Recently I launched a small podcast called The Therapeutic Pause. In truth, I wasnāt really trying to launch a podcast at all. I was trying to make a birthday present for a friend living with fatigue. Whether they actually like it remains to be seen.
As with any homemade gift, there is always a degree of uncertainty involved. You spend hours making something that feels meaningful to you, but once it leaves your hands it belongs to somebody else. My hope was simply that they might find some of it useful. Not necessarily all of it. One of the ideas behind the project was that different things are helpful at different times. Some days we want a longer reflection. Some days we only have the energy for a few minutes. Some days we want to think. Some days we simply want to rest. No single resource seems to fit every situation, which is perhaps why the recordings gradually evolved into a small collection rather than a single resource.
Iāve used guided imagery exercises and relaxation recordings in different contexts over the years, both with adults and young people, and they have generally seemed to be received well - at least by some people. I suspect part of their appeal is that they offer permission to slow down for a while. Iāve always enjoyed offering them and, as it turns out, creating them too. Recording a guided reflection requires me to become a little more present myself. I have to slow down, pay attention to my breathing, and think carefully about each sentence. In many ways, the process creates its own pause, inviting me to practise some of the same things Iām encouraging others to do.
Not Really a Podcast Person
Despite trying a few times, I have never really been a podcast listener. That probably sounds like a strange thing to admit when launching a podcast. Iāve listened to plenty of guided imagery exercises, relaxation recordings, and mindfulness practices over the years, but podcasts have never played a particularly large role in my life. In some ways, that may explain why The Therapeutic Pause doesnāt entirely feel like a podcast to me. It feels more like a small library of audio resources - something people might dip into when they need it, rather than something that needs to be followed from beginning to end.
I also arrived at the project with what somebody once described as a boring voice. Years ago, someone left a comment on a video recording I had made (recorded during a rather unusual academic visit to Moscow many years ago). They described my voice as boring before adding that it was probably exactly the sort of voice they wanted from somebody doing the kind of work that I do. Iāve chosen to remember the second part of the sentence rather than the first.
In truth, I think there may have been something useful in the observation. The recordings that make up The Therapeutic Pause are not trying to be exciting. They are not trying to compete for attention. They are not built around high-energy storytelling or dramatic revelations. Their purpose is much simpler. They are trying to create a little space, a little rest, and a little room to breathe. If a boring voice contributes to that, perhaps I should embrace it.
A Good Enough Podcast
The more I worked on the project, the more I found myself thinking about the idea of a āgood enoughā podcast.
There are certainly better-produced podcasts out there. There are people with more sophisticated equipment, more technical expertise, better microphones, and a far more developed understanding of audio production than I possess. There are recordings with beautifully engineered soundscapes and production values that make mine seem decidedly homemade. And yet, increasingly, I find myself wondering whether homemade is entirely a bad thing.
One of the unexpected things about creating these recordings has been doing so at a time when increasingly sophisticated AI systems can generate remarkably polished content. In many ways, that is impressive. Yet the more polished some things become, the more interested I find myself in the small signs that something was made by a person.
The breaths.
The pauses.
The occasional word that doesnāt come out quite as intended.
The moments where I realise I have slightly misread my own script and decide it isnāt worth recording the whole thing again.
The evidence that another human being was present.
The keyboard accompaniment sits somewhere in this space too. It isnāt especially sophisticated. In truth, it is probably a little cheesy and perhaps a little stereotypical. I am certainly not a keyboard player. It simply creates a gentle backdrop that seems to fit what the recordings are trying to do. It sits quietly in the background and, for the most part, stays out of the way.
The whole project has been something of an experiment. Some decisions have been deliberate. Others have emerged because I am learning as I go. I suspect there are plenty of things that a more experienced producer would do differently. There are occasional mispronunciations, moments where the intonation isnāt quite what I intended, and places where I could probably spend another hour editing. But at some point I have found myself asking whether endless polishing would actually improve the resource, or simply delay it from existing at all.
If I had waited until I knew how to make the perfect podcast, I suspect there would be no podcast.
Much of The Therapeutic Pause is built around a fairly simple humanistic idea: that people do not need to become perfect before they deserve care. Somewhere along the way, it struck me that I didnāt particularly want the recordings themselves pretending to be perfect either.
What Has Emerged
As the project developed, three collections began to emerge. Living with Fatigue explores themes of rest, acceptance, and kindness in the context of fatigue. Five Minute Hugs offers short moments of encouragement and companionship. Guided Imagery invites listeners into landscapes that offer rest, reflection, perspective, and restoration.
By the time this post appears, there will be ten recordings available across those collections. That feels both slightly surprising and oddly satisfying given that none of this was planned particularly far in advance.
At the time of writing, the recordings have already been listened to 486 times, which is rather more than I expected given that the birthday gift at the centre of all this has not yet been delivered. The project was created with one person in mind, but it seems that a handful of others have found their way there too. Perhaps that is one of the pleasures of putting something into the world. Sometimes it travels a little further than you expected.
I certainly wasnāt trying to create the best podcast. I was trying to create a useful one. Something that might sit alongside the many excellent resources that already exist. Something that might add a small contribution to the pool rather than replace what is already there. Something that might be helpful to a friend and, perhaps, to others who happen to stumble across it at the right moment.
A few minutes of reflection.
A guided walk through a woodland.
A sheltered bay.
A five minute hug.
Thatās enough.
What Comes Next?
The collection remains relatively small and very much a work in progress. There are ideas scribbled down for future series focused on anxiety, everyday noticing, walking reflections, and the experience of learning to become a therapist. Some of those ideas may become recordings. Others may never get beyond a notebook. Thatās fine. The project is still finding its feet.
If you have suggestions for future collections, themes, or topics that you think might be useful, Iād be interested to hear them. Several of the recordings already exist because of conversations with other people and suggestions about what might be helpful. I canāt promise to create everything that is suggested, but Iāll certainly add ideas to the list and see where they might fit.
The Therapeutic Pause began as a gift. Perhaps it can continue to grow in the same spirit. For now, though, Iām content with the slightly rough edges.
The breaths.
The pauses.
The occasionally boring voice.
In a world increasingly filled with polished content, there is perhaps still some value in being reminded that another human being made something and offered it in good faith.
And if a few people find these recordings useful along the way, then that feels like a pretty good outcome to me.
The Therapeutic Pause is available on Substack, Spotify and Apple Podcasts.