Blog: Listening for the Curlew: How my practice got its name

Listening for the Curlew: How my practice got its name
25th August 2026
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I certainly didn’t set out to name my new practice after a bird. When I started planning my new adventure into the world of private practice, I imagined the name I would come up with would have that professional flair, something sensible, something solid and reassuring - something that sounded like a counselling practice. Something that a counselling practice should sound like.

But it didn’t happen like that; not at all. After musing on it for a while, I knew I wanted something nature-based, something to reflect the locality. But still, I was stuck. Even AI did not come up with anything that I liked.

The name came quietly, the way curlews do.

Walking is one of my grounding techniques I turn to when my thoughts and feelings are whirring: an opportunity to focus on the rhythm, breathe in the beauty around me and to listen inwardly and reflect. Walking itself is therapy but with my beautiful spaniel, Max, by my side, even more therapeutic (except the continuous need for stimulation and ball retrieving!). It was then while walking him in the wilder parts of Upper Teesdale, I heard it. Walking along the lonely path not far from the River Tees and Pennine Way, with the wind gently rustling in the reeds, I heard the distinct, long rising, almost haunting tone of the curlew call that stretched across the moors. I searched the horizon for the bird and saw one stood still on a reedy tussock, quiet, still, at home in its environment, a gentle presence but one that owned its surroundings too, and then shortly afterwards, another one flying low westward, possibly the same one, with its long-curved bill. There was something about its presence that stayed with me long after I returned home that afternoon, muddy and wind-swept.

The curlew felt symbolic in a way I couldn’t ignore. They are gentle birds, but not fragile. They are resilient, returning year after year to the same landscapes of estuaries or moorlands, even as the world around them shifts and challenges them, showing quiet strength, not the loud, triumphant kind, but the quiet, steady kind that many people carry without recognising it. Their call is expressive without being demanding, a reaching out, but it draws you in too, makes you search for the source, the meaning behind the call. Their call is a sound that says, “I’m here,” without overwhelming, a beautiful parallel to the counselling relationship. That got me reflecting on the kind of counsellor I recognised in myself, one who offers a calm and steady presence, solid and secure, someone who recognises and honours the quiet resilience and life experiences people carry, someone for whom empathy is easy to find and freely given.

The name ‘Curlew Counselling’ landed gently in my mind, growing surer and firmer over the following days. Asking my AI friend Gemini to create a logo was the defining moment. Gemini did her thing and produced the logo, which cemented the name for me. I loved it; with its soft warm colours, the sense of natural space and new beginnings and hope, rising above the landscape. It’s a visual cue that the practice is a place of kindness, care and hope.

That was it, decision made. I had become Curlew Counselling.

So, what does the name mean for those that come to Curlew Counselling? I hope when clients step into Curlew Counselling, they feel some of what the curlew represents: a calm, spacious environment; a grounded presence alongside them; a place where their voice can rise and fall naturally; a sense of being met without urgency or expectation and a recognition of the quiet resilience I see in many clients, the ability to keep going growing, moving on, to return to what matters, even when life feels uncertain. The curlew reminds me daily of the kind of therapeutic space I want to offer, one shaped by gentleness, resilience, and the quiet strength found in nature.

Curlew Counselling wasn’t named after a bird. It was named after a feeling, one of belonging, gentle but solid presence, compassion and attunement, and returning to what matters.
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