I always remember fireflies through the eyes of a child, full of magic and wonder. Tiny flashes of green off in the distance. I remember catching glimpses of them in the bushes as I sat by the campfire, surrounded by family. This was the time when my family was the most present with each other. My brothers were often giggling as they cooked marshmallows, entertained by the risk of fire and danger. My parents were finally finished the tasks of the day that kept them occupied and unavailable.
Watching the fireflies are some of my fondest childhood memories and comes with a sense of connection and belonging.
Even now, those memories feel like small lights I can still return to.
That might be why, many years later, I would find comfort in the flashing green light of my son’s baby monitor. That blinking light became a symbol and a beacon. On some nights, I was hyper aware how quickly time was slipping by. The awareness would be so loud, a constant reminder that the years are short and too soon the quiet baby cuddles would end. I would sit and study every detail of his small features as he slept in my arms, not ready to return to my bed. These late-night cuddles couldn’t last forever, no matter how much I wished they would.
And on other nights, the light meant something entirely different.
The blinking green was my beacon to hold onto when the demands of parenthood overwhelmed me. It was a reminder that the world existed outside this nursery that I felt trapped in. Too many hours, too many tears. Some his and many mine. As our tears streamed down both our faces, I would count the flashes. Could I do 30 more blinks? No, what about 5? Then 5 just more. I would time my breathing to the flashing light, knowing that tomorrow would be here soon enough. I was desperately trying to cling to the idea that these late nights and sleep deprivation would someday be over.
In its own way, that baby monitor kept me held. It couldn’t remove the hard moments and feelings but it gave me something steady to look toward. In the flashing light, I learned how to hold my fear it was all going too quickly alongside the overwhelm and weight of parenthood.
Sitting in that green glowing light, holding my babies are some of my most precious moments of early motherhood.
Firefly Counselling wasn’t the original name I had picked. My original name held the weight and tenderness of the baby we lost at 11 weeks gestation. This was our first naturally conceived pregnancy, after many years of trying and needing fertility support. The grief was heavier than I ever could have imagined and naming my business in honour of this loss was part of my healing. I was months into building my business when a fellow therapist launched her business with a similar name. Letting go of that first name felt like losing something all over again. That night my husband sat with me as I tried to put into words my heartbreak at needing to let go of the name that meant so much. When I was ready, he started listing all the nature-inspired names he could think of.
I rejected every single one of them!
It wasn’t until that night, sitting in the glow of the green light of the baby monitor, that I recalled my husband saying, “what about firefly?”. I didn’t realize until that moment, how important that baby monitor had been for me. How many nights I spent watching the light, recalling the magic of my childhood. How the blending of the past and the present was what helped me through some of the most difficult moments of parenthood.
I knew as a child, even when I couldn’t see the firefly that if I waited long enough the light would return. I knew as a struggling mom that the green light would give me perspective when I was lost in the intensity of new parenthood.
And I knew, too, that the work I do as a postpartum therapist is shaped by these same rhythms.
Firefly Counselling is the light appearing in darkness, presence emerging in overwhelm.
Therapy is the experience of being held and seen. It’s a structured space that helps us heal the way our bodies already know how, especially in moments of grief, postpartum overwhelm, or pregnancy loss. Healing rarely arrives all at once. It comes in flashes. Counselling is the spark that comes from staying present with both pain and comfort, in a relationship grounded in acceptance.
The name Firefly Counselling stayed because it held everything: childhood magic, postpartum survival, grief, and the steady glow of returning light. These are the same themes I support clients through in my counselling practice.
As a clinician, I provide therapy that is relational, trauma‑informed, grounded in nervous system regulation and presence. It’s not the removal of darkness, but the sacred space where light becomes visible again. Where science meets meaning, and where we learn to trust that light returns. This is the heart of my work now, supporting parents and individuals through grief, postpartum challenges, and healing at Firefly Counselling in Kitchener‑Waterloo.
