pm
Wednesday 10am - 3pm
Thursday 10am - 7pm
Saturday 9am - 3pm

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