Hello again (or hello for the first time)
If you've been here before, you might notice things look a little different. I've been doing some spring cleaning in October. Some people bake pumpkin bread when the leaves turn; apparently I rewrite web pages.
So let me properly reintroduce myself. I'm Glenda Myles, a Registered Psychotherapist (CRPO) who has been practising for 11 years. I offer online therapy to adults across most of Canada, and my work centres on grief, trauma, anxiety and those seasons when life simply asks too much of you.
In this post, I want to share how I work, what I believe therapy can do, and, maybe most importantly, what it's actually like to walk through the (virtual) door. Spoiler: there's no leather couch, and nobody asks you about your mother in the first five minutes.
What 11 years of therapy has taught me
In 11 years of practice, a lot has changed. Therapy moved online for me earlier than others, new approaches have come along, and the research keeps growing. But the most important thing hasn't changed one bit.
At the core of good therapy is a good relationship.
That means a space where you can openly share what's really happening, without editing yourself for my comfort. It means feeling heard and seen, not just nodded at. And yes, it means I'll offer some wisdom along the way, usually in the form of coping strategies, a bit of education about what's happening in your brain and body, and good, deep questions.
Those questions matter more than any advice I could give. My job isn't to tell you how to live. It's to help you get curious about what you want, what you like and what you feel. Most people already have more wisdom inside them than they realize. Sometimes it just needs a quiet room and someone who's genuinely listening.
My approach to therapy: mind, body and every part of you
I believe healing doesn't only happen in our heads. If understanding a problem were enough, most of us would have solved everything by now with a good podcast and a journal. Our bodies hold stress, grief and old survival patterns, so my work brings the body into the room too.
My approach to psychotherapy rests on four core elements:
Mindfulness-based psychotherapy. I've been meditating since 1992 and teaching since 2012, and mindfulness is the container that holds everything else. It helps us slow down enough to notice what's happening inside, instead of being swept away by it.
Somatic therapy. Somatic means "of the body." We pay attention to things like a tight chest, a clenched jaw or that sinking feeling in your stomach, because the body often knows what's wrong before the mind can name it.
Parts Work therapy. Ever said "part of me wants to, but part of me just can't"? Parts Work helps you get to know those inner parts, from the inner critic to the tired caretaker, with curiosity instead of judgment.
EMDR therapy. EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) is a well-researched approach for processing painful memories, and it works well online. It often doesn't require retelling every detail of what happened.
Think of it like a good soup. Each ingredient matters on its own, but the magic is in how they simmer together. Every session is shaped around you, your history and what you're carrying right now.
How therapy can help (it's not just for a crisis)
A lot of people think therapy is the emergency room of mental health: you only go when everything is on fire. Crisis support matters, and I've done plenty of it. But therapy is also more like physiotherapy for your inner life. It helps you heal what hurts, strengthen what's weak and move through the world with less strain.
Here's what that can look like in everyday life:
Grief becomes something you can carry. Grief counselling won't erase your loss, but it can help you find a way to hold it that doesn't flatten you. You might go from avoiding the photo on the fridge to smiling at it, some days.
Old triggers lose some of their grip. Trauma therapy, including EMDR, can help painful memories feel more like the past and less like they're happening right now.
Anxiety gets a little quieter. You learn to notice the early signs in your body and settle your nervous system before the spiral really gets going.
You get kinder with yourself. Many clients describe trading a harsh inner critic for something closer to a wise friend.
You make choices instead of reacting. You start to notice the pause between "what just happened" and "what I do next," and you get to choose.
You develop a healthy, loving relationship to YOU.
Picture someone who snaps at their partner every evening and feels terrible about it. In therapy, they might discover that the snapping comes from a part that's exhausted from holding everything together all day. Once that part gets some care, evenings can start to feel different. That's not magic. It's practice, support and a bit of curiosity.
Everyone's path is different, and change happens at its own pace. But you don't have to wait until you're falling apart to deserve support.
Why starting therapy feels so scary
If you've had a therapist's website open in a tab for three weeks, you're in very good company. Hesitation is normal. Here are the fears I hear most often, and what's really going on.
"My problems aren't bad enough." There's no minimum suffering requirement. You don't need a diagnosis or a dramatic story. "I just don't feel like myself" or “I want a space to talk this through” is a perfectly good reason to start.
"I'll have to talk about things I'm not ready to talk about." You won't. You decide what we explore and when. A big part of my work is building enough safety that hard things feel more manageable.
"I'll fall apart and won't be able to put myself back together." This is a really common worry, and it makes sense. We pace the work carefully. Before we go anywhere deep, we build tools to help you settle and feel steady, and we end sessions in a way that helps you get on with your day.
"They'll judge me." I've sat with people through just about every human experience, including death, addiction and crisis. There's very little that surprises me, and in this space nothing that makes you "too much."
"Online therapy won't feel real." Most people are surprised by how connected virtual therapy feels. Bonus: no traffic, no waiting room, and you can wear your comfiest socks, cry as much as you want, and you don’t have to wander strange halls afterwards.
"I should be able to handle this on my own." We don't say that about a broken wrist. Asking for support isn't weakness. It's one of the wiser things a person can do.
What therapy with me is really like
Let's take the mystery out of it. Here's what actually happens, step by step.
You book a free consultation. It's a 20-30 min video call where I’ll give you some highlights of who I am, ask some gentle questions of you, you can ask questions too. It’s really about you getting a feel for me to see whether we're a good fit. No pressure, no commitment. If I'm not the right person for you, I'll do my best to point you toward someone who is.
We start with your first session. We talk about what brought you here, your history, what you're hoping for and what you'd like to leave alone for now. It's more conversation than interrogation. You're allowed to say "I don't know," and plenty of people do.
We build a sense of safety first. Early sessions often focus on getting to know your nervous system and finding what helps you feel grounded. Think of it as packing a good first-aid kit before the hike.
We go deeper at your pace. Depending on what you need, that might include Parts Work, EMDR, somatic practices or simply talking things through. You always have a say in what we do.
We check in along the way. Every so often, we'll pause and ask: is this helping? What needs to change? Therapy works best as a collaboration.
A typical online therapy session happens over a secure video platform, from wherever you feel comfortable. Plenty of clients join from their car in a quiet parking lot, a cozy bedroom corner or a walk-in closet with the door shut. (The closet crowd is bigger than you'd think.)
You might laugh. You might cry. You might sit in silence for a minute while something lands. All of it is welcome.
Who I work with
I offer virtual psychotherapy to adults in most Canadian provinces, with the exception of Quebec. People often come to me when they're navigating:
Grief and loss, including the death of a loved one, anticipatory grief and losses that don't get talked about
Trauma and complex trauma
Anxiety, stress and burnout
Addiction and recovery
Big life transitions and seasons of crisis
A harsh inner critic, people-pleasing or feeling stuck in old patterns
Grief holds a special place in my work. Long before I became a psychotherapist, I was a death doula and grief educator, and I've sat with many people, including my own parents and dear friends, at the end of life. I know grief from the inside, and I know it doesn't follow a neat timeline.
Ready when you are
You don't need to have the right words, a clear goal or a tidy story. You just need to be a little curious about whether things could feel different. That's enough to start.
If that tab has been open for three weeks, consider this your gentle nudge. Book a free consultation and let's talk about what support could look like for you.
If you're in crisis, call or text 9-8-8 any time. In an emergency, call 9-1-1.
