Take A Seat didn’t begin as a project. It began as a feeling. A quiet realisation that people move through their days carrying things they rarely speak about. Thoughts that sit heavy. Worries that follow them around. Memories that don’t fade as quickly as they hoped. I knew that feeling well because I’d lived with it for years.
For a long time, I battled my demons on my own. I didn’t reach out even though help was available. I didn’t talk about what I was going through. I didn’t let anyone in. Part of that was fear. Part of it was pride. But a big part of it was being a man and not feeling like my feelings were valid. I told myself to get on with it. I told myself other people had it worse. I told myself I didn’t want to be a burden. Those thoughts kept me silent for years, even when silence was the thing hurting me most.
Eventually, I reached a point where carrying everything alone wasn’t helping anymore. I started opening up slowly. I shared part of my mental health story on a podcast, and that moment changed something in me. Speaking out loud about what I’d been through felt strange at first, but it also felt honest. People reached out afterwards to say they understood or they’d been through something similar. Some said they’d never heard a man speak openly like that before. Those messages stayed with me. They reminded me that people want connection even when they don’t know how to ask for it. They reminded me that honesty can make someone else feel less alone. They reminded me that small moments matter.
My poetry played a part in that shift too. Writing gave me a way to express things I couldn’t always say out loud. It helped me understand myself. It helped me slow down. It helped me turn difficult feelings into something gentler. Some of those poems reached people who needed them, and that showed me how powerful a simple moment of connection can be. Poetry taught me that words can sit beside someone quietly and still make a difference. That idea became part of Take A Seat without me even realising it.
The idea grew slowly. I started noticing people more. I saw how often someone looked like they needed a pause. I saw how many people walked with their head down, lost in something they weren’t saying out loud. I saw how rare it had become for strangers to share a moment that wasn’t rushed or guarded. I wanted to create a space where those moments could happen again. A space that didn’t demand anything from anyone. A space that felt gentle and human.
So I started sitting with the sign. No plan. No structure. Just presence. I didn’t know if anyone would sit. I didn’t know if people would understand it. I didn’t know if it would make a difference. But people did sit. Some for a minute. Some for longer. Some talked. Some stayed quiet. Some shared things they’d never said out loud before. Some just needed a moment to breathe. Every person taught me something. Every conversation reminded me why I kept showing up.
Take A Seat became a way of offering what I once needed myself. A calm moment. A safe space. A chance to be heard without judgement. A reminder that connection doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be simple. It can be gentle. It can be two people sitting on a bench in Wakefield, letting the world slow down for a while.
I move around the city because life moves. People move. Feelings move. Some days I sit in Thornes Park. Some days in the museum gardens. Some days in smaller places that most people walk past without noticing. I choose spots that feel right on the day. I let the environment guide me. I let the moment unfold naturally. I’ve learned that the right people arrive at the right time.
Take A Seat isn’t a movement or a group. It’s just me. One person with a sign offering a moment of connection to whoever might need it. It’s small on purpose. It’s quiet on purpose. It’s human on purpose. And it’s enough.
If you want to know more about how it works, you can read How It Works.
If you want to know where I might be, you can visit Where to Find Me.
If you want to reach out, you can visit Get in Touch.
If you want to understand the mission behind it, you can read My Mission.
This is my story. This is why I sit. This is why the sign matters. And if you ever see me out in Wakefield, you’re welcome to join me.