Untangled Therapy and Training

We are excited to release our 2026/2027 School Training Catalogue for educators, leadership teams, and school communities.

Training areas include:
- emotional regulation
- trauma-informed practice
- behaviour support
- anxiety in the classroom
- sensory needs
- supporting neurodivergent students
- staff wellbeing
- parent information sessions…and more.

Available across Bunbury, Busselton, Margaret River, Peel, Mandurah and surrounding regions.

📩 Contact us for the catalogue or booking information at [email protected]

We had a special visitor in the office with Tamara today.

Franklin is training hard to be a therapy dog 🤍🤎

Therapy dogs aren’t there to fix hard moments. They simply help make them feel a little safer.

A calm dog in a therapy space can support regulation, connection, confidence, and co-regulation in ways that are often hard to explain but easy to feel 🐾

Today Franklin came into the clinic as part of his training journey, practicing how to settle, observe, and respond calmly in a therapeutic environment. Slow, steady foundations matter most for humans and dogs alike. 

Lest we forget.

Today we pause to remember the courage, sacrifice, and resilience of all who have served and continue to serve.

We honour those who gave their lives, those who returned changed, and the families who carry their stories.

May we hold space for reflection, gratitude, and quiet remembrance.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
we will remember them.

Resilience

We don’t get to decide who our children are.

They come into the world with their own personalities, preferences, and ways of being and so much of that is simply theirs.

BUT along the way, we do play a role in how they come to feel about themselves.

Not in a pressure-filled, ‘get it right’ kind of way.

But in the everyday moments.
How we respond when things feel big.
How we make space for their feelings and
how we come back together after the hard moments.

There is so much room for imperfection here.

Because what children need most isn’t a perfect parent
it’s a relationship where they feel safe, accepted, and able to be themselves.

A gentle reminder this Easter:

Your child eating chocolate is not a problem to solve.

But it can bring up a lot internally for us as parents.

Thoughts about sugar.
About health.
About weight.
About ‘too much’.

And often, those thoughts come from somewhere.

The way we were taught to think about food.
The way our bodies were spoken about.
The rules we absorbed without even realising.

Breaking those patterns doesn’t happen in a perfect moment.

It happens when we pause.
When we notice the urge to control.
When we choose a slightly different response.

If this Easter weekend has felt a bit loud in your mind around food or bodies, that makes sense.

You’re allowed to be learning this too.

And those small shifts?
They matter more than you think 🤍

When the Grown-Ups Talked in Worried Voices.

Lately, the house felt a little different.

The TV stayed on longer.
Phones buzzed more.
And the grown-ups spoke in quiet, serious voices in the kitchen.

“…the war…”
“…prices going up…”
“…petrol again…”

A child sat nearby, colouring, but their ears were listening.

Not to every word.
Just to the feeling behind them.

Heavy. Tight. Worried.

Later, the child climbed onto the couch beside Mum.

“Mum?” they asked softly.

“Hmm?” Mum turned, gentle and present.

“Why do the grown-ups sound scared?”

Mum paused, not to hide the truth, but to hold it safely.

“There are big things happening in the world,” she said softly. “Sometimes grown-ups feel worried when things feel uncertain.”

The child looked down. “Are we going to be okay?”

Mum shifted closer, wrapping an arm around them.

“That’s a really important question,” she said gently.

The child leaned in.

“Right now, we are safe,” Mum said. “We have our home, our family, and each other. The grown-ups are thinking and planning to keep things steady.”

The child was quiet.

“I don’t like it when everyone sounds worried,” they admitted.

“That makes sense,” Mum said. “When voices sound worried, it can make our bodies feel worried too.”

She took their hand, resting it softly on her arm.

“Can you feel this?” she asked.

The child nodded.

“That’s me. I’m right here with you.”

They sat together, close enough to feel each other breathe.

“Do you know what helps when the world feels big?” Mum asked.

The child shook their head.

“We come back to what’s right here,” Mum said. “This moment. This couch. Us together.”

Outside, the world kept moving, busy, noisy, full of big conversations.

But right here, something felt steadier.

A warm arm.
A softer voice.
A reminder that even when the world feels big they didn’t have to carry it alone.

——————————————————————————————-

Reflection for parents:
Children don’t need all the answers, they need to feel safe, held, and gently guided back to what is steady and within reach.

When the Wind Got Loud:

The wind started as a whisper.

At first, it brushed gently past the windows, like it was just passing through.
But by evening, it had found its voice.

The house creaked softly. The trees outside bent and swayed. The sky had turned a heavy grey-green, and everything felt a little unfamiliar, a little uncertain.

On the couch, a child curled in close, knees tucked up tight.

“Mum, is it going to break the house?” they asked, their voice small.

Mum came and sat beside them, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“I don’t think so,” she said gently. “But I can see why it feels scary.”

The child leaned into her.

Another gust rattled the windows.

“I don’t like not knowing what will happen,” they whispered.

Mum nodded, wrapping an arm around them.
“I know. Not knowing can feel really big sometimes.”

They sat together, listening to the wind rise and fall
rise and fall, like a big, noisy breath.

After a moment, Mum spoke softly.
“Do you remember the big storms we used to have?”

A small nod.

“I remember hiding in the hallway,” the child said.

Mum smiled. “Yeah, we made it cosy, didn’t we?”

“And you let me bring all my teddies.”

“I did,” Mum said, brushing their hair back. “And what did we do while we waited?”

“We told stories,” the child said, a tiny smile returning.

Another gust came, but this time, the child stayed close, without pulling away.

“Can we do that again?” they asked.

Mum squeezed them gently. “Of course we can.”

So they made a little nest right there on the couch. Blankets tucked in, teddies gathered close, a soft torch glowing between them.

Outside, the wind was loud and wild, full of all the things they couldn’t control.

But inside, there was warmth.

There was a steady voice.
A gentle hand.
A feeling of being held.

And little by little, the unknown didn’t feel quite so big anymore.

——————————————————————————————

More often than not we can’t take away the unknown, especially in the world we find ourselves in at the moment.
For our children, being close, calm, and connected is what helps children feel safe within it.

Hi 👋 Tamara here,

One of my beautiful friends and colleagues is currently completing her PhD 👇

Sarah is looking to better understand the experiences of caregivers of children with additional developmental needs, particularly:
• How clear expectations of the caregiving role feel,
• How fulfilling or satisfying that role is,
• How caregiving fits alongside everything else in daily life.

If this is something that relates to you, your voice would be so valuable in helping shape a better understanding of caregiver experiences in Australia.

This is a student-led research project as part of a Doctor of Philosophy.

https://www151.griffith.edu.au/redcap/surveys/?s=4RT3XKAW37HE87NH

Anger is often a secondary emotion, for both us and our kids.

It is often the one that shows up loudest.
The one that gets expressed quickest.

But underneath anger, there’s usually something more vulnerable:

For our kids, it might be
“I’m overwhelmed”
“I don’t understand”
“I feel out of control”

And for us, it might be
“This is too much”
“I’m worried I’m getting it wrong”
“I feel stretched beyond capacity”

Two nervous systems, both trying to cope.

When we start to see anger this way, as the feeling we see (and feel) first but not the whole picture, it softens things, just a little.

This doesn’t mean we ignore behaviour or drop boundaries.

But it does mean we look beyond the anger and respond to what’s driving it, not just what we can see.

We prepare women for birth.
But we rarely prepare them for the transition into motherhood.

There is actually a word for this transition: matrescence.

Just like adolescence is the transition from child to adult, matrescence describes the profound physical, emotional, psychological and social changes that occur when someone becomes a mother.

During this time, many women experience shifts in identity, relationships, priorities, hormones, sleep and confidence.

It can be joyful, overwhelming, beautiful and exhausting often all at once.

For a long time, these changes have been misunderstood or dismissed as simply ‘coping with a new baby.’ But matrescence recognises that becoming a mother is a major developmental transition that deserves understanding, support and compassion.

When we understand matrescence, it creates space to recognise that many of the emotions and challenges that arise in early motherhood are part of a significant life transition.

Support during this time matters.
Because when mothers are supported, families thrive.