“Everyone has ADHD nowadays”. It’s a phrase that has become almost unavoidable, repeated across social media, echoed by politicians and woven into everyday conversation. However, as a woman in my mid-twenties who has recently been diagnosed with ADHD and autism, it is one that I find difficult to accept . For many people like me, receiving a diagnosis is not a trend, but a long-overdue explanation for patterns of behaviour that we have spent years trying to manage and make sense of. For much of my life, these patterns were easy to overlook from the outside. They looked like being highly organised - relying on multiple calendars, constant reminders, and rigid systems just to keep up with everyday tasks. But beneath that was a constant sense of mental overload: racing thoughts, restlessness, and a level of anxiety that came from trying to stay on top of things that never felt fully under control. None of this resembled the stereotypical disorganised, hyperactive and unmotivated image of ADHD, and so it went unrecognised. When I received my diagnosis, it felt like a weight had been lifted. For the first time, I could make sense of why I struggled with things that seemed to come easily to others. Yet sharing that diagnosis was accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling—that I was somehow participating in a trend, in a cultural moment where “everyone has ADHD”. However, a recent Guest Editorial piece published in the British Journal of Psychiatry by Samuele Cortese and colleagues suggests otherwise . By bringing together researchers, clinicians, individuals with lived experience and carers, the authors argue that there is no robust evidence to support the claim that ADHD is being over-diagnosed in the UK. Instead, they warn that such narratives risk being used to deny people with ADHD ‘the care they deserve’. Image Source: Tara Winstead on Pexels ADHD , or attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, is a neurodevelopmental condition characterised by ongoing patterns of inattention (such as having difficulty paying attention), hyperactivity (such as often moving around or feeling restless) or impulsivity (such as interrupting or having trouble waiting one’s turn). These symptoms can affect multiple areas of life, from education and employment to relationships and emotional wellbeing. Yet for many adults, particularly women, these difficulties are not always recognised for what they are. In my own case, the signs were there , but they did not align with the more visible, stereotypical presentations of ADHD that dominate the public understanding of the disorder. For example, although I was hyperactive, I could sit still in class; my hyperactivity was less a racing body than a racing mind. Presentations like this do not fit common expectations of ADHD, which may explain why so many individuals go unrecognised by parents and teachers in school and seek diagnosis later in life. So, is ADHD over-diagnosed? Central to this debate is the concept of over-diagnosis itself. According to Cortese and colleagues, over-diagnosis occurs when the number of diagnosed cases exceeds the prevalence estimates of the condition in the population. This might happen if diagnostic criteria are applied too loosely or without sufficient clinical rigour. It is also linked to concerns about self-diagnosis, particularly in an era where mental health information is shared widely online. However, an increase in diagnoses does not in itself indicate over-diagnosis. It may instead reflect improved awareness, better access to services, or the diagnoses of individuals who were previously overlooked: something that may strongly resonate with the experience of many late-diagnosed adults. This distinction becomes important when we look at the available data. Current prevalence estimates suggest that ADHD affects around 3.1% in children and young people in the UK and approximately 3.3% of adults globally . However, clinical diagnosis rates in England remain consistently below these figures: although diagnoses have risen over time, particularly among girls and women, the proportion of individuals diagnosed in 2018 was still lower than prevalence estimates. Cortese and colleagues therefore conclude that there is no evidence that ADHD is over-diagnosed at a population level. So why are diagnoses increasing? One explanation offered by Cortese and colleagues is that a growing awareness of the disorder is helping to correct long-standing biases in how ADHD has been recognised. For many years, ADHD was primarily associated with hyperactivity in boys, meaning that people, like me, who do not fit this profile were more likely to be missed. For example, girls are more likely to present with inattentive behaviours and develop adaptive behaviours that mask their symptoms , perhaps leading them to be under- or mis-diagnosed with other disorders. Reflecting on my own experiences, it becomes easy to see how behaviours that appear functional on the surface, like overcompensating with excessive organisation, can obscure teachers and parents from recognising the underlying challenges. Image Source: Anna Shvets on Pexe.ls The consequences of mislabelling this trend as over-diagnosis are not trivial. One common criticism is that diagnoses can be used to avoid responsibilities or lower expectations. However, receiving a diagnosis is not about excusing behaviour, but understanding it. For many, receiving an ADHD diagnosis can be transformative: it can provide insight into long-standing behavioural or emotional difficulties , improve quality of life and self-esteem and allow effective support and strategies to be put in place to navigate daily life with more confidence. In my own experience, the diagnosis did not introduce new problems, but reframed old ones. It allowed me to be more compassionate towards myself; to recognise that my behaviours and challenges were not a personal failing, but part of a broader neurodevelopmental pattern. I am not broken; I am just different. Of course, questions remain. Much of the data referenced in the paper predates the COVID-19 pandemic, and it is possible that patterns of diagnosis have shifted in recent years, particularly given the pandemic’s impact on mental health, disruption to daily routines, and changes in access to assessment and support. Ongoing research will be essential to understand the extent of these changes. However, based on the best available evidence, the claim that ADHD is over-diagnosed in the UK does not appear to hold true.  Rather than signalling a problem of excess, rising diagnoses may reflect progress in recognising a condition in individuals who have been previously overlooked. For those who have spent years without an explanation, the shift is not a sign of overreach, or a passing trend, but of overdue recognition. For me, a diagnosis did not change who I am—it changed how I understand myself. Dismissing ADHD as over-diagnosed risks silencing those like me before they are understood. The question, then, is not whether too many people are being diagnosed, but whether we are finally beginning to listen to those who have been missed for far too long.

The Overlooked Health Benefits of the Arts A comment actor Timothée Chalamet made about ballet and opera in a recent interview with fellow actor Matthew McConaughey for Variety has dominated the headlines in the past few weeks. The Oscar-nominated Hollywood star has faced a strong backlash in response to his presumptuous remark that people no longer care about these art-forms – unlike they do about cinema. Some even speculated this misstep cost him the Academy Award for Best Actor for his leading role in Marty Supreme . However, Michael B. Jordan already had the award in the bag thanks to his outstanding performance in Sinners ; votes had in fact been cast before the clip went viral. Image Source: Youtube While the media harshly slammed Chalamet, ballet and opera communities wasted no time pushing back on his claim. The UK’s Royal Ballet and Opera , among other arts organisations worldwide, fired back with a powerful Instagram reel highlighting that people do care, by showing full auditoriums and inviting the actor to join in to see for himself. Similarly, ballet and opera professionals from all around the world - including Misty Copeland, who performed at the Academy Awards - have strongly expressed their disappointment on social media .   I have to admit that, as a former ballet student and lifelong fan, I was also annoyed by Chalamet’s comment. However, in this blog I don’t want to argue for the value of ballet and opera as forms of art; the media and the arts enterprise have already made that case. Instead, as a mental health researcher in the field of creative health, I want to discuss why the arts, including ballet and opera, matter for our physical and mental health. What is Creative Health? And Why is It Important? Creative health , also known as arts in health, is an initiative to embed the arts in healthcare provision to support people’s physical and mental wellbeing. It draws on a growing body of evidence showing that engaging in creative activities can have a meaningful impact on health and overall quality of life. This approach is part of a larger initiative, called social prescribing, that aims to support individuals’ wellbeing by connecting them with recreational activities, groups, and services in the community.   Creative health can involve a variety of activities, ranging from performing and visual arts to arts and crafts, literature and culture, as well as digital arts. These can either be offered as a complement or alternative to clinical interventions in the management and treatment of complex physical and mental health conditions. Additionally, they can also be used as preventative or early interventions to promote wellbeing in healthy populations or prevent the onset of illness in at-risk groups. Image Source: Getty Images  on Unsplash+ Beyond supporting health, these interventions can also reduce the burden of illness on the healthcare system and the economy. Creative health has been shown to reduce healthcare usage (such GP appointments, A&E visits, and medication prescriptions), which in turn alleviates the pressure on healthcare staff as well as the economic burden on the system. By promoting health, these interventions also support the economy by helping people stay in work and reducing welfare costs. Indeed, a recent government-commissioned report  showed that engaging with the arts produces £8bn a year worth of improvements in people’s quality of life and productivity. As such, creative health represents a turning point, not only for individuals but also for the wider society. The Health Benefits of Ballet, Opera, and the Wider Arts As a devoted ballet spectator, I have definitely noticed that watching performances boosts my mood, and science backs it up. Research has shown that watching performing arts, like ballet and opera, can promote wellbeing by providing viewers with an outlet to relax and escape daily stress, lowering physiological stress responses, as well as increasing social connection. Yet, the benefits of these art forms extend well beyond passive engagement.   As my colleague Riddhi discussed in one of her previous blogs , practising ballet offers a wide range of health benefits. It can improve mood, cognitive functioning, and physical health  in healthy individuals, as well as promoting health in at-risk and unwell groups. For example, research has shown that practising ballet promotes physical mobility and quality of life in breast cancer survivors  as well as older adults . Ballet has also been found to reduce non-motor symptoms, such as pain, sleep, and mood, in patients with Parkinson’s disease ; this is particularly important as these symptoms don’t respond well to conventional treatment. Image Source: English National Ballet Although the health benefits of opera have been less studied than ballet’s, there is emerging evidence that engaging with this art form can improve physical and mental health. For example, opera singing has been shown to reduce breathlessness and anxiety in patients with long-term respiratory conditions , like chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and Long-Covid. Another study found that opera singing reduced chronic pain symptoms in patients with conditions like lower back pain and fibromyalgia, which is especially notable as chronic pain is challenging to manage.   As this evidence suggests, ballet and opera carry a wide range of health benefits; yet, not surprisingly, they are not the only art forms promoting wellbeing. A recent review of 30 studies  found that music-based interventions can improve behavioural, cognitive, and mental health symptoms in people with dementia. Similarly, evidence from our own research group at the SPI Lab has shown that group singing can reduce symptoms of postnatal depression in new mothers.   Interestingly, even passive engagement with cultural arts can support our health. Another study from our research group , recently showed that looking at artworks in a museum reduced physiological signs of stress.   Although this is not an exhaustive list of the evidence, it gives a glimpse into how ballet, opera, and many more art forms can support our physical and mental health. The Arts as an Educational Tool Beyond supporting individuals’ health and wellbeing, the arts can also benefit wider society by promoting health education. Performing arts, in particular, can provide a powerful medium to explore health conditions that are often not well understood by the general public. For example, two studies examining the effects operas exploring themes of schizophrenia and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)  have on the public perception of these conditions found that they helped raise awareness, improve understanding, and foster greater acceptance. Image Source: Vitalii Onyshchuk   on Unsplash It is important to remember that representations of health conditions, specifically mental health issues, need to be accurate to avoid reinforcing misconceptions and harmful stereotypes. However, this evidence suggests that the arts not only benefit individuals, they but also play an important role at a societal level, challenging stigma and reframing our understanding of illness. So, What is Timothée Chalamet Missing about Ballet and Opera? Of course, Timothée Chalamet is entitled to his own opinions - however questionable. But his comment highlights that he misses a bigger truth: the arts can be much more than a form of entertainment. By dismissing ballet and opera, he did not simply denigrate art forms appreciated by many, but he also undermined the value of the arts in supporting health. Yet, the growing body of evidence on the health benefits of the arts proves him wrong, showing that people – and science – do care . Image Source: Getty Images  on Unsplash+

The Link Between Major Football Events and Domestic Abuse For many, football is a celebration. But for some families, match day can bring fear instead of excitement. During major tournaments such as the FIFA World Cup or the European Championships, football often dominates conversations, social plans, and media coverage. I’m Kiera, an MSc student at King’s College London studying Psychology and Neuroscience: Mind-Body Interface, and a placement student in the Stress, Psychiatry, and Immunology Lab within the Perinatal Psychiatry section. My research interests focus on women’s health and wellbeing, both physical and psychological. Drawing on my background in psychology, neuroscience, and women's health, I wanted to explore the troubling rise in domestic violence during football season and its implications for women's physical and mental health. Image Source: El Gringo Photo on Pexels Sport events for fanatics are a way to come together and support their favourite team, which creates a sense of unity, excitement, and shared identity. However, match days can bring anxiety and fear rather than enjoyment for those living in abusive households. The high and intense nature of major football events is often associated with heavy drinking, sports betting, and extreme emotional investment, all of which may contribute to increased tension within the household.  Intimate partner violence refers to physical, sexual, or psychological harm inflicted by a current or former partner. Globally, the World Health Organization  estimates that nearly one third (27%) of women aged 15-49 years who have been in a relationship, have experienced some form of physical and/or sexual violence from an intimate partner. Men can also experience domestic abuse, although women are disproportionately affected by severe and repeated forms of partner violence. In England and Wales,  the Crime Survey for England and Wales estimates that approximately 1.6 million women and 712,000 men experienced domestic abuse in the year 2024. The effects of intimate partner violence extend far beyond the immediate physical harm caused during an abusive incident. Physical injuries such as bruises, fractures, and head trauma are common immediate outcomes, but survivors may also experience longer-term physical health consequences including chronic pain, gastrointestinal disorders, sleep disturbances, and reproductive health problems. Psychological effects  are also widespread, with survivors frequently reporting depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Children who are exposed to domestic violence may also experience lasting developmental consequences. Studies  have found that children growing up in violent households are at a greater risk of emotional difficulties, behavioural problems, and poorer educational outcomes later in life.   Why Football Can Intensify Emotions   Football as a sport can be deeply personal for ardent fans, often ruling their emotional states. A good match day favouring their team will increase positive feelings and bring about a shared sense of happiness, community, and belonging. Nonetheless, unfavorable match results can instill severe negative emotions which, for some, may be associated with problematic behaviours.  Research examining sport and interpersonal violence suggests a short-term increase in reports of domestic abuse following football games. One  study  analysing incidence of abuse in relation to American football games found that unexpected losses—games in which a team strongly expected to win but ultimately lost—were associated with roughly a 10% increase in at-home violence by men against their female partners. A team’s expected loss or unexpected win was not reported to have any significant association with incidence of domestic abuse. Notably, violence that occurred after unexpected losses was concentrated in the hours immediately following the game. These findings suggest that heightened emotional arousal following unexpected sporting outcomes (particularly those that violate strong expectations) may temporarily increase the likelihood of aggressive behaviour in some individuals. However, it does not suggest that sporting outcomes cause abuse; highly emotional events may coincide with increased reports of violence in relationships where abusive dynamics are already present. Violence, regardless of the context, is always the responsibility of the perpetrator. Football Tournaments and Domestic Abuse Patterns Literature surrounding domestic abuse during football tournaments in England has identified similar patterns. Analysis of police records conducted by researchers at Lancaster University  found that reported domestic abuse incidents increased approximately 26% when the England national team played and by 38% when they lost during major tournaments. Reports also remained elevated by around 11%  on the following day of the match, regardless of outcome. These findings refer to domestic abuse more broadly, which includes violence between intimate partners as well as abuse within other family relationships. While intimate partner violence constitutes a large proportion of domestic abuse cases, it is important to recognise that these statistics capture a wider category of harm. The Role Of Alcohol and Other Risk Factors   Alcohol  lowers inhibitions and impairs judgement, making it more difficult for individuals to regulate their emotions or respond calmly to stressful situations. Major sporting events are often accompanied by increased alcohol consumption, which research has shown can intensify impulsive aggressive behaviour in some contexts. Image Source: Segev Vision on Pexels Other factors  may also contribute to increased risk. Financial stress linked to sports betting, existing relationship conflict, and cultural norms surrounding masculinity and emotional expression may all influence how individuals respond to frustration or disappointment during sporting events. Together, these pressures can make emotionally charged situations harder to manage. In households where abusive dynamics already exist, these factors may elevate the likelihood of violent incidents. The Impact on Victims and Families  While football matches themselves are temporary, periods surrounding major tournaments can be particularly stressful for individuals living in an abusive household. Survivors have reported anticipating increased tension during match days, particularly when past incidents of violence have occurred in similar situations. The possibility that a partner may react aggressively to emotionally charged situations can create heightened anxiety and vigilance among victims.   Raising Awareness and Supporting Survivors In the United Kingdom, support organisations such as Women’s Aid  and the National Centre for Domestic Violence , have reported anticipating higher demand for their services during major tournaments. These organisations provide legal advice and practical support for survivors. The National Domestic Abuse Helpline , operated by Refuge  and Women’s Aid , offers free and confidential support 24 hours a day (0808 2000 247). Image Source: National Centre for Domestic Violence Raising awareness of patterns surrounding such events can help highlight risks and ensure that support services are visible during this time. Public awareness campaigns during major tournaments aim to remind individuals experiencing abuse that support is available, and confidential help can be accessed. Sharing information about these services through social media platforms can help assure individuals, who are experiencing abuse, that they are not alone in this battle and seeking aid is always an option. Addressing domestic abuse requires broader societal and institutional responses, including survivor support services, legal protections, and prevention programmes that address the underlying causes of violence. Awareness campaigns during major sporting events are therefore not intended to solve the problem of abuse, but rather to ensure that individuals who may be at risk know where they can find help.

Somatic Yoga, Trauma, and Functional Neurological Disorder Image Source: THLT LCX on Unsplash What if the path to healing didn't start in your mind, but in your body? For many people living with trauma, chronic stress, or unexplained neurological symptoms, conventional approaches haven't brought relief. Somatic yoga is opening up new possibilities—not as a replacement for medical care, but as a powerful complement of working directly with the body's own capacity for regulation and change. I'm writing this as a somatic yoga practitioner and honorary researcher at King's College London, where I've recently completed a randomised feasibility trial exploring somatic yoga for people with Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) . Both in research and clinical practice, I've witnessed how transformative it can be to approach the body with curiosity rather than fear—especially when usual routes to healing feel blocked. Image Source: Matthew Carrington Yoga: More Than Just Poses Yoga has roots stretching back thousands of years. While Western culture often packages it as fitness or stress relief, its original purpose was far more profound: using movement, breath, and attention to help us tune into what's happening within. Earlier articles on Inspire the Mind have explored yoga therapy more broadly, as well as yoga's role in reducing inflammation . At the heart of yoga practice is something called interoception —our ability to sense internal bodily signals. Think of your heart thumping in your chest before a big presentation. When it's disrupted—which often happens after trauma or during chronic illness—the body can feel unpredictable, even dangerous. Image Source: Author's own picture What Does 'Somatic' Mean? Somatic practices invite us to pay close attention to bodily sensations and movements, even when—especially when—they tell a different story from the thoughts spinning in our minds. Approaches like Somatic Experiencing® and somatic yoga suggest that stress and trauma aren't stored just psychologically, but biologically. As Bessel van der Kolk describes in The Body Keeps the Score , our nervous systems adapt to what we experience, shaping how we move, feel, and respond long after difficult events have passed. It gently supports awareness of sensation, movement, and breath, allowing the nervous system to release tension at its own pace. It's less about 'fixing' yourself and more about learning to listen. Image Source: Andrej Lišakov on Unsplash How The Body and Brain Talk To Each Other When someone experiences trauma or lives with chronic stress, certain brain areas can become dysregulated. The amygdala—which processes emotions and threat—can become overactive. The insula—which helps us sense what's happening inside our bodies—can struggle to do its job accurately. And the anterior cingulate cortex, involved in managing attention and arousal, can have difficulty regulating our responses. For people with Functional Neurological Disorder—a condition where symptoms like seizures, tremors, or weakness appear without structural brain damage—these disruptions can be particularly pronounced. Research shows changes in how these brain regions communicate with each other, alongside difficulties with emotional regulation, reduced body awareness, and dysregulation of the autonomic nervous system (the system that controls things like heart rate, breathing, and digestion). This is where somatic yoga becomes relevant. Through gentle movement, conscious breathing, and sustained attention to bodily sensations, it works to strengthen the communication between these systems. Slow breathing practices shift the balance toward the parasympathetic nervous system—what some people call 'rest and digest' mode—reducing the body's stress response. Mindful movement and body awareness practices increase activity in the insula, supporting more accurate sensing of internal signals and helping to rebuild a sense of safety in the body. Image Source: Markus Kammermann on Unsplash What we learned from the research Within the Neurological Affective & Dissociative Symptoms (NEUROADS) Lab at King's College London, led by Dr Susannah Pick, I worked as the yoga therapist on a randomised controlled feasibility trial exploring somatic yoga for people with FND. You can learn more about my somatic work here . Participants in the intervention group received weekly one-to-one somatic yoga sessions tailored to their needs and capacity. The control group followed a music-based relaxation programme using carefully curated playlists designed to support nervous system regulation. Every single person in the somatic yoga group completed the full programme—something that speaks to its accessibility and tolerability. Feedback consistently described sessions as calming and supportive, particularly during periods of heightened stress. People reported feeling more able to cope with daily demands and their symptoms. One participant reflected something I'll never forget: 'For the first time, I felt like my body wasn't my enemy.' Another participant has since reported that she hasn't had a seizure since she started the intervention—almost a year ago. Our findings showed promising changes in interoception and body awareness, alongside indicators of global clinical improvement. Participants demonstrated greater ability to notice and interpret bodily signals, improved emotional regulation, and shifts in how they experienced and managed symptoms in everyday life. It's important to note that this was a feasibility study—designed to assess whether the intervention is acceptable, safe, and shows potential signals of benefit. We haven't established effectiveness yet, but the findings strongly support pursuing larger, adequately powered trials to examine clinical outcomes more rigorously. Image Source: Karl Magnuson on Unsplash Why safety matters in trauma work Trauma-informed practice recognises that everyone's nervous system has been shaped by unique experiences. It prioritises safety, dignity, and choice, acknowledging that change cannot be rushed or imposed from the outside. In somatic work, this sense of safety is fundamental. When people feel truly listened to and respected—when they're given agency over their own bodies—the nervous system is more able to settle. This creates space for awareness, regulation, and the possibility of change. Rather than asking 'what is wrong with you?', trauma-informed approaches ask: 'what has happened, and what does your body need now?' That shift—from pathology to curiosity—can be revolutionary. What This Means for You Healing isn't about erasing the past or achieving some perfect state. It's about learning to experience your mind and body as a connected whole, and meeting the present moment with greater ease. For some people, somatic yoga becomes a doorway—a way of learning to listen to the body, exploring gentle movement, and finding moments of safety that might have felt impossible before. Whether you're living with FND, carrying the impact of trauma, or navigating chronic stress, even small practices can begin to shift something. You might start simply: pausing to notice the rhythm of your breath, feeling the steady contact of your feet on the ground, or placing a hand on your chest and noticing the rise and fall. These aren't trivial gestures—they're invitations for your nervous system to remember what safety feels like. You are not broken. You are human. And with the right support—whether that's somatic yoga, therapy, medical care, or community—even small experiences of safety and belonging can lay the foundations for meaningful change.   A deeper dive into the neuroscience and full research findings will follow once our paper is published. Stay tuned.

Image Source: nikko macaspac on Unsplash Nightmares are a common part of our childhoods that usually subside as we reach adulthood. But if you’re like me, those nightmares may have taken ahold of you, well into your adult life.   I have always been pulled towards anything spooky. As a young girl, I had my head stuck in books about ghosts. Now, as an adult and creative writer, I choose to write about distressing subjects like true crime and the paranormal. I am currently writing a crime thriller, and living in a small, sleepy village in the Northwest of England makes the perfect background. Because I always surround myself with the macabre, it might seem obvious why I would frequently have nightmares - but there were also some overlooked issues, too.   A few years ago, I detailed my experiences living with a nightmare disorder, including sleep paralysis, in an ITM piece called “ Am I Haunted ” - at the time, I was still searching for explanations as to why or what was happening to me. This piece is a reflection on what has changed, what therapy has helped me uncover, and what I now understand about the relationship between stress, anxiety, grief, and the mind’s darkest corners. Image Source: Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash Life Itself is a Nightmare I have suffered from anxiety for as long as I can remember, and my avoidance in dealing with these issues (due to being an adult and expecting people to judge me for not “getting better”) made my disorder even worse.   Through therapy, I have learned that my nightmares are my brain’s way of saying, “hey, we aren’t done with this yet.” I live with anxiety that can be deeply intrusive; a missed phone call meant something terrible had happened, silence from someone meant I’d upset them - the present and future felt saturated with dread.   Recent incidents, such as losing my job, combined with struggling to find a new one, and a series of unstable roles beforehand, intensified this cycle; my day became filled with stress, and my nights crowded with nightmares. Therapy is what helped me recognise how tightly these two worlds were linked. Image Source: Marek Studzinski on Unsplash Never-Ending Nightmare Fuel After my Grandad passed away in 2019, my sleep cycle became so disturbing that I developed a fear of falling asleep. It didn’t matter what I had watched or read beforehand; I was a huge fan of the US show Supernatural and was banned from watching it during this period. But it wasn’t as simple as just ‘not watching scary shows’ (one of my worst nightmares came after watching an episode of the Gilmore Girls, which if you know, isn't considered scary).   Grief is a universal human burden, and it became one of my greatest stressors after my Grandad's death. The unspoken pain of losing my best friend surfaced as relentless nightmares, leaving me exhausted and anxious. Even when my grief became easier to handle, I would still have nightmares about ghosts, death, being attacked or chased by sharks and other weird creatures. And whilst everyone will have these types of dreams every so often, for me, it was almost every single night.   It became apparent that the one thing that linked all my parasomnias was stress, but also my inability to ask for help.   What Has Worked For Me   One way to take back control is to write down your nightmare once you wake up, but as a new, positive version, and you rehearse this version during the day. This is a type of cognitive behavioural therapy called Nightmare Rescripting or Imagery Rehearsal Therapy . It is a way to help the brain learn a new way to deal with nightmares and help reduce their intensity and frequency. Although I have never tried this therapy in a professional setting, I would do it at home, either as soon as I woke up from the nightmare or before I went to sleep at night, and eventually, it started to help.   Lucid Dreaming Therapy is a type of therapy centred on the practice of lucid dreaming, which is when someone becomes aware that they are dreaming and can take control of their dream . Taking control allows you to change the trajectory of the dream. There are various techniques used to do this, like repeating the words “when I begin dreaming, I will remember that I’m dreaming” before you go to sleep, or writing down your dreams after you wake up, as it can help you notice ‘dream signs’.   Dream signs can be a specific person, a certain object, or walking into a familiar room - for me, it was the appearance of my Grandad. Each night before I went to sleep, I would remind myself of this, and eventually I began to pick up on this during my dream; I would point out my Grandad, and I would shout "leave me alone" at the entity I could feel him morphing into, and the nightmare would eventually cease, or I would wake up.   While there are many techniques to try and subdue nightmares, a common underlying cause is stress, so starting a journey with a counsellor or therapist can be very beneficial - and this is what has helped me the most. Talking openly has been the best way for me to deal with debilitating emotions, and if you’re struggling, you should try it too; talking to your friends and family about your feelings or what is on your mind can help alleviate pent-up emotions.   Part of the reason our minds can feel like breeding grounds for worry comes down to how the brain is wired - psychologists call this negativity bias . It is an evolutionary survival mechanism that once helped our ancestors stay alive by prioritising potential threats. Today, the same wiring still reacts to emotional pain, and this "emotional alarm system” triggers the stress hormone cortisol, which makes the brain more sensitive to negativity.   This understanding, which I learned through therapy, highlights why talking about our emotions can be so powerful. By expressing ourselves out loud, we can break the loop by giving shape to overwhelming thoughts, and we can help our brains learn that emotional experiences aren’t threats to our survival but experiences we can process and move through. My Nightmares Today Image Source: Rachael Elizabeth (author) Night after night, my subconscious would drag up everything I had been pushing down whilst awake - even now, my nightmares span everything from loss to violence. But therapy has shown me that my nightmares aren’t the enemy; avoidance is.   Seven years after the passing of my Grandad, I can think and talk about him without being plagued by nightmares. Today, I am still navigating stress due to job loss, and trying to secure a new one, and whilst therapy hasn’t cured my nightmares overnight, it has given me the knowledge that I don’t need to be fearless, just honest.   Stress is unavoidable, and nightmares are not punishment; they are messages. And while they may still visit me, I no longer meet them with the same fear - now, I listen, and more often than not, that makes all the difference. This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust,  who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating.

All figures have been created by Dr Vignando using Adobe Illustrator and hand-drawing techniques Parkinson’s disease is a neurodegenerative disorder primarily known for its motor symptoms. However, a substantial proportion of people living with Parkinson’s have a wide range of non-motor symptoms , among which visual hallucinations are very frequent. Approximately 60% of patients are estimated to develop this symptom within 12 years of diagnosis. Dementia can be defined as a decline of thinking skills (e.g., memory, language) that significantly interferes with daily life. As a progressive disease, symptoms worsen over time. While we often associate this with other diseases like Alzheimer’s, dementia in Parkinson’s disease is both serious and costly with an approximate prevalence of 20-40%. People with Parkinson’s disease may have a steeper cognitive decline , which may be a possible early marker and treatment target that might also have beneficial effects on other serious symptoms later. However, we still don’t exactly know whether or why hallucinations and this cognitive impairment share the same causes. No treatment for hallucinations in this disease is yet showing the required efficacy and specificity. Neuroscience research is seeing slow but meaningful progress towards the discovery of disease-modifying drugs for dementia and hallucinations in Parkinson’s. This could provide a window into some of the mechanisms associated with an accelerated decline. I am an Alzheimer’s Research UK Research Fellow at King’s College London. My research hopes to uncover the reasons why some people are more likely to develop dementia faster than others when they have the same diagnosis. Among my main research interests is Parkinson’s disease, and during my previous postdoc I have had the opportunity to work on a project on Parkinson’s disease psychosis led by Prof. Mitul Mehta; research that inspired my interest in hallucinations in Parkinson’s disease.   The Hallucinations Continuum in Parkinson’s Hallucinations are defined as perceptual experiences that happen without a sensory stimulus, for example, seeing something that is not there. In Parkinson’s, hallucinations typically begin as what we call ‘minor hallucinations’. These include, for example, feeling a presence in the room, seeing movement at the edge of the visual field, or as visual illusions (i.e., seeing faces or animals in patterns, not unlike the famous face in the toasted bread phenomenon). These early hallucinations are thought to be linked to problems in brainstem systems (in violet in the image below) that help control eye movements and to pathways in the brain that process visual motion . Then, as the disease progresses, some develop fully formed visual hallucinations, often involving persons, faces, and animals. These are thought to reflect dysfunction in a wider network of brain regions (shaded in blue). Figure 1. The hallucinations continuum in Parkinson’s. Figure developed based on a seminal literature review. What are the parts of the brain involved in VH? Visual information is transmitted from the retina in the eye to the primary visual cortex (in pink in the next figure below), a region of the brain crucial in processing visual stimuli. This region then communicates with inferior temporal regions (yellow) and the prefrontal cortex (orange). All these regions together are part of an object recognition network whereby all the components work together to identify objects, picking out from our memory storage what object corresponds to the characteristics of the image we are seeing. For example, if it is small, moves, has 4 legs, whiskers, and pointy ears, we can deduce that it is very likely to be a cat. Figure 2. Areas of the brain involved in object recognition. However, we need to keep in mind that our brain is always performing a kind of guesswork when we are going about our lives and scanning the environment. We always interpret our environment considering our prior experiences and contextual information, both sensory but also emotional and situational. So, while we would generally discount any shadow or shape while navigating a dark environment as a bush or a tree, if we happen to find ourselves in such a situation after, for example, having recently watched a horror movie, we might be biased and primed to believe there is something there that isn’t. This happens because we need both sensory information and prior beliefs to make our predictions about the world. If there is a combination of a weak sensory input with very strong beliefs, we might experience something that is akin to a visual hallucination. In Parkinson’s, due to the complex neurology associated to it, this can happen more frequently.   The brain in Parkinson’s disease is affected by multiple interacting changes. One pathological hallmark is the abnormal accumulation of alpha-synuclein, a protein that can “misfold” (fail to adopt its correct shape) and gather abnormally in the brain; this in turn can cause the motor symptoms we typically see in this disease. This “altered balance” is complicated by the interaction of this pathology with other chemicals in the brain, such as dopamine (linked to mood and reward, but also movement), serotonin (involved in hallucinations, but also mood), and acetylcholine (important for cognition). Figure 3. Multiple neurotransmitters involved in hallucinations in Parkinson’s disease. What did we discover so far? My work in the past few years builds on these foundations and has revolved around understanding the brain mechanisms behind visual hallucinations in Parkinson’s. First, we pooled together data from different research centres, finding differences in brain structure in people with Parkinson’s with hallucinations despite having a similar profile to those without in parts of the brain that include the regions involved in visual processing and recognition (including the brain regions shown in Figure 2). Then we examined functional signatures of hallucinations using electroencephalography (EEG). EEG non-invasively measures brain waves by using electrodes placed on the scalp. We used a simple task that has proven reliable in psychosis research to investigate the mechanism with which we use sensory information and prior experience to make predictions. Figure 4. EEG task visual summary. We used a version of the task adapted for vision, but it can be used with sound stimuli too. The task requires participants to make a judgement about the changes in size of a cross at the centre of the screen, while the peripheral stimuli (black bars on both sides of the screen) keep appearing in the same orientation. When these bars appear in a slightly different orientation, the brain catches up with this change, even if it’s something we don’t notice. People with schizophrenia show a very reduced response to this change. We found that people with Parkinson’s with hallucinations had a reduced response to this task. We were able to confirm that we can use this task as a strong marker for psychosis in Parkinson’s disease. This is important because the experience of individuals living with Parkinson’s varies greatly and a deeper knowledge of the brain mechanisms involved in hallucinations and psychosis can help individuals better understand the symptoms they are experiencing.   The next step to truly understand the relationship of hallucinations and cognition in Parkinson’s would be to examine how these results can be validated by following people over the years. By understanding why hallucinations happen in Parkinson’s, we may be able to identify earlier markers of progression and thus develop more precise treatments for both psychosis and cognitive decline.

Image Source: Nadezhda Moryak on Pexels When I turned to my GP regarding the issues with my menstrual cycle, I expected more clarity. When I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), I felt more confused than ever, as no one clearly explained what the diagnosis meant, but I was advised to consider going on the oral contraceptive pill or changing my lifestyle to lose weight. At the time, that suggestion only fuelled my insecurities and anxiety. I felt as if it was my fault that I was in that situation in the first place. I wish someone could have told me that it is not necessarily the case. Being a postgraduate student in the unique Mind-Body Interface programme, I constantly learn that our minds and our bodies share a symbiotic relationship. My experience with PCOS is a first-hand testimony to this, and I am here today to share how it affects me every day. PCOS is a multi-faceted condition that affects 6-10% of women of reproductive age, and it is mainly characterised by hormone imbalance, ovarian cysts, and irregular periods. In my experience, the rise of PCOS has been described as a consequence of personal lifestyle choices related to factors like nutrition and physical activity. However, research suggests that, whilst lifestyle choices can account for how PCOS may manifest in those affected by it, the cause of PCOS is unknown. Experts call attention to the role of genetic vulnerability and early exposure to environmental toxins found in food containers, cosmetics, and other everyday products. The ‘good’  Before my PCOS diagnosis, I had little to no knowledge about the menstrual cycle. With the limited amount of reassurance and information that I was provided by health professionals, I had to learn most things myself. I became more knowledgeable around themes of reproductive and endocrinological disorders that affect women every day, such as endometriosis, Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), and mainly PCOS. I must admit that I do not think I would know as much as I do now if it weren't for my diagnosis. Image Source: Windows on Unsplash With all the information and research, I have encountered on my journey so far, I have perfected my ability to recognise sources relaying unwarranted knowledge and advice. For one, I stay clear of wellness influencers on social media. Whilst there are well-informed professionals on social media that can provide accessible and user-friendly information, the media often provides unfounded, mixed evidence relating to under-researched topics like PCOS. For example, there have been instances where individuals have been caught selling fake remedies and cures to vulnerable people dealing with PCOS. Web pages from sources that have no medical background are also a red flag, which is why I recommend reliable sources such as the NHS and other respected medical sources.   It may sound strange, but I am grateful for how infrequent my menstrual phase is. I tend to get my period every few months, which means I don't always deal with the pain that comes with it. I experience a significant amount of pain during my periods, alongside a vast list of other symptoms. My experience is similar to that of many other women, as studies point to an increased risk of dysmenorrhea and other pain conditions among those with PCOS. The sharp, back-stabbing pains can also be caused by the rupture of an ovarian cyst. However, in some cases, it may require medical attention because of potential infection or other serious complications. I could not imagine going through that pain on a regular monthly basis.   The ‘bad’ Whilst I don’t experience menses every month, there are a multitude of symptoms unaccounted for by the diagnostic criteria that affect me every day. For one, chronic fatigue affects every aspect of my life: from my social interactions to my ability to get through a day at work or university. There is no amount of sleep that will prevent me from feeling like my body is giving up on itself. In fact, I have uninterrupted sleep every night, but somehow I struggle to get through the day without feeling like an absolute wreck. Unfortunately, despite its prevalence amongst women with PCOS, chronic fatigue is an underrecognised symptom. Image Source: Mushaboom Studio on Unsplash With the constant state of fatigue comes the brain fog. For me, the cold season worsens the situation, as my persistently low vitamin D is accompanied by increasing forgetfulness and mental fatigue. Unfortunately, vitamin D deficiency is extremely common in women like me. Like clockwork, every year I’m prescribed 50000 units (IUD) of vitamin D, which is only prescribed to people with a severe deficiency. On this regime, I sense an improvement in mood as I stop completely avoiding social interaction and have more positive thoughts throughout the day. I wish I could say that the fatigue and brain fog also improve, but it would be too good to be true. To this day, I haven’t found a definitive solution to this problem, but my hope is not completely lost. Many women report other problems that are underrecognised as symptoms of PCOS. In a previous article, a fellow ITM contributor, Sophia, explained how cystic acne, abdominal fat, and mood swings made her feel self-conscious. The ‘ugly’ Learning what I know about PCOS was not an easy ride. Whilst I now feel more confident about the knowledge I gained, the limited amount of reliable information made my experience more discouraging. With research being underfunded and the inability of health professionals to provide satisfying information, where is one meant to get their knowledge from? As an impressionable 16-year-old, I resorted to the self-proclaimed experts on social media, where the common themes ranged from weight loss, forbidden foods, and promising cures. In my desperate search for answers and solutions, I came across a multitude of false claims, such as the existence of different types of PCOS. I distinctly remember being made to feel guilty about doing high-intensity workouts, which left me feeling very conflicted. Up until my diagnosis, I used to run track, swim, or play tennis. Those were the times I felt the healthiest I had ever been, so how did social media convince me that it was not good for me? Image Source: Elisa Ventures on Unsplash Well, considering how common it is for women with PCOS to come across misinformation, being influenced by such media content should not come as a surprise, but it is cause for concern. Influencers have been known to sell promises to ‘cure the root cause of PCOS’ with their unfounded diet plans, supplement regimes, and laboratory tests, causing women thousands of pounds worth of costs and a great deal of mental distress. The fast-spreading misinformation on social media contributes to the encouragement of dangerous and extreme behaviours, including unsupervised use of inappropriate medication for weight loss, and takes away the spotlight from safer management options like healthy, well-balanced nutrition. The use of platforms that facilitate access to evidence-based information, tips and advice, discussion forums, and symptom tracking is essential for avoiding the detrimental influence of misinformation and confusion. Light at the end of the tunnel I cannot begin to explain how the growing accounts of women with PCOS help me feel more validated and part of a community. Articles that allow voices like Sophia’s to be heard introduce me to new perspectives and advice that allow me to grow more confident and learn new ways of managing my own experience with PCOS. Whilst limited, there are online communities that allow others affected by PCOS to share this sentiment. And with this article, I hope to contribute to the growing voices of women with reproductive and endocrinological disorders, and help those who may feel out of depth or misunderstood to feel connected and seen.

As one of the thousands of Levantine migrants (originating from the Levant region, including the countries of Syria, Palestine, Lebanon, Jordan etc.) whose families are now in the Gulf in pursuit of a better life, my world shattered the morning of the 28 th of February. I had returned home from my studies in the UK for a quick visit with my family and to attend a family event. That morning, my mother woke me up claiming the war had started. “What war?” I asked, certain that my home country, Lebanon, was once again under attack. Photo by Lara Jameson on Pexels  I suddenly hear an explosion.   My mind begins to race, and the realisation that the Gulf is involved hits me. I open my phone and skim my notifications: “US base hit in Bahrain”, in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Qatar, Kuwait… I cannot process the words displayed on my screen, and my inability to wrap my head around the facts emphasises how unthinkable the situation felt just a few days ago. Manama, Bahrain, February 28. REUTERS/Hamad I Mohammed Growing up the way I did meant I was privileged; I was fortunate enough to think “No, not me, not here”. My parents made sure that I would not have to experience any of this, not the way they did.   As a child of the Levantine diaspora, you often hear bits and pieces of your parents’ childhoods, as they rarely give you full stories. The environment my parents grew up in was not ideal, as the 70s and 80s were a time of civil and regional war in Lebanon. I’ve heard storie s — my father hearing that his parents’ home had blown up while at the market, my mother and her family being in their apartment when their building’s roof was bombed. There was little to no acknowledgement that it was difficult for them to survive, that it affected them heavily, or that they did their best to shelter my siblings and me from similar experiences. However, these sentiments became apparent as I grew to find meaning in the actions they took and decisions they made.   See, when I was five years old, a bomb detonated next to my school in Beirut, and while I cannot recall the event, my parents have rarely spoken of that day.   It is a regular Tuesday when they hear an explosion. Within minutes, they are notified through word of mouth that it comes from a building near my school. At the time, both my parents work at opposite ends of the city, and before mobile services are restored, they rush to my school from their respective offices. My mother picks me up and takes us home. My father arrives a few minutes later and requests to pick me up. As minutes go by, the expressions of panic from the school staff grow, and my father quickly understands that I cannot be located. His mind immediately takes him to the worst scenario it can conjure. He believes I am taken or hurt and is immediately terrified. Eventually, the mobile networks come back up, and my father gets in contact with my mother, learning that I am safe at home with her.   That day, my parents decided that they would not watch my siblings and I endure what they did. Shortly after, my parents found a way to relocate to the UAE. It was an emerging haven for skilled Arabs offering safety, stability and a better life. I began my studies there and received a gold-standard education, which helped me to later pursue my bachelor’s and now my master’s degree in the UK. All the while, I was, to a certain extent, sheltered from the chaos of Lebanon, the civil unrest, corrupt politics and financial instability. Not to say that my home country isn’t a beautiful place where I wish I could have grown up, but simply to highlight that the move brought opportunity, a tolerant, friendly environment, and an international upbringing exposing me to a variety of cultures and ways of thinking, where many felt they belonged.   I have always been grateful for the decision my parents made. The larger part of my family later also relocated, and we built a community here with a strong support system. Thus, I feel connected to Dubai, the city I grew up in, which is why I am shocked as the events of the 28 th of February and subsequent days are unravelling.   Videos of fires — in familiar neighbourhoods and places I frequent — have spread across social media, instilling fear and anxiety amongst residents and myself. I soon understood that interceptions of incoming attacks are causing debris to fall, leading to fires. And, as the numbers are published later that day, highlighting the number of missiles intercepted and drones stopped, I realise how, despite the reality of the current situation, I am still privileged. My version of war includes Wi-Fi, family and friends gathering, and access to everything I need in a country that is going far to keep all those within it safe. Thankfully, the government is well-equipped, and all fires are extinguished in a timely and safe manner. The injuries are minimal, and the deaths are extremely limited. The days following the 28 th  of February have felt calmer; however, regional tensions are increasing. The short-term resolution for these ongoing events in the region feels less and less likely. Oscar Chan on Pexels The airspace is mostly closed to protect civilian safety, which has left a number of tourists stranded here and some residents unable to return home. I am amongst those affected by these closures, as I was meant to be back in the UK by now to resume classes and complete my degree. I am worried about when I will be able to return, the impact this delay will have on my studies, and the broader impacts these events will have on others. However, the government has made efforts to ensure everyone’s needs are met, including extending stays free of charge and providing free accommodation and food. Repatriation flights have also now commenced, as the airports open for a couple of hours a day.   Companies are asked to take care of their employees, businesses are giving back to the community, and schools have gone online, adopting systems aimed at catering to all circumstances. The headlines do feel heavy and some are finding it difficult to cope at the moment, but as I’ve read in local newspapers, mental health helplines and consultations are open to those struggling, and support groups have been organised to help us carry each other through.   I would be lying if I said I’m not on edge, that I don’t worry when I hear a jet circle around my area or the loud sounds from interceptions. But the opportunities the Gulf has offered my family and the degree to which it is equipped to uphold order, extend generosity and ensure the safety of citizens, residents, and visitors keep me grateful for the roots I have built and the life I have the privilege of pursuing here.   With every day escalating, my home country of Lebanon is becoming increasingly impacted by this war. While my family back home is currently safe, the number of civilians harmed and infrastructure damaged is devasting. These conflicts in the Middle East are affecting many across the region, and my thoughts and prayers are with all those who are affected by these events.

Image Source: Photographer Mike Carroll In 1989, the reign of Romania’s Communist leader came to a sudden, brutal end when Nicolae Ceauşescu was executed by firing squad on live television. In the revolution that followed, international observers rushed into a nation long sealed off from view – only to discover nearly 170,000 abandoned children being raised in warehouse-like orphanages.   In response, at the request of the Secretary of State for Child Protection in Romania and in collaboration with the Romanian Ministry of Health, a group of US researchers launched the Bucharest Early Intervention Project ( BEIP ). For those unfamiliar, the BEIP is the only long-term randomized study that placed children being raised in state-run institutions either into high-quality foster care or to care-as-usual, to determine whether family-based care could repair the socioemotional harm caused when children’s earliest years were spent in institutions rather than families. It is a landmark study that has fundamentally shaped what we know about the impacts of early adversity.   As a researcher interested in the ways in which early adversity (e.g., abuse and neglect) “gets under the skin”, I had a clear goal for my postdoctoral training: to work on the Bucharest Early Intervention Project ( BEIP ).   The research I have completed over the course of my postdoctoral fellowship has focused on how early institutional care (and subsequent placement into high-quality foster care) impacts wellbeing during adolescence and early adulthood in the context of the BEIP.   The BEIP Study The BEIP began during a time when Romania had essentially no foster care system and relied on large, state-run institutions (warehouse-like orphanages) to raise children. Under dictator Nicolae Ceauşescu, harsh pronatalist policies (i.e., encouraging an increased birthrate) coupled with widespread poverty resulted in many families abandoning children they could not afford to raise to these institutions. This practice was supported by the regime’s widespread belief that the state could raise children more effectively than their families. Even after Ceauşescu’s deposition in 1989, widespread poverty and institutionalization continued, and Romania was struggling to restructure child protection while managing enormous numbers of institutionalized and newly abandoned children. The aim of the BEIP was to improve the welfare of Romanian children by establishing foster care that was affordable, culturally sensitive, and replicable in other settings. In tandem, this project offered an unprecedented opportunity to examine the effects of institutionalisation on the brain and behavioural development of young children and to determine whether these effects could be remediated through intervention - both of which would have enormous implications for children worldwide. It is not an exaggeration that the BEIP offers the strongest existing evidence that the early social environment strongly impacts development and can be substantially improved through high-quality foster care early in life.   Image Source: Photographer Mike Carroll The BEIP has followed 136 abandoned infants and toddlers. Half of the children were randomly assigned to foster care while the other half were assigned to care as usual. A matched comparison sample of children raised in their birth families were also followed, to contextualise developmental outcomes.   Over more than two decades of follow-up, the BEIP has provided the strongest causal evidence to date that severe early psychosocial deprivation profoundly shapes development, and that early, stable, family-based care can substantially alter those trajectories. Children who remained in institutions showed lower IQ, more emotional and behavioural difficulties, and atypical attachment patterns. However, children placed into high-quality foster care - especially before the age of two - demonstrated striking improvements across cognitive, emotional, and social domains.  My research on the BEIP has been both hard and hopeful. The hard The arms of early adversity reach deep within one’s biology and across the lifespan.   I have shown that growing up in an institution can have long-lasting effects on children’s development. It can alter functioning of the cardiac and metabolic systems; accelerate biological aging; and can influence how well someone copes and functions during early adulthood. Across this work, one thing has emerged as crystal clear: stability matters. Disruptions in care – being moved from one placement to another – can affect the timing of puberty and can further speed up the ‘ticking’ of the biological aging clock across childhood and adolescence.   However, the importance of stability cuts both ways, and herein lies the hope. The hope While both early institutionalisation and disruptions carry risks, stability of the caregiving environment is protective .   While young people with a history of institutional care showed poorer functioning during early adulthood (e.g., less engagement in education and skilled employment), those who experienced stable foster care placements during childhood showed greater educational engagement and higher-skilled employment than those with disrupted placements.   The lesson across two decades of data is remarkably consistent: stability matters. Early, nurturing, and consistent caregiving does not simply improve behaviour – it shapes physiology, developmental timing, and adult functioning.    The Implications BEIP’s findings make clear that early, stable, family-based care is not only preferable but is biologically and developmentally necessary for healthy maturation across childhood and into emerging adulthood.   Findings also highlight that child welfare systems must prioritize placement stability – not just removal from unsafe environments – if they truly wish to support children’s long-term physical health, mental health, and capacity to meaningfully participate in adult roles.   Even more broadly, the BEIP demonstrates that policies and interventions implemented during the earliest years of life can shape trajectories across the lifespan, altering both risk and resilience. Image Source: Photographer Mike Carroll The relevance of BEIP in 2026 Living in the United States during my postdoctoral training has further driven home the broader implications of BEIP findings, beyond the post-communist Romanian context.   In the US, 80% of all cases reported to child protection services involve neglect – and estimates suggest that 85 to 95% of children in foster care experience at least one placement disruption while in care. While the ‘zero tolerance’ policy (which aimed to prosecute all adults crossing the US-Mexico without inspection) was officially ended in 2021 , families continue to be separated at the border under other practices and policies.   Currently in 2026, parents are being detained and deported by the United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) while children remain in the United States; many previously separated families have yet to be reunified ; and reports continue to emerge detailing where detention effectively separates families and exposes children to unacceptably adverse conditions .   The science is clear: separating children from primary caregivers and subjecting them to unstable care environments carries measurable biological and developmental consequences, which underscores the importance of evidence-informed policies aimed at minimizing child-caregiver separations. Looking Forward As I prepare to move beyond my postdoc to become an Assistant Professor at Dalhousie University in Canada, I am committed to continuing this work at the intersection of biology, development, and policy, with the aim of generating the kind of hard data that makes it impossible to ignore children’s need for stable, nurturing care.   Following the outstanding examples of my formidable mentors on the BEIP, Drs. Charles Nelson, Nathan Fox, Natalie Slopen, and Charles Zeanah, I am dedicated to spending my career ensuring that what we now know from the BEIP—that adverse early experiences literally get under the skin—translates into systems that protect, rather than undermine, children’s lifelong health and potential.

More than just “man’s best friend” When I was a child, I used to get ill quite often. On those days, while my friends were at school, I stayed at my grandparents’ house, wrapped in blankets, watching TV, feeling miserable in that specific way only children with a fever can. But I was never alone: My grandparents’ dog, Flora, would quietly sit beside me, her head resting on my lap as if she understood exactly what I needed. Somehow, I always felt better. My breathing softened, my body relaxed, and for reasons I couldn’t yet explain, her presence felt like care - someone watching over me. When Flora died, I was too young to fully grasp the permanence of loss, but old enough to know that I had lost one of my first best friends. And because my grandmother always said, “a home without a dog is just a house”, it didn’t take long until Cora arrived, who very quickly became another one of my closest companions. Image Source: Olivier Amyot via Unsplash Losing Flora was the first time I realised that loving an animal can shape you just as deeply as loving a person. As I grew older, my fascination shifted from simply feeling how dogs changed me to trying to understand why. That curiosity of why we feel, behave, think, and connect the way we do became one of the reasons I chose to study psychology. Eventually, I wrote my undergraduate dissertation on dog-assisted therapy. Unsurprisingly, the findings only confirmed what many dog owners and lovers had felt intuitively: dogs influence human well-being far more deeply and more physiologically than most people realise. During my Master’s in Psychology and Neuroscience of Mind-Body-Interface, that fascination only grew stronger, especially how dogs shape our emotions, biology, and social environment. A 40,000-Year Partnership The relationship between humans and dogs is one of the oldest and most unique cross-species bonds we have. Archaeological and genetic findings suggest that humans and early dogs began sharing environments over 40,000 years ago. What began as coexistence gradually turned into cooperation: dogs benefitted from human protection and food, while humans relied on dogs for warmth, security, and early forms of companionship. Over this long co-evolution, dogs became increasingly sensitive to human cues - our gestures, tone of voice, body posture, and patterns of behaviour. Research now shows that this responsiveness forms the basis for many of the psychological and physiological benefits humans experience in the presence of dogs. At the same time, humans developed strong emotional bonds with dogs, experiencing comfort, safety, and reduced stress during interactions. The human-dog partnership is therefore a long-standing form of cooperation, one that shaped not only behaviour but the physiology of both species. Image Source Robert Eklund via Unsplash How Dogs Calm the Body: The Nervous System Side Research on the autonomic nervous system provides some of the clearest evidence of dogs’ calming effects. Interactions with friendly, familiar dogs reduce physiological stress, lowering cortisol (a stress hormone), slowing heart rate, and promoting a calmer bodily state. Children exposed to a mild stressor, for example, show significantly lower glucocorticoid responses, meaning their bodies release fewer stress hormones when a dog is present compared to when they are alone. In a biopsychosocial framework, these responses make sense: Dogs provide predictable, non-judgmental social cues like steady breathing, a relaxed posture and a warm physical presence. These are signs that the human nervous system interprets as signs of safety. This process is often described as co-regulation: the phenomenon in which one organism helps another return to physiological equilibrium. Although usually discussed in human relationships, dogs can participate in this process too, simply by being near us. Oxytocin - the “Love Hormone” A major biological mechanism behind this calming effect is oxytocin. While often oversimplified as the “love hormone,” oxytocin plays a broader role in emotional regulation, stress reduction, and social connection. Human-animal interaction reliably increases oxytocin levels in both humans and dogs. Moments of mutual gaze, gentle touch, or rhythmic interaction strengthen this hormonal loop, reinforcing trust and emotional safety. In this sense, the comfort a dog provides is not merely sentimental, but also deeply neurobiological. Image Source: Jamie Street via Unsplash Psychological and Social Mechanisms: Structure, Attachment, and Safety Beyond physiology, dogs support psychological well-being in powerful ways. Research shows that the human-animal bond often mirrors attachment processes as dogs provide consistency and an emotional anchor during stress. I recognise that feeling from my own childhood. When I was sick at home, Flora didn’t “fix” anything, but her presence made difficult moments feel more manageable. And later, during adolescence, whenever I felt overwhelmed by exams, deadlines, or changing relationships, seeing Cora’s wagging tail could calm me almost instantly. Dogs also contribute to well-being by introducing routine, structure, responsibility, and physical activity like walking, feeding, or caring. These small, repeated behaviours create a sense of stability and purpose, factors known to protect mental health. On a social level, studies show that dog ownership also increases social interaction and stronger feelings of community belonging. Attachment patterns can even influence how often and how confidently people walk their dogs, which in turn affects physical health and social contact. In this way, dogs not only soothe individuals but subtly strengthen social ecosystems, especially for people who feel isolated or lonely, for whom a dog can bring daily purpose and a pathway back into human connection. Dog-Assisted Therapy and Interventions Clients often describe therapy dogs as making sessions feel safer and more accessible, particularly when discussing emotionally difficult topics. In this way, a therapy dog can act as a catalyst in the therapy process. Therapists also report that the dog changes the emotional tone of the room, softening defensiveness and supporting emotional regulation. Clinical research backs these observations. For example, individuals recovering from acquired brain injury demonstrate more social interaction and engagement in sessions involving a therapy dog. Reviews on animal-assisted interventions indicate that friendly, structured interactions with therapy dogs can be associated with subjective experiences of comfort and pain relief. Beyond psychotherapy, therapy dogs are frequently used in hospitals, rehabilitation centres, and care settings to provide comfort and reduce distress. In educational contexts, the non-judgmental presence of a dog can create a sense of safety that helps children with reading or listening tasks, and therapy dogs are increasingly brought into schools and universities during high-stress periods such as exams. Image Source: Sabina Fratila via Unsplash “Man’s Best Friend” Today, when I read studies on cortisol curves or oxytocin release, I often think back to that small girl at my grandparents’ place, comforted by a dog who had no idea she was already performing an intervention. Science has given me the vocabulary like co-regulation, autonomic balance, biopsychosocial pathways, but the experience itself remains beautifully unchanged. Dogs don’t fix our problems by talking or training our cognitive patterns. They simply remind our system how to soften. And sometimes, that is the most healing thing of all. Caroline (the author), around seven years old, with her dog Flora. Photo taken by her grandfather

When psychedelics take hold, even your inner voice can disappear – and with it, the brain’s usual balance between its two sides. Lost for words Most of us have felt “lost for words” – during moments of heartbreak, awe, or pure surprise. But under the influence of psychedelics like psilocybin, the active compound in magic mushrooms, this experience can go much further. People often describe a strange silence within their minds. Words slip away. Sentences dissolve. Even the very sense of self begins to fade . As someone who has just completed a PhD in neuroscience, my research has focused on how the brain’s wiring supports language and shapes one of our most striking cognitive features: language lateralisation – the way our brains tend to rely more on one side of the brain, usually the left, for language. For years, I studied how the two sides of the brain communicate through the bundles of nerve fibres, like the corpus callosum , which acts as a bridge between them, and how subtle differences in these connections influence whether someone is left-dominant, right-dominant, or somewhere in between. Image Source: Ieva Andrulyte Now, as psychedelics move from cultural taboo to scientific frontier, a profound question is emerging: how do these substances affect language, and what happens to our very sense of self when our inner voice falls silent? This question is more than an abstract curiosity. By studying how psychedelics temporarily reconfigure the brain’s language networks, we may uncover how the brain adapts after injury – and potentially improve recovery for those who have lost speech following brain injury, such as stroke. At the same time, these altered states offer a rare opportunity to observe how tightly language, consciousness, and identity are normally bound together. The two sides of language Language is not just a means of communication – it shapes our inner world. The constant stream of words in our minds helps us plan, reflect, and define who we are. For most people, the left side of the brain leads in managing language, while the right provides support, particularly for rhythm, metaphor, and emotional nuance. This left dominance is so common that around ninety percent of people show it clearly in brain scans. Yet this balance is not universal. About 8% of individuals display right-dominant or more bilateral organisation. These profiles are more common among left-handers but also occur in some right-handers. Atypical lateralisation is not a disorder: right-dominant individuals can speak, read, and write just as well as left-dominant ones. Lateralisation is also not fixed. In infancy , language is represented more equally across both sides of the brain. If a young child suffers damage to the left side of the brain, the right can completely take over language functions, often with excellent outcomes. This plasticity diminishes with age, but even in adulthood, the brain retains some ability to reorganise. Stroke patients, for instance, sometimes regain speech by recruiting regions on the right side of the brain, though recovery is often partial and highly variable. Image Source: Egor Kamelev on Pexels These findings reveal a striking truth: the two sides of the brain maintain a dynamic relationship rather than a rigid division of labour. Altered states of consciousness, including those induced by psychedelics, can also disrupt and reshape this balance. Psychedelics and the brain Classic psychedelics such as psilocybin, LSD, and DMT profoundly alter brain activity. Imaging studies show that they loosen the usual boundaries between networks, allowing regions that rarely communicate to become highly interconnected. This produces a state of heightened entropy, in which brain activity becomes more flexible and less constrained, helping to explain the vivid perceptions, unusual thoughts, and expansive insights people often report. One of the most dramatic effects is ego dissolution – the sense that the boundary between self and world has blurred or even disappeared. Alongside this, many people notice striking changes in language. Speech may become fragmented or even disappear entirely. Sometimes, even inner speech – that steady stream of words narrating our experience – falls silent. A compelling new theory, the HEALS hypothesis ( Hemispheric Annealing and Lateralisation under Psychedelics ), offers a potential explanation. It suggests that in typical consciousness, the two sides of the brain work in parallel but with a left-leaning predominance. Under psychedelics, this hierarchy is temporarily reversed, with the right side of the brain released from inhibition by the left. This shift creates a more balanced and flexible pattern of activity, which may help explain why psychedelic experiences often feel expansive and difficult to put into words. Since the left side of the brain provides much of the foundation for language and identity, its quieting could explain why words, and the stable sense of self they support, seem to dissolve during a psychedelic experience. Neuroimaging studies support this: psilocybin increases blood flow in right-frontal and temporomedial areas of the brain, while decreasing activity in left posterior regions. Functional MRI scans, which track how different parts of the brain communicate, show stronger connections between the two sides of the brain. This suggests that psychedelics temporarily return the brain to a more symmetrical state like in early childhood, that is, before language becomes mostly controlled by one side of the brain. Language and the self By temporarily changing the balance of activity between the two sides of the brain, psychedelics not only alter perception but also the way language structures our thoughts and, with it, our sense of self. The link between language and selfhood runs deep. Philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein described language as a “form of life,” while modern neuroscience suggests that language actively constructs our sense of reality rather than merely describing it. Professor Jeremy Skipper has argued that our inner voice acts like an architect of the self, weaving memories, perceptions, and plans into a continuous story of who we are. When psychedelics disrupt language networks, they may temporarily dismantle this narrative scaffolding, producing a radically altered mode of experience. Many describe this as profoundly liberating, while others find it disorientating or even distressing, as though reality itself is less structured by familiar concepts and words. This idea echoes philosopher Thomas Nagel’s famous question: “What is it like to be a bat?” Nagel argued that consciousness has an irreducibly subjective quality – there is always a what it is like to experience the world from a particular point of view. By altering the balance of activity within language-related brain networks, psychedelics may temporarily shift that perspective, producing experiences that feel less filtered or organised by familiar linguistic categories. Similarly, people with aphasia , a condition caused by brain damage that impairs the ability to produce or understand language, often report profound changes in consciousness, describing a deep inner silence and a sense of self that feels altered. These experiences mirror, in some ways, the temporary dissolution of language and identity seen under psychedelics, highlighting that language is central in shaping our awareness and experience of reality. Why it matters Studying how psychedelics affect language networks may also provide insights into how the brain reorganises after injury or surgery. As mentioned above, following a stroke or neurosurgical procedures affecting the left side of the brain, language functions sometimes shift to the right side, but this process varies greatly between individuals and is hard to predict. By observing how psychedelics temporarily induce shifts in language dominance toward the right side, researchers can study these transitions under controlled conditions. Linking these temporary changes to the brain’s network structure could reveal which patterns are associated with different pathways of recovery. This knowledge could help clinicians better predict how a specific individual’s brain is likely to adapt after stroke, epilepsy surgery, or other neurological conditions. At present, however, much of this work remains conceptual rather than clinical. While neuroimaging and theoretical models offer compelling insights into how psychedelics may reshape language networks and the balance between the two sides of the brain, direct evidence linking these transient changes to therapeutic benefit is still limited. Further research will be needed to establish whether such experimentally induced states can be safely and systematically used to inform clinical models of language recovery or brain surgical planning.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez  on Unsplash What is music? Is it a form of art, an expressive masterpiece, or a therapeutic treatment? For a long time, I saw music as purely performative — a way to entertain and express. But over time, I realised that my dedication to music went deeper than just for show; it was a form of escape, an unrecognised tool for maintaining my mental health. My interest in this field truly ignited when I met a woman with schizophrenia, a condition that impacts thoughts, emotions, and behaviours. She told me that the only way to drown out the voices from her hallucinations was to sing and listen to loud music. Witnessing the impact music had on her symptoms made me wonder: could music therapy be a lifeline for others as well? In this piece, I will explore how musical creativity can enhance mental health, delving into the power of music as a therapeutic tool.   The Science of Sound Music therapy is a unique, evidence-based approach that uses music to help people reach their health and wellness goals. It can look different depending on the individual — sometimes it involves actively making music, like singing or playing an instrument, and other times it can be based on listening to music and focusing on the experience. Music therapy is able to stimulate brain functions involved in movement, cognition, speech, emotions, and sensory perceptions. But how does it work? It all comes down to how music interacts with the brain. Research shows that listening to or creating music releases ‘feel-good’ chemicals like dopamine and naturally occurring opioids, which help lift mood and reduce stress . When we engage with music, it results in the activation of various brain structures — regions linked to memory, emotion, and even movement . More holistic approaches such as the use of music can impact people in ways that regular talk therapy cannot, particularly for those dealing with cognitive or motor challenges. Photo by Magic Bowls on Unsplash The use of music, for more than performance, can be dated back to thousands of years ago, with music and sound playing a significant role in spiritual and healing practices across cultures. Religious traditions have recognised music as a tool for well-being, with examples like Gregorian chants  in Christian monasteries, intended to elevate the soul, and Shamanic drumming  (rhythmic drumming) in Indigenous ceremonies to induce meditative or trance states. Another form , Tibetan and Himalayan singing bowl therapy , uses harmonic vibrations from metallic or crystal bowls. This  encourages relaxation and mindfulness, aligns the body’s energy, and reduces stress, as well as physical impacts such as breathing regulation and blood pressure reduction. Singing bowl therapy, introduced to Western culture by Peter Hess , is still used in the 21st century as a form of meditative practice. In the early 20th century, particularly after World Wars I and II, musicians played for soldiers recovering from physical and emotional stress. The positive impact on morale and healing was noticed, inspiring the development of music therapy programmes, and leading to the establishment of professional organisations like the American Music Therapy Association . These traditional methods are now combined with contemporary science in music therapy, which provides a method of applying music to promote mental, emotional, and physical well-being.   Composing Targeted Therapies Anxiety and Depression Music therapy has emerged as a powerful tool for alleviating symptoms of anxiety and depression, significantly reducing stress levels, and promoting emotional well-being. A meta-analysis found that music interventions can lead to a decrease in anxiety and depression symptoms, with the greatest effects observed in individuals who participated regularly . The soothing properties of music can activate the brain's reward centres, enhancing feelings of pleasure and relaxation. Performing and practising music in a group setting also encourages participants to communicate with others, thus promoting a more social setting, which can increase mental health. Music therapy encourages individuals to express their feelings by providing an emotional outlet, thus facilitating healing. Memory and Dementia Music therapy has also proven effective in supporting individuals with cognitive disorders, particularly Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. This is thanks to music's ability to trigger memories and emotions, making it a powerful tool for recall. When I worked for a Singing For Lung Health Choir, the primary purpose of the choir was to improve symptoms of pulmonary disorders such as COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder). However, a vital secondary impact was memory improvement; all participants were over 60 years old, and most suffered from memory loss. Singing requires active use of memory due to the demand of repeating tunes, rhythms, and lyrics. Songs can also promote memories by triggering links to a past experience or person. In these ways, musical activities uniquely stimulate memory and emotion in the brain, thus providing a therapeutic tool for cognitive reinforcement in individuals with memory loss. Psychosis and Schizophrenia For individuals managing schizophrenia or psychotic disorder, music therapy can help mitigate auditory hallucinations (hearing sounds and voices that are not there). Research indicates that music can serve as a grounding tool, providing a sense of reality and focus. A study demonstrated that participants using classical music therapy experienced reduced auditory hallucinations . Most studies investigating this seem to use classical music — I would like to see future research in this field exploring the impact of different musical genres or using patients’ preferred music style to see if musical nostalgia or favouritism could also impact symptom mitigation. Motor Skills In individuals with neurophysiological motor disorders like Parkinson’s disease, music therapy can play a vital role in improving motor function. For example, the rhythmic elements of music help to enhance motor skills through techniques such as rhythmic auditory stimulation (RAS). In a three-week at-home-based RAS training programme, patients showed improvement in their "gait velocity" (walking speed) by 25% and stride length by 12%  compared to those who participated in a self-paced programme who showed a 7% increase in their gait velocity . The rhythm and beats in music can serve as cues, aiding in movement initiation and coordination, and helping individuals regain confidence in their motor abilities. Photo by Mike Giles on Unsplash Music is a powerful tool for connection and healing, it allows us to use the influence of sound to treat a range of mental, emotional, and physical issues. The development of research in this field shows an increasing body of studies supporting the therapeutic effects of music. I believe that its full potential has not yet been reached, with evidence already ranging from boosting motor abilities and memory recall to reducing the symptoms of sadness and anxiety.   In the future, music therapy should adopt a multidisciplinary strategy, integrating conventional and holistic techniques under the direction of neuroscientific research. Combining music therapy into healthcare practices honours its historical roots and paves the way for innovative treatments. In addition to becoming widely accepted, I see music therapy being incorporated into treatment plans alongside other artistic mediums like dance, art, and meditation. This collaboration will empower people, providing a greater sense of agency in recovery but also in general health, providing a comprehensive model of wellness.