The car is pulled over in a lay-by on the A38, the main artery connecting the English Midlands, a ribbon of asphalt humming with the journeys of a thousand other lives. Inside, a 50-year-old woman named Alison Cecelia Bramwell is on the phone, systematically detonating the life she has known. With a steady voice that belies the seismic shift occurring within her, she informs her family that she is not just leaving for the day; she is leaving for good. She has packed what she needs into her car, a vessel for a future she is just now daring to claim. She is on her way to a new city, a new home in a university’s halls of residence, and a new vocation she has dreamed of since she was a little girl playing make-believe. She is, in her own words, “breaking out of Dodge City.” And she has never, not for one second, looked back.
This cinematic moment was not an act of spontaneous madness. It was the culmination of a lifetime of quiet endurance, the final, decisive act in a long-simmering rebellion against a life that no longer fit. It was the beginning of a radical reinvention that would see her transform from a successful but unfulfilled businesswoman trapped in an unhappy marriage into a university-educated theatre artist, an innovator, a director, and, most unexpectedly, a healer.
The story of Alison Cecelia Bramwell and her company, Therapy Through Theatre Ltd, is a powerful testament to the idea that “it is never too late to rewrite your own script.” It is a story about how creativity can be a lifeline out of the wreckage of trauma, and how one woman’s journey to find her own voice has empowered countless others to discover theirs, proving that sometimes the most profound art is born from the most difficult lives.
The Unfulfilling Prize
For years, Alison Bramwell lived a life that, from the outside, looked like a success. She ran a prosperous business in the service sector, a world of ledgers and logistics. The monetary rewards were great, she admits, but it was not her passion. Her heart was elsewhere. It had been since she was seven years old, standing in a classroom, when a performance she gave earned her a spontaneous, thunderous round of applause from her entire class. That feeling—of connection, of expression, of being truly seen—lodged itself deep in her soul, a persistent ember that would glow for decades, even when buried under the ashes of a life that took a different turn.
Life, as it often does, intervened. Alison suffered significant trauma as a child, including the profound loss of her father when she was just 11, a grief so immense she blocked it from her mind for years, as the mind often does with such wounds. This early pain, she believes, led her to make the mistake of choosing a difficult life partner, setting her on a path of struggle. “I had suffered trauma as a child which is why I believe I made the mistake of choosing a difficult—for me—life partner,” she reflects.
Alison attempted a degree at 21, but with a one-year-old daughter and a subject that failed to ignite her passion, it was a struggle. She passed the first year and put the dream on hold, making a promise to herself that she would one day return. For most of her life, she channeled her energy into business. All the while, she kept a foot in the door of the creative world, doing background extra work for films and television, brushing shoulders with celebrities, and keeping that childhood ember from being extinguished completely.
The breaking point came in a perfect storm of midlife crisis, a convergence of events that hollowed out the identity Alison had built. A difficult menopause, her children leaving home, the death of her beloved dogs, and the stark, unavoidable realization that she could no longer remain in an unhappy marriage. It was then that Derby University appeared like a “hand from the sky,” an “exciting escape” to a new city and a new life. Alison had been trying to audition for straight acting courses, but the cognitive fog of post-menopause made memorizing long monologues a challenge. Derby’s “meaty theatre course,” as she calls it, required a more holistic audition day, a process that felt like a “blessing from God.” The fear of regret on her deathbed, she decided, was far greater than the fear of leaving a false sense of security. Time was ticking.
The 50-Year-Old Fresher
Alison’s university experience was a full-immersion dive into her new life. She didn’t just commute; she lived in the halls of residence, a 50-year-old woman surrounded by teenagers fresh out of high school. The experience was not without its challenges. Before Derby, while on a part-time acting course at the prestigious Birmingham Conservatoire, she was the only senior in a class of hundreds of applicants, mostly 16- to 18-year-olds. “I know many of the youngsters didn’t feel comfortable with the presence of a ‘Granny’ in a group,” Alison recalls, “and I often spent breaks on my own.”
Even at Derby, one parent was incensed to find her sharing a communal flat with their child. But Alison never let it deter her. “To me, the issue was theirs not mine,” she says. “Age in my own psyche has never been a barrier apart from physical changes.” She found allies, like a young man with a disability at the Conservatoire named Thomas, who found it easier to talk to someone more mature. They have been friends ever since, often comparing notes on shows they have seen. At Derby, she earned the respect of her younger peers through her raw talent and fierce dedication, eventually becoming an accepted and admired member of the cohort.
Alison didn’t just attend university; she embraced every facet of it. She became the Treasurer and President of the Mature Students Society for the entire duration of her degree and served as a student representative in her first year. She pushed boundaries, successfully petitioning her tutor to become the very first Theatre Arts student from her university to do an exchange, studying at Windsor University in Canada and paving the way for future students. She even completed the university’s Future’s Award, achieving Bronze, Silver, and Gold levels. She was not just learning; she was leading.
The course itself was a revelation, a source of profound personal and creative liberation. “Our very first task at university was to go to the local supermarket and behave as a child,” Alison remembers. “Instantly I knew that not only had I chosen the right course but that it would be hugely beneficial to me, especially my confidence which was low when I started my studies.” Alison did the task, and to her amazement, no one took any notice at all. These sorts of exercises began to give her a feeling of freedom, a permission to let go. She learned it was okay to say something daft, to not worry about being random, as long as no one was hurt. She learned from her professor, Dr. Phil Green, that it’s okay to abandon a project and start over if it isn’t working. It was in this environment of creative elasticity that her confidence, once so fragile, began to blossom.
The Gospel of Creativity
The true turning point in Alison’s journey came during her Master’s in Applied Theatre and Education, a path she was invited onto by her mentor, the “fabulous” Associate Professor Dr. Ava Hunt. “She saw something in me,” Alison says with deep gratitude. “She promoted me in life and invited me to the Masters… when I didn’t even have the exact grade and it quite literally changed my life and gave me a ticket and platform to instigate this amazing journey.”
Applied theatre, Alison explains, is about taking theatre out into the community. Her first task was working with a group of newly arrived refugee children. “We played keepeeupee and fruit salad,” she says, “and afterwards the children skipped home.” Though they didn’t share a language, they shared the universal language of play and fun. She was inspired by Dr. Hunt’s own work, taking applied theatre into war zones in Palestine, giving children a moment to simply be children.
It was through these experiences that Alison came to a profound realization: theatre is a powerful tool for healing, a constructive alternative to turning to “food, drugs, smoking or alcohol as a pacifier.” This became the founding principle of her company, Therapy Through Theatre Ltd (TTT). The work she does is twofold. She produces and directs plays based on the biographies of “very special lives,” and she runs workshops for communities and individuals who have experienced trauma.
Alison’s workshops are fun and upbeat, using a wonderful box of props, especially when working with autistic children, to help people tap into their own creativity and rediscover their confidence. Her own transformation is the ultimate proof of concept. “At the start of my creative journey I could hardly stand on the stage,” she admits. “By the end of my Masters I was at the front of the stage of a 500 capacity theatre giving it my all and achieving a standing ovation.” This, she believes, is because “trauma survivors make the best creatives as we have all of that emotion to draw on.” When Alison saw the impact her work had on a woman with mental health difficulties, who told her she had stopped using her support worker after a TTT session, she knew she was on the right path.
The Community is the Cast
At the heart of all of Alison’s work is a deep belief in collaboration and community. “I think especially in this day and age – post Covid – an IT fuelled society – we have lost such a sense of community,” she laments. For her, theatre is the antidote, a real form of “soul nourishment.”
Alison’s current project, a play titled “An Aylesham Boy,” is a powerful case study of this philosophy in action. The origin story is itself a piece of theatre. While homeless and displaced in the town of Dover, a creative friend was making her homemade soup and dropped a journal on her lap. It was the biography of a remarkable man named John Quinn. That journal is now a full-scale theatrical production, set to launch at Maison Dieu, Dover’s oldest historical building, dating back to 1205, which has been recently renovated.
The production is a tribute to Dover and a launchpad for local talent. Alison is not just directing; she is playing the lead female role of Zilla Quinn. She has cast a young Jamaican actor, Donovan Makir Figaro, in his first real debut. She is championing Angelika Ciesielska, the talented Conductress of the Dover Youth Orchestra, who is arranging the classical accompaniment. And she is enabling Christopher Burke, at 82 years old, to launch his career as an accomplished playwright.
The community is buzzing with excitement; even the local council is emailing Alison to check on the play’s progress. She is hoping that Stuart Allen, the Executive Producer at Derby Theatre, where she trained and whose Creative Director, Sarah Brigham, is a friend, will see the show and consider taking it north to their nearly 500-seat venue. Her ambition is boundless. The next play is her own story, “Ascension,” which deals with her journey of finding empowerment through creativity to prosecute against crimes committed against her in her later years. “I am ambitious,” Alison declares. “I shall take them all the way.” Her model is clear: create fresh, original work from scratch, bring communities together, and make it accessible to everyone with “cheap as chips tickets” for pensioners and those on a budget.
The Unconventional Healer
Alison is passionate about working with people who have faced adversity, but she is also clear about her role. “I am not a trained counselor,” she states, “so I do try to avoid becoming too involved with the processing and accepting of trauma.” Instead, she shares what worked for her, offers a broad shoulder to lean on, and uses humor and knowledge as her primary tools for empowerment. “Communication and Connection is KEY,” she says.
Her lifestyle is a reflection of her all-in commitment to her mission. As she no longer has personal responsibilities at home—“I wouldn’t even consider a plant at the moment” after doing 20 years of family time—she dedicates most of her time to her work. But it is not a chore. “I love life, I love every day,” Alison says. Her business background has given her an edge, an “almost business ambition” that she applies to her creative projects. Alison works remotely, often taking a cheap ferry to Calais to work in the sun, cutting back on all unnecessary expenses to fund the “joie de vivre” she has found. She has recently engaged a PA, recognizing that delegation is key to managing her ever-expanding vision.
Alison is a woman who thrives on visuals and performance, admitting she doesn’t like to read books—the only one she’s read cover to cover is Warhorse—and that a computer used to “absolutely scare” her. But she learned the technology she needed to earn her degrees, keeping the tech helpline on speed dial. She is a woman of deep faith, who finds joy in cloud gazing, music, and “free dance.”
Alison is, by her own account, 58 years old, looks 30, takes no prescribed medication, and is at her absolute peak. Her life’s journey has been a long and arduous climb, but she has reached the summit. Her message to the world is a joyful, emphatic invitation. “Bliss and happiness is achievable,” she declares. “I suffered many years in my trauma – the beautiful feeling of where I am now – I would not swap for the world… whatever your age the impossible is possible – you just need to take the plunge! And believe me the water is beautiful and warm!”
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