In a world full of complex theories, dense research papers, and professional jargon, doodles offer something refreshingly human. They are simple, immediate, and honest. A few sketches and arrows on a page can capture an entire emotional truth or therapeutic concept — not because they are simplistic, but because they cut straight to the heart of things. I’ve always doodled — for my own pleasure, curiosity, and sanity. It was never something I set out to share. Doodling has long been part of how I think, reflect, and process the world. It’s how ideas land in me, and how they often start to take shape. But it wasn’t until I was writing my second book, Controlled Explosions in Mental Health, that I began to seriously consider how these little drawings might benefit others as well.

That book invited me to reflect not only on emotional intensity and therapeutic practice, but also on how we communicate difficult concepts — how we make the unseen, seen. During the writing process, I found myself returning to visuals. They helped me express what words sometimes couldn’t. And slowly, I began to see that these doodles might have a place beyond my own notebooks.

Now, I use a Kindle Scribe (2022, 1st gen) for most of my drawing. It’s a device that travels with me pretty much everywhere — a kind of digital sketchbook tucked under my arm. It’s low-key, portable, and allows me to draw whenever something strikes me: a moment in a therapy session, a passing thought, or a visual metaphor that suddenly makes a concept click.

What makes doodles particularly powerful in mental health work is their accessibility. You don’t need a psychology degree to understand a scribbled cartoon about anxiety, shame, or the inner critic. You don’t even need to be fluent in English. Visuals cross boundaries. They level the field between practitioner and client, speaker and audience, expert and learner. They make the abstract more tangible, and the theoretical more relatable.

There’s something disarming about a doodle, too. It can hold serious ideas without feeling heavy. A character struggling with an inner voice, or a blob tangled in its own thoughts, can invite curiosity, compassion, and recognition. Doodles say, “Let’s explore this together,” rather than “Let me explain this to you.”

They also reflect the essence of what it means to be human: imperfect, expressive, creative, and in process. They don’t pretend to be polished or definitive. Like therapy itself, they evolve. They can grow with new insight, shift shape depending on the context, and even contradict themselves — all without losing their value.

In my work, I’ve found that doodles often say what a full page of text can’t. They invite a smile, a pause, a moment of resonance. They’ve become tools for reflection, teaching aids in training, and anchors in difficult conversations. Whether I’m sketching for a research presentation or drawing something mid-supervision, doodling allows me to think more freely, communicate more clearly, and connect more deeply.

The Doodles page in the STUDIO section of the website is a home for those visual moments. Some are polished, some are messy. Some are planned, others drawn spontaneously on the train or in the quiet of a morning. All of them are part of a larger effort to make mental health concepts more accessible, relatable, and — above all — human.