I became a psychologist because someone once listened to me properly.

I'm Wren, the person you'd be sitting with. I grew up in regional Victoria and moved to Melbourne for uni, convinced I'd be a journalist. Then, in a very hard year, I met a psychologist who didn't try to fix me, didn't nod in that fake way, and asked the kinds of questions I'm still grateful for. I changed degrees that week.

Twelve years on, I run Wildsouls Studio from a sunlit room in Fitzroy North. Most of my clients are women in their thirties, forties and fifties. Navigating anxiety they've carried since they were kids, relationships that have grown complicated, grief that doesn't follow a tidy timeline, or that quiet, disorienting moment of realising they've drifted from themselves.

My work is warm and a little irreverent. I believe therapy should feel like a real conversation, not a script. I'll ask things, I'll remember things, I'll occasionally be wrong about things and say so. Outside the room I have two elderly cats, a terrible herb garden, and a tendency to walk too far on weekends.