Therapy (part 1)

I know I write about a lot of heavy stuff relating to my dad and I do that because I am trying to let it go. I have worked hard in therapy and although that does not just make it all vanish unfortunately, therapy does help you process stuff. For me, it seems to take a week or two after a therapy session to fully process it all and then it can take a year or more before I am ready to completely let it go. I know it has gone when I do not feel that emotional entanglement and pull with it any longer. I may still talk about it but I can do that without a visceral reaction such as tears welling up or feeling nauseous. It is a very slow process for me. Others may find it different.

Therapy was a real eye opener for me. I come from a home where really the idea of therapy was 'pooh-poohed'. Maybe it was because my parents were very religious and so discussing your issues with your Minister or priest was the norm. But also, I cannot actually remember anyone ever talking about therapy, apart from on TV. It was not really 'a thing' when I was growing up.

When I started my first teaching job and worked with a number of vulnerable children in my class, I remember social workers telling me that a certain child was having therapy. I did not feel it was my place to ask for any more information about the therapy and if I had, I do not think I would have been given any further information anyway.

As a teacher I always used to wish I could do more for the four or five children in my class each year who were really struggling with a variety of serious issues such as neglect, abuse, bereavement or being in care. I tried my best but I had thirty other children who also needed my attention. I found that really difficult. The educational psychologist would appear at my door with a bundle of papers that described activities relating to bereavement for example. Thanks, but when am I going to fit those in to the busy school day? At that time, it was only me and thirty plus children in the class all day. There were no teaching assistants, etc. It was hard work and sadly I often felt like I was more of a crowd controller than a teacher facilitating the children's learning.

It was only when I started caring for my Mum and then having time to think about my future career that I started finding out more about educational psychology and that led me on to eventually discovering play therapy. Wow, that seemed like the best job in the world!

One of my therapists has said 'play therapy found me'. After my first year of training, my course director recommended I undertook a creative type of personal therapy. She had noticed that I held back and did not let too much emotion loose in our training. Too right.

So I duly found an art therapist. I went once and found it so emotional and scary. As I later understood, I was not 'held' in the therapeutic space. I was also set free to leave when I was in a very raw and distressed state and there was no 'grounding' before I left. By that I mean, she did not help me settle into a state where I could think clearly enough to even go and get on the correct bus home. She seemed to be a loose cannon who just set her clients free but did not keep me for one safe. I was all over the place and I think I must have walked home from town that day but I actually cannot remember. I knew she was not the therapist for me.

So I found another art therapist. This one kept me safe and held in the therapeutic space and I was so relieved. I did not do any art creations for six months though. I sat on her sofa and I balled my eyes out every session. She sat and nodded with empathy, occasionally asking questions but mostly passing me boxes of tissues. After six months, I told her that I was not going to sit on the sofa ever again. No, I would sit on the chair at the table and be arty as she was an art therapist! I did so but my creations were all very 'nice' and colourful and superficial. It took me a long time to let the mess out on to the page even though my play therapy clients at the time were making so much mess in their sessions; I just could not do it.

I had a break from therapy after that for a few years but when my Mum passed, I knew it was therapy time again. Mainly because I needed to find coping strategies to deal with living with my dad without my Mum being around. I searched and found out about outdoor therapy. I have always struggled indoors in confined spaces, mainly as that was where the beatings would occur - in my bedroom with the door closed and just him and I.

So, I found a therapist who worked outdoors in the woods and meadows with the river and a canal flowing by. I could write a hundred blog posts about that therapy. It was the most inspiring, insightful, memorable therapy I have ever had. The therapist, the outdoors, the weather, the dog walkers with their dogs; everything came together there for me. I was in the open and yet I felt the safest I have ever felt because the therapist and the countryside kept me safe. I know that may sound strange but for me it was the most difficult and yet most helpful therapy I have ever had. As I felt so safe, I could dive really deeply into issues to open them up, dissect them and process them. I still took a while to process stuff but it was such a feeling of relief to unlock all those issues that had been locked away in the deep, dark recesses of my mind for so many years. I love being outdoors and so maybe that is the reason I could relate more to that therapy than any of the other therapy I have experienced.

To be continued...