15/09/2026
Just before we graduated, one of my peers and a very dear friend said something to me after one of our triad sessions. Simply: *Youโre a therapist.โ Those words really landed.
I donโt know whether she would even remember saying them, but it was the first time I realy felt the value of being able to say what I do for work with real pride and a sense of self worth. From then on, that was how I thought of myself. Iโm a therapist.
And so, eventually, it started to feel strange that the name of my practice didnโt quite reflect that.
Thereโs that line from Romeo and Juliet: โA rose by any other name would smell as sweet.โ Iโve always disagreed with that.
My actual name is Philippa. Itโs my birth name, my christened name, and yet Iโve never really felt like a Philippa. Only a few people have ever consistently called me that. Whether they knew I didnโt like it, Iโll never know - my fear of questioning the ways of adults and people pleasing traits were already firmly in place by then.
Iโve always been Pippa (or Pip or Pips to my friends and siblings). I have nothing against the name Philippa, in fact I think itโs a very elegant name; it just doesnโt feel like my name.
My middle name is an inherited name from my fatherโs side and traditionally given to boys so the less said about that the better.
But to me, this matters. Words hold value. Names hold value. They affect how we understand things and, sometimes, how we understand ourselves.
Perhaps the difference between counselling and therapy is only a nuance. But itโs a nuance that makes a difference to me โ to the way I think about the work I do, my identity and even, in some small way, to how I think about myself when Iโm sitting with someone in a session.
So Therapy with Pippa feels more like me.
If you noticed the change, thereโs your probably entirely unnecessary explanation.
And if you didnโt notice it at all, you now know far more about it than you ever needed to โบ๏ธ