I didn’t grow up imagining I would become a celebrant. The path found me quietly, through ordinary life and a few extraordinary moments.
I came to celebrancy after attending many funerals of family members over the years. The celebrants I remember and who stayed in my memory were the celebrants who led the ceremonies with warmth, care and humanity. Those ceremonies felt special because they didn’t feel heavy or scripted — they felt personal, honest and deeply meaningful. Seeing how much that mattered to our family stayed with me.
I’ve always loved speaking at family weddings, telling stories, finding the line that makes people laugh and then, a moment later, reach for a tissue. Becoming a celebrant felt like a natural home for those parts of me — the teacher, the storyteller, the person who notices the small details that matter.
What I hope, above all, is that people would describe my ceremonies as warm, joyful, a bit funny, and completely personal. Down to earth, never over-polished — more like gathering in a living room than sitting through a performance.
Life has shaped that approach.
Like many people, I’ve known my share of loss — bereavement, serious illness, moments when life suddenly reminds you how fragile it all is. Those experiences haven’t made me gloomy; they’ve done the opposite. They’ve made me value life fiercely. They’ve taught me that love is often found in ordinary places: a noisy family table, a walk along the coast, a catch-up with a close friend over a cuppa.
That’s the kind of truth I want in every ceremony I create.
I care about all of it — weddings full of hope, naming ceremonies that welcome new beginnings, and funerals that honour a life honestly and kindly. Each one is different, but they all come down to the same thing: helping people say what really matters while they have the chance.
Outside of celebrancy I’m happiest by the sea, going on adventures travelling in my campervan, being in my busy classroom, or surrounded by my big, lively family. Those parts of my life come with me when I work. I don’t arrive as a formal voice in a suit; I arrive as a human being meeting other human beings at an important moment.
That’s what I try to honour in my work.
Being a celebrant, for me, is about creating space for stories that matter — spoken with warmth, honesty and respect. It’s about helping people mark life as it truly is: sometimes joyful, sometimes painful, often both at once.
And it’s a privilege I don’t take lightly.