Recently, I had the unexpected and utterly unforgettable experience of participating in a health documentary as the expert psychologist, exploring the emotional and psychological challenges of living with Multiple Sclerosis (MS). The documentary, filmed in the strikingly beautiful city of Tallinn, Estonia, was as moving as it was eye-opening—and not just because of the story we told on camera.
It all began with an email asking if I would be willing to appear as the psychological expert in a new international documentary series about chronic health conditions.
This episode would focus on MS, highlighting one remarkable man’s journey through diagnosis, adaptation, and strength. I was honoured, of course—but I don’t think I truly appreciated what “being in a documentary” entailed until I found myself under studio lights in a quiet corner of Eastern Europe, having foundation brushed on my face by a professional makeup artist.
Yes, makeup. And wardrobe.
There’s something slightly surreal about having your outfit selected for you by someone with an eye for colour palettes and camera lighting—someone who knows which necklines look confident and trustworthy through a lens. Gone were my usual blue jacket and comfortable flats; in came a tailored ensemble that they felt struck just the right balance between authority and warmth. And, surprisingly it was ok, to let someone else worry about what I looked like on screen.
The filming itself was surprisingly intimate. Though cameras were present, and angles considered, there was a sensitivity and quiet respect from the crew that allowed for real emotion to surface. My role was to offer psychological insight as we explored the impact MS has not just on the body, but on identity, relationships, and mental health. But truly, the emotional weight of the story belonged to the man I was there to support.
He was—there’s no other word—inspiring.
This chap, who’d been living with MS for several years, brought such honesty, vulnerability, and humour to the conversation. He talked about his frustrations with his body, the shifts in how people perceived him, and the sometimes-overwhelming unpredictability of his symptoms. But he also spoke of resilience, of community, and of the quiet joy found in adapting rather than resisting. Our ‘session’—filmed but very real—was a meeting of minds and experiences. It reminded me why I do this work.
Outside of the studio, Tallinn was a joy. With my good friend, we had a few hours to wander the cobbled streets of the Old Town, a place that looks like it’s been lifted from a fairy tale, complete with turrets, spires, and little winding alleyways. The medieval architecture felt like a gentle embrace from the past—solid, enduring, weathered by time. It was a beautiful contrast to the very modern story we were telling through film: one of adaptation, strength, and hope in the face of a changing body.
Reflecting on it now, the whole experience feels slightly dreamlike. But it was also a reminder of the importance of sharing these stories—of helping people feel seen, heard, and validated. Chronic illness is often invisible. Films like this shine a light where it’s needed.
And sometimes, they also put a little blush on your cheeks and a fitted jacket on your shoulders.
I’ll take both!