It’s Sunday afternoon, and while many people are taking a well-earned rest, I’m spending my day practising a presentation for the South West Social Care Occupational Therapy Regional Conference: Prevent, Reduce, Delay the Occupational Therapy Way, which I’ll be giving on Tuesday. The timing feels perfect as it falls within Occupational Therapy Week, and this year’s theme — Prevention and Early Intervention, could not feel more relevant to the profession or to my own journey.
Whenever I prepare a presentation, I find myself slipping into reflection. It always starts with practical tasks checking the slides, rehearsing the flow but somewhere in the process, I start to think about the deeper meaning behind what I’m saying. Today has been one of those reflective days. Somewhere between drafting notes and refining examples, I found myself going down a familiar rabbit hole: looking through old photos and videos from my recovery.
They tell a story I sometimes forget to acknowledge. There I am, newly home from hospital, figuring out how to live differently learning to use equipment, trying new techniques, and adapting to changes that once felt overwhelming. The videos show cautious movements, experimental problem-solving, moments of frustration and quiet victory. Looking back, I see the steady progress and the resilience that carried me through, though I didn’t always recognise it at the time.
Each clip represents what could have been early intervention small, deliberate steps that might have been smoother or less painful with the right support in place. In truth, much of my recovery happened despite the lack of prevention and early intervention. The support I needed came late, and that delay left lasting effects. That absence is something I still feel deeply, and it’s one of the reasons I continue to speak out about my experiences. It’s what fuels my determination to keep pushing for change so that others don’t have to fight so hard for the right help at the right time.
As I work this afternoon, Lily Allen’s voice drifts through the background. Her first album came out in 2006, the same year I qualified as an occupational therapist, so she has always been part of the soundtrack to my professional and personal life. I’ve listened to her music on and off over the years, and really enjoy her podcast Miss Me? She’s no longer part of it now, and I miss her contributions, but it’s still a good listen. Her new album West End Girl, released in October 2025, feels like the cultural talking point of the moment.
I still remember seeing her live from the accessible viewing platform at V Festival in 2009, the year The Killers headlined. I went for them but came away completely absorbed by Lily Allen’s performance. The energy, the wit, the unapologetic honesty, it all stayed with me. Even then, what stood out most was her storytelling. She’s fearless in the way she explores emotion, identity, and contradiction. There’s humour, vulnerability, and rawness in her lyrics that make her work feel deeply human.
That’s what continues to resonate with me. I can’t relate directly to many of her experiences, but I admire her ability to turn them into stories that connect. I think that’s why she’s been a companion through my writing over the years. Her songs remind me that storytelling is powerful, it gives meaning, voice, and context to experience. I try to do the same in my own way through blogging and presenting, capturing small moments that tell a wider truth about who we are, what we value, and how we keep going.
This year’s Occupational Therapy Week theme Prevention and Early Intervention echoes that creative process. It’s about listening early, noticing the first signs of difficulty, and supporting people to sustain their everyday occupations before a crisis develops. In our profession, we know that stepping in early can make the difference between recovery and decline, between feeling lost and feeling supported.
But this theme isn’t only about service delivery. It’s also about recognising that we, too, need prevention and early intervention in our own lives. It’s about knowing when to ask for help, when to rest, when to reframe, and when to return to what brings meaning. My own journey taught me that those moments of early support a conversation, a simple adaptation, an understanding colleague can prevent so much loss and preserve what really matters: connection, creativity, and participation.
As I practise my talk for Tuesday, I can hear Lily Allen in the background, her songs threading through my thoughts. I think about how both her storytelling and my profession share something essential they both seek to make sense of experience, to transform pain and challenge into something expressive, useful, and healing.
So, as Occupational Therapy Week begins, I find myself not only preparing to present but also reflecting on how far I’ve come, how much prevention and early intervention could have shaped my story if they had been there, and how that gap drives me to make a difference. The frustration of what was missing has become my motivation to keep speaking up, to keep advocating, and to keep pushing for systems that act early and listen deeply.
Here’s to a week that celebrates our shared humanity, the creativity of our profession, and the power of acting early before the crisis, before the silence through meaningful occupation and connection.
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