The mask

Our play therapy training was a mixture of experiential, theoretic and practical activities. One of the training sessions during our second year of training focussed on the use of clay in the play therapy room. It had been a long day, we were all tired and we still had to undergo clinical supervision in groups once this final session of the day had finished. I had had enough; I was ready to go home. My Mum was very ill at the time and I had explained to my course director that I needed to keep my phone on at all times. After that, one of my tutors had come to quietly inform me that I should keep myself 'safe' as clay was one of those resources that could really cause you to process deeply. Even though I was in my second year, I still found that a strange concept as I had come from a teaching background, not counselling like so many of my peers. I had heard others say that about sand and wondered what they actually meant. It just sounded weird to me.

We had to work in pairs, so Y and I joined forces as we were sitting next to each other. She did not know me very well so had not heard much about my family issues. I thought that may be helpful. We were each given a lump of clay. I really was not in the mood for this activity. I was ready to go home but I still had to be there for a few hours more.

A guest tutor who was a clay specialist took the lead and asked us to create a depiction of ourselves as a child. Well, that was easy-ish. I made a little girl figure out of part of my clay. Not my best ever creation but there was a bit of a likeness to my younger self. Then he asked us to discuss our creations with our partners. No problem. Not much to say. I listened to Y's interpretation of hers and mine.

Next we had to create a model to depict our main caregiver. Oooo, bit more difficult as my child model was quite large so if I made my Mum as a woman, that would use a lot of clay and time. I broke off a lump of clay and rolled it into a ball with my hands and then squished it flat so it spread out. I flattened it with my fingers. I looked at it. You could see my ten finger marks. It looked like a pair of hands. I thought that was apt. My Mum had held me in her hands; she had gently guided me with her hands; she had held my face in her hands. Yes, I was content those hands depicted her role in my life. I explained it to Y and she agreed with me.

Oh no, I knew what he was going to ask us to make next. Create a model of our secondary caregiver. Did I have to? Could I not just walk out and go home now please? I became even more fed up. I really did not wish to make a creation relating to my father out of clay or anything else for that matter. I rolled the rest of my clay into a ball and then I remember whacking the ball hard on the board. It was like I was releasing a lot of anger. I do not know where the energy came from as I was so tired and lethargic. I thought it sounded like I was making the most noise in the whole room. I really took it out on that clay. I knocked it, bumped it, hit it, punched it. I banged it down on the board and squashed it flat. Quite violently for me. I am usually a passive soul.

I landed up with a sort of large egg shape flat piece of clay. For some reason, I know not why, I then folded the top third down onto the centre and then the bottom third upwards onto the centre. So I just had a rectangular type piece in front of me. I really did not know what to do with this. I was not consciously thinking about him. I was just messing about with the clay. Then I undid the folds, bottom one back and top one back.

My eyes beheld a vision that shook me to the core. I have even had a tingle down my spine writing about it now. In the top fold crease, two small slits had appeared where the clay had split. In the lower fold crease, one longer slit had appeared in the centre. I was looking at a mask. I could not believe my eyes. I had not made this on purpose. I did not have a clue what to make for him and I was not in the least bit interested in making anything depicting him anyway.

But I had accidentally created a mask. Or had the clay created the mask? It was so apt for him. Absolutely epitomised him. He has always worn different masks depending on who he had for company at the time. One for his church folk, one for his family, I could go on and on, there are so many! He is the one who caused my Mum and I to 'wear masks'. I still do. Although I am trying to be more authentic these days, the smiley mask does appear quite often still. Now, I am aware when it happens. Whereas before all the therapy, I did not realise that is what I did to fend off others and shield myself.

Back to that activity....I thought it was quite a menacing looking mask. It was scary. Just as he is at times.

When we had to talk to our partners, Y saw my face and asked if I was okay. I said I have had a shock by what happened with the clay. I started to tell her and my eyes started leaking. She gently stated that I need not tell her. I said that I wanted to tell her. I then realised my course director was hovering next to me. She is a powerful, strong, amazing woman who I admire so much and she had immediately realised I was feeling really fragile, vulnerable and overwhelmed by the impact of my creation. So she had come to support me with her presence. No words were needed.

Since then, clay has always been my go to resource for deep process. I love it when my clients choose to use the clay and ask me to use it too. Obviously I have to hold back and create what they wish me to create but it is fascinating. I love working with clay. I think it may harp back to my toddler days that I only remember from family slides. My hands, face and clothes are covered in mud as I had been creating mud pies in the garden. Adding water from the garden tap to make them extra squishy and easier to mould.

PS My Mum and I would always laugh with a dose of sadness looking at those slides, as I would have a sheepish smile on my face as I had been caught being messy. I said yes, it was that look of 'oh no' now I am in for a hiding, maybe if I smile, it won't be so hard this time. Unfortunately my smile never helped.