I did not begin with answers,
I began with listening.

I grew up in a chiropractic family. My father, Dr Stephen Osborne, brought to that world not only skill, but a relentless and at times tiresome pursuit of deeper understanding. His mastery of Neuro Emotional Technique meant I was exposed early to the idea that healing was never merely physical, and that what the body carries can rarely be separated from what a person has lived.

For years, though, music held more of my attention than clinics did.

Before I was a book writer, I was a songwriter. Long before I understood the body professionally, I was drawn to rhythm, tension, phrasing, silence, and the felt architecture of a line that could hold more than it said outright. Songwriting taught me to notice tone, timing, restraint, and what sits beneath the obvious. In many ways, it trained the same creative eye and heart that now shapes my clinical work and my writing.

That listening followed me into practice.

I graduated from RMIT in 2018, sincere, capable, and carrying the kind of confidence many young practitioners mistake for understanding. I had a solid education, a strong work ethic, and a growing sense that the body was saying more than most clinical models were equipped to hear.

During my final semester, I began training under Dr Mark Postles. That period marked a genuine turning point. It was not simply that I encountered a different way of thinking. I experienced a profound shift in my own body. Things changed. Areas that had felt fixed began to reorganise. Patterns I had accepted as normal started to loosen. What struck me most was that this physical transformation echoed something NET had already taught me emotionally: that the system often holds its history in ways more intelligent, more layered, and more consequential than we first realise.

It became clear to me that what is unresolved does not remain abstract. It takes form. It shapes posture, breath, movement, tolerance, and the very way a person inhabits themselves.