Fiona Werle

Introduction

In my role as both a sandtray therapist and an educator, I have come to understand Sandtray Therapy (STT) as an integrative and relational process that extends beyond just technique itself. While it is classified as an expressive and creative therapy, STT engages much more than the expressive faculties of the client. It brings to the surface developmental stagnations, attachment wounds, and embodied trauma, making them visible in symbolic form. For me, the essence of the work lies in how I attend to these worlds: in how I sense, listen, and remain present to both what is said and what is left unspoken.

In training therapists, I emphasise not only the theoretical foundations of STT but also the need to cultivate self-awareness, professionalism, and attunement. The sandtray therapist’s role is not to interpret but to hold a space where unconscious material can emerge, be witnessed, and eventually integrated. In this paper I reflect on the role of the therapist, drawing on theory, neuroscience, and my own professional practice to consider how we can hold this role with integrity.

The Role of the Sandtray Therapist

When I sit with a client at the sandtray, I am aware that I am more than an observer; I am part of the therapeutic system. Research on attachment (Bowlby, 1969; Giedd, 1999) demonstrates that the therapist’s presence can reshape the brain through processes of neuroplasticity. Siegel’s (2007) work on mirror neurons resonates with what I often experience in practice: that my own micro-expressions, posture, and felt sense are mirrored by the client. This is what Badenoch (2008) refers to as limbic-to-limbic connection—the non-verbal, embodied dimension of the therapeutic alliance.

In sandtray work, I often find myself communicating through a smile, a gentle nod, or through silence. Such moments are not empty; they are filled with empathic attunement. When clients feel this safety, they can allow their unconscious to speak through symbols. Lorraine Freedle’s (2019) research on the neuro-sensitive feedback loop confirms what I witness: that the multisensory experience of sand, combined with the presence of an attuned therapist, supports psychological development through distinct phases, consistent with Jung’s individuation process.

Sandtray therapy sessions take place in a calm, private room or space where an indoor tray of sand and shelves of a variety of miniature figures, also referred as symbols—such as people, animals, buildings, vehicles, and symbolic objects—are available. The therapist invites the client to select and place miniature figures in the sand in any way that feels right to them, without needing to explain or justify their choices. As the symbolic sand world takes shape, the client often expresses emotions, memories, or themes symbolically through the arrangement. The therapist observes quietly, offering gentle prompts or reflections if appropriate, while creating a safe, non-judgmental space for the client’s story to emerge. At the end, the client and therapist may reflect together on the completed sand world, allowing meaning to unfold naturally, supporting insight, healing, and integration.

In these moments, my task is not to interpret the client’s world but to hold the space with unconditional presence. I must resist the urge to impose meaning. Instead, I listen with all my senses—watching body language, noticing gaze, attending to stillness, and allowing symbols to “speak” to both of us in their own time.

Self-Knowledge and Family Systems

Over time I have learned that my ability to hold this space is directly connected to my own self-knowledge. I cannot ask my clients to face their truths if I have not faced my own. In working with children, for example, I see the sandtray become a mirror of the child’s family system—their attachment dynamics, their unspoken loyalties, and their intergenerational wounds. If I am unconscious of my own family dynamics, I risk projecting them into the therapeutic relationship.

Bowen’s (1978) concept of differentiation of self has shaped my own practice: being able to remain connected while holding a clear sense of my own self. Internal Family Systems (Schwartz, 1995) adds another layer, offering a way of understanding the “parts” that emerge in the sand worlds. I have seen clients use miniatures to symbolise protectors, exiles, or critical voices within their own psyche. Supporting them in exploring these parts has deepened my respect for the sandtray as a medium where the unconscious can be made visible and relational healing can begin.

I am also mindful that symbols can trigger my own attachment schema. A client’s world may evoke memories or emotions from my own history. Bernstein (2018) and Young (2010) remind us that schema therapy is not just cognitive but deeply embodied, involving memories, sensations, and emotions. In recognising my own triggers, I not only protect the therapeutic space but also deepen my empathy for the client’s journey.

Neurobiology, Epigenetics, and the Therapist’s Presence

In reflecting on my role, I often return to the lens of interpersonal neurobiology. Our DNA, early attachment experiences, and even the circumstances of our conception can leave lasting imprints on how we perceive ourselves and relate to others (Siegel, 2007). The science of epigenetics (Lipton, 2012) expands this understanding, showing how trauma, fear, or love can leave heritable marks on our biology.

In the therapy room, this means that I am not only working with an individual but with a web of inherited and relational patterns. My role is to provide a corrective relational experience—one that is safe enough to allow new neural pathways to form. Trust, empathy, and attuned silence become tools of neuroplasticity. Each gaze, each pause, each moment of containment can become a seed for new patterns of regulation.

Post–sandtray therapy, regulation often shows up as a noticeable shift in the client’s state: their body may appear more grounded, breathing steadier, and muscle tension eased. Clients might describe feeling calmer, lighter, or more “settled inside” after externalising and working through difficult emotions or experiences symbolically in the sand. For some, there is a quiet sense of relief or release, while others may feel clearer and more organised in their thinking. This regulated state doesn’t always mean complete calm—it can also look like increased capacity to tolerate emotions, reduced reactivity, or a readiness to re-engage with daily life. In children, regulation may be visible in more relaxed play, improved focus, or easier transitions after the session.

I often reflect on McGilchrist’s (2012) work on hemispheric functioning, which highlights the importance of right-brain processes in meaning-making and integration. In the sandtray, clients bypass left-brain logic, engaging the sensory-motor pathways Pat Ogden (2015) describes in her “bottom-up” approach. The hands in the sand trigger right-brain neural networks, bringing unconscious material into awareness without requiring verbalisation. My task is to hold this process with presence, to co-regulate, allowing the psyche to reorganise itself.

Professionalism and Reflective Practice

As a consequence of the depth of this work, I believe strongly that professionalism and adequate training are non-negotiable. I believe strongly that sandtray therapists must undergo rigorous training. I developed an ACF level 8 course in Sandtray Therapy adhering to STTAA Practice Standards. This recognised pathway is the 11242NAT Graduate Diploma of Sandtray Therapy. Graduates can then register as members of the Sandtray Therapy Association of Australia (STTAA), which recognises this qualification for professional practice. without it, we risk causing harm. Part of professionalism, for me, is not only technical skill but also a commitment to my own reflective practice. I make time to explore my own reactions, biases, and family systems so that I can be fully present to the client. This commitment to professionalism also extends to assessment. To make the work visible, I also developed the Sandtray Therapy Clinical Assessment Mapping Document (STT_CAMD) (Werle, 2019), which enables therapists to capture observational and symbolic data systematically. Combined with pre- and post-testing using tools such as the Strengths and Difficulties Questionnaire (Brann, 2018), this allows us to demonstrate efficacy and to build a stronger evidence base for STT.

Conclusion

Sandtray therapy has taught me that healing is both relational and symbolic. It is found in the silence between therapist and client, in the gaze that says, “I see you,” and in the miniature figure that carries a weight of meaning. As a reflective practitioner, I understand that my own journey of self-knowledge, my professionalism, and my ability to remain attuned are inseparable from the healing potential of this work. In each session, I witness how the pendulum of the psyche swings between polarities—between darkness and light, despair and hope, fragmentation and integration. My role is to walk alongside clients as they make meaning of these movements, offering presence rather than interpretation, and professionalism rather than intrusion. In doing so, I honour both the client’s inner world and the symbolic language of the sandtray, recognising that true healing emerges not from technique alone but from the relational space we create together.

Biography

Fiona is a 3rd generation Australian and a proud mother of four and grandmother of three (and counting). Her lived experience as the daughter of a Hungarian immigrant and a mentally ill mother has seen her interest in mental health grow and evolve to a level of complexity outside of the mainstream talk therapy. Her passion for Sandtray Therapy as both a Supervisor and Trainer remain an area where she sees hope for the human condition to evolve into great potential for healing. Fiona developed the NAT11242 Graduate Diploma of Sandtray Therapy (level 8) and enjoys training Counsellors & Psychotherapists in this method of expressive therapy. Fiona is a member of ACA and recognised training provider.