Preparing This Keynote Has Me Feeling All the Things

I've been staring at my laptop screen for the past hour, the cursor blinking at me expectantly. The presentation slides are open. My notes are scattered across the desk. And I'm feeling absolutely everything at once.

In eleven days, I'll be standing in The Bridgewater Hall in Manchester, speaking at the Saint Mary's Centre Annual Conference 2026. The theme is “A Shared Vision: Reflecting on 40 Years of SARCs, Responding to Sexual Violence and Shaping the Future Together.”

Forty years since the first Sexual Assault Referral Centre opened in the UK. Forty years of dedicated professionals showing up for survivors. Forty years of progress, innovation, setbacks, and resilience.

And I've been asked to be part of that conversation.

 

The Invitation That Changed Everything

When the invitation arrived, I read it three times. Then I stepped away from my desk, made a cup of tea, and read it again.

They wanted me to speak about reaching the unreached. About bridging the gap for survivors who are waiting for help while they wait for help. About what trauma-informed, guided self-help can offer when traditional support isn't immediately accessible.

This is the work I've been doing since 2017. The work that keeps me awake some nights and fills me with hope on others. The work that nearly 20 UK charities have trusted enough to license for their clients. The work that Swansea University adopted in 2024 to support their students. And Saint Mary's SARC adopted in 2025.

But speaking about it at this conference? To policy makers, criminal justice professionals, police officers, forensic physicians, health professionals, safeguarding personnel, court support workers, and therapeutic support providers?

That feels monumental.

 

Why This Conference Matters

Saint Mary's SARC has been at the forefront of survivor care for decades. This conference isn't just a celebration of how far we've come, it's an honest look at where we are and a critical conversation about where we need to go.

Because here's the truth that keeps me up at night: the system is overwhelmed. Survivors are waiting. And while they wait, trauma deepens. Hope fades. The gap between crisis and care stretches wider.

I know this because I've lived it. I know this because over 10,000 survivors have trusted me with their stories, their struggles, their questions about whether healing is even possible when help feels so far away.

This conference is asking the right question: what does the future of trauma support look like? And I'm honoured, terrified, and determined to be part of answering it.

 

What It Means to Speak as a Survivor to the Sector

I'm not just a coach or a programme creator standing at that podium. I'm a survivor.

I know what it feels like to wait. To be told “we'll get back to you” while your world is falling apart. To smile and say “I'm fine” because you don't know how else to survive the gap between needing help and receiving it.

I also know what it feels like to find a lifeline in that gap. To discover that healing doesn't always require a waiting room, that support can be immediate, private, and trauma-safe. That you can begin reclaiming your sense of self even while you're waiting for the next step.

That's what I want to share with the room. Not theory. Not abstract possibilities. But lived experience backed by nearly a decade of watching this approach work for thousands of women.

And that feels vulnerable. Important. Necessary. And absolutely terrifying.

 

The Weight of Representing the Unreached

Every time I sit down to work on this keynote, I think about the women who are waiting right now. The ones scrolling through websites at 2am, trying to find something, anything, that will help them feel less alone. The ones who've been on a waiting list for months and are starting to believe they're not worth the wait.

I think about the university student who accessed Taste of Recovery through her wellbeing service and told me it was the first time she felt like someone understood. I think about the charity worker who licensed the programme and said, “We needed something to offer while people wait. This is it.”

I carry their stories into that presentation. Their courage. Their resilience. Their right to immediate, compassionate, trauma-informed support.

That's not pressure, it's purpose. But it's also why I'm feeling all the things.

 

Preparing a Keynote When You're Feeling All the Things

Honestly? Some days the preparation feels clear and focused. I know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it. The words flow. The slides make sense. I feel ready.

Other days, I stare at the screen and feel the weight of it all. What if I don't say it right? What if the sector isn't ready to hear it? What if I freeze up there and forget that I'm not just speaking for myself, I'm speaking for every survivor who's been told to wait?

And then I remember: feeling all the things is exactly right. This matters too much to feel neutral about.

I'm nervous because I care. I'm excited because this conversation is long overdue. I'm vulnerable because authenticity is the only way I know how to show up. I'm hopeful because I genuinely believe we can do better, together.

So I keep working on the slides. I keep refining the message. I keep breathing through the nerves and leaning into the hope.

 

What I Hope Happens in That Room

On April 21st and 22nd, The Bridgewater Hall will be full of people who've dedicated their careers to supporting survivors. People who understand the gaps, the challenges, the heartbreak of not being able to help everyone who needs it, right when they need it.

I hope my keynote sparks something. A conversation. A question. A willingness to explore what innovation could look like in trauma recovery.

I hope it reminds people that survivors are resourceful, capable, and deserving of tools that meet them where they are, not just where the system can reach them.

I hope it opens the door to a future where “bridging the gap” isn't just an idea, it's a standard part of how we respond to sexual violence.

And honestly? I hope I make it through without crying. But if I do cry, I hope it's the kind that reminds everyone in that room why we do this work in the first place.

 

Between Now and Then

Eleven days. That's what I have left to prepare, to breathe, to remind myself that I belong in that room just as much as anyone else.

I'll keep working on the slides. I'll keep refining the message. I'll keep feeling all the things, because that's what happens when you care deeply about work that matters.

And when I step onto that stage, I'll carry every survivor who's ever been told to wait. Every woman who's wondered if healing is possible. Every person who's built a life from the broken pieces and decided it was worth it.

This keynote isn't just about what I've learned. It's about what we've all learned together, and what the next 40 years could look like if we're brave enough to innovate.

So yes, I'm feeling all the things. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

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If you're preparing for something that matters deeply to you, or if you're navigating your own healing journey while waiting for support, you're not alone. The Sanctuary offers immediate, gentle support at your own pace. You don't have to wait to start healing. £25/month for structured, survivor-led community support.