This post is adapted from my conversation with Lisa on the This Is What I'm Here For podcast.

The night before armed police took Gabriel, I read to him at bedtime. A normal routine we had shared since he was tiny. Then he said something I did not understand at the time.

"Mum, do you have a nice bookmark?"

"Yes, darling. You've got that one you made me when you were three."

I still carry that bookmark in my pocket every single day. It is tatty now, worn from two years of being held during the hardest moments. Never did I realise when Gabriel asked that question what stories and bookmarks and books were going to become for us. Our purpose. Our survival. Our way of giving children their voices back.

This week, something extraordinary happened. Gabriel and I bumped into each other in Cheltenham by chance. I went to a stationary shop. He was there. I hugged him and hugged him and hugged him. In some ways it felt like two years had not happened. There was my son. In other ways the relief was enormous. The best thing: it was a coincidence. No gear up, no wind up. Absolutely meant to be.

Before any of this, before the methodology, before the books, before the international press, I recognised quite early what I was facing and thought: right, step up. Your child is depending on you. Get yourself out of bed. Go for a walk. Win the day, just one thing. I'd been a rower, an athlete. I knew if I could get back in the boat with all my skills, I could focus and keep going. Gabriel said it: "Mum, use all your skills." I knew my weakness was overwhelm, and I made the decision. No quitting this time.

We started as shell-shocked as you would expect. Then we read. Then Gabriel read back. Then pen and paper games. Then Treasure Island, the hero named Jim, same as Granddad. At the end, the obvious question: "Should we make up a story where you are the hero?" Instantly yes. He narrated. I scribed. Eight weeks later, six stories. "Mum, it's a book. It's a REAL book." People who knew children's literature agreed. So we made it one.

I did not plan to create a methodology. I applied the only skills I knew: twenty years of physiotherapy listening. Creating safety. Asking open questions. Reading back what I had understood and asking what I had got right. Tell me more. What happens next? Is this what you meant? Those were physiotherapy skills. They turned out to be storytelling skills. And they worked with Gabriel, and now with 465 children across nine schools. Every single one says yes when asked if they would like to be the hero of their own story. Every single one.

Lisa asked what I most want Gabriel to know when he listens to this one day. "He is dearly loved. What he perhaps does not realise: he is stronger than most grown men. He has more integrity than many. His voice will hold a power we do not yet know what that looks like. I have to trust in it."

Listen to the full episode to hear the complete story: https://open.spotify.com/episode/6YOnC3OoMJLJGIEbncPq83?si=8zPiWbEeRoi5I_zW_qUHDA&nd=1&dlsi=1be87fd908ab4967