When the Pieces Finally Made Sense

12 September 2025 • Bianca Borrello

He arrived carrying years of invisible luggage. The unpredictable father, the sting of bullying, the constant sense of being on the outside looking in. He seemed to be getting it wrong from day one, he was the one who missed the unspoken rules, who was told he was stupid. In relationships he settled for less, convinced that asking for more would only end with him being left behind. At work, the warnings stacked up, never quite understanding what he had done but always assuming it was his fault.

The stories he told himself were heavy: I’m not enough. I’m unlovable. I’ll never get it right.

We explored it deeper, working through the constant sense of highs and lows, depression diagnosis, the lost friendships, the negative thought spirals. And then came a moment of clarity. ADHD and autism. Two words that began to reshape a lifetime of confusion. Suddenly the scattered pieces of his past began to slot together. The late nights of restless energy, the moments of saying too much or not enough, suddenly they weren’t proof of failure, they were signs of a mind wired differently.

I watched as he realised that the problem had never been that he was broken. The problem was that the world didn’t know how to meet him where he was.

The emotions that followed were raw, as they should be. Anger was in our room, frustration at the years lost. Grief for the boy who had never been understood. Fear of what it might mean to step into life more fully.

Together we sat with it, not fixing or soothing away just simply contain it. To hold the edges while he let the storm move through him.

And slowly, change began to unfold.

He ended a relationship that no longer served him, sitting with the ache of loneliness instead of shrinking himself to stay. He allowed vulnerability to creep in, telling his friends the truth of his story and learning that being seen didn’t always mean being rejected. He set boundaries with his dad, not out of anger but out of self-preservation, so he no longer had to live in the endless loop of being let down.

And then, I watched what I can only describe as joy arrive. The rediscovery of something that had always been his anchor: music. Behind the drum kit he found rhythm, release, belonging. He joined a band and allowed himself to lean into all that he was, just as he is.

I reflect often at the full circle of a client's journey, taking from it what I can in my own learning, watching him reminds me of something I sometimes forget in my work and that is just that: I don’t do the work, my clients do. I simply create a space sturdy enough to hold whatever needs to be felt, so that when they are ready, they can step into themselves.

His story isn’t neat, healing rarely is but it is real. It's full of endings, some we like some we don't, vulnerability of releasing the shame Brene Brown has taught us about time and time again and the slow building of a life that feels more honest. And it is proof that sometimes the pieces finally do make sense, not because life becomes perfect, but because you finally allow yourself to live it fully.