On how The Arts help us feel ‘all the feels’

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I had a request  yesterday, for a online magazine comment  about the efficacy of music in therapy. I declined the offer, not being a fully qualified and registered music therapist (for more info on this, see https://www.bamt.org/), but it got me thinking and considering how I feel about and make use music, art, drama and other creative avenues within therapy.

I am a huge believer in creativity. I deem our creativity to be part of the essence of our humanity. I believe that unlocking, channelling, making use of, and enjoying our ability to be creative is often the key to unblocking some of the issues that can hold us back in life. In my opinion, when the creativity can flow, so can the ‘qi’ – the lifeforce. I suppose that makes my approach to therapy a kind of ‘feng shui’ for the psyche 😉

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What is it about creativity and the arts that I find so exciting therapeutically? Most specifically, it is the way it expands our metaphorical vocabulary. By that, I mean the way it gives us access to a whole range of thoughts, feelings, emotions, experiences that are impossible to articulate.

Ever been stopped dead by a piece of music? Brought to tears by a scene in a film or play? Felt a rush of ‘emotion’ (for want of a better word) at a piece of art, or a poem? Those are the feelings I am talking about. For me, this little excerpt is a surefire short cut to that ‘feeling spectrum’;

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGsKzZtRwxw

It does it for me, every time! So many feelings that I can’t describe. All the feels.

Know what I’m talking about now? Thought so…

There is a theorist called Gendlin, who writes extensively about this sensation, and is often referred to in psychotherapeutic literature;

“Those who were successful in therapy came to an inner knowing which Gendlin called the “felt sense”, “a special kind of internal bodily awareness … a body-sense of meaning” (Gendlin, 1981: 10) which the conscious mind is initially unable to articulate. … That feeling is a felt sense.” (Embodied Situated Cognition /The Felt Sense – Embodiment Resources
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He is basically saying that for therapy to really be effective, to have really taken root within us and made real movement or change,  an inner part of us has to have been activated. A part of us that we can’t describe, can’t simply ‘go to’ on a whim when we choose. It is an ‘extra sensory’ part of us. It is a place which is close to intuition, a sixth sense kind of place, a hunch, but it goes way beyond that too, as it encompasses many other indescribable feelings, thoughts and emotions too. The only thing I can say is ‘you’ll know it when you feel it’ – and anyone who has had good, effective therapy will know what I mean by that (Jeeez, I am suddenly aware of the parallel that can be drawn between the way I am describing this feeling, and the way really good sexual feelings are often described – and I am purposely going to draw your attention to that and leave it there, because this really is an awakening that takes place on a similar level, when it happens properly!)

So, this hard to reach, seemingly readily inaccessible place needs to be approached somehow. And we, being humans, are all complete individuals with totally different internal roadmaps to this place.  Indeed, this place looks and feels very different to every one of us, and is usually stumbled upon by surprise as we have no idea what or where we are even looking for! So – for me – as the therapist, or ‘tour guide’ – a trip into the unknown is a good place to start, and we all have that doorway to the unknown available to us through art.
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So how do I help clients to access that? Empathy. I sit with them. I hold space for them. I try to enter into their world with them, feel their perception, get a real sense of who they are and then encourage them to gently push at that so that they can hold, savour and appreciate their uniqueness the way I do. I try to help them find their loves, their hates, their excitement and their disappointment, and if possible, I try to help them channel that into a place of their own creation. Cultural touchstones help us find commonality. The feeling of sharing that special place can encourage us to have confidence and affection for it, and with that comes a sense of knowing and enjoying ourselves. Once in that creative place, ‘flow’ can happen, (In positive psychology, flow, also known as the zone, is the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity ) and in the state of ‘flow’ healing can really happen. Who knows? That thing that is created could be epic, and might change the world. Equally, it might never leave our therapy room, and it doesn’t matter either way. It is all valid and important and life changing and valuable.

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I love the popular phrase ‘all the feels’, because to me, it captures something of that felt sense. When I feel a client’s feels, and I know that I have helped a client get in touch with their ‘feels’, I know that we have taken real steps towards self actualising, towards getting in touch with the authentic self, and that – to me – is what therapy is all about.

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On my feelings, and how I make use of them in therapy

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I have been reflecting  today, on an aspect I consider to be one of the most important parts of my job – my connection to my feelings.

In relevance to my therapeutic framework, my feelings are used as my connection to humanity, and are a part of the way I connect myself with my whole human experience – and hopefully, help my clients to do the same.

I have just come from a final session with a client with whom I had been working for a long time, and feel full of those emotions that endings can bring; happy for my client, that they were feeling ready to embark on the next chapter of their life – sad that I was not going to see them again – excited about what the future might bring for them, armed with their new knowledge of themselves  – proud of the work that we have accomplished together, and many other feelings besides.

At the end of our session I felt that I wanted to give my client a goodbye hug as we parted company. Now, I know that hugging a client is highly contentious issue in therapy. Boundaries (of every kind) are a big deal for us all, in life, and therapy is a place where this is often worked out. As such, as a therapist, I am always extremely aware and  respectful of them. Equally, though, I feel that warmth, empathy, and a sense of humanity are just as important to MY way of practising psychotherapy. I know that it is isn’t that way for every approach to therapy, and every therapist out there – many would see a hug as crossing a boundary too far – so i feel  that I want to explain my reasoning for this.

Firstly, I would like to clarify that I do not hug, or even want to hug, all my clients! It is absolutely NOT a staple part of therapy with me!  I am using this (well considered and deemed appropriate) action as an example of a feeling led intervention on my part. Because  what I do really do in ALL therapy,  is acknowledge and attend to my feelings towards and with my client throughout every part of the therapeutic process. If I have a hunch that my feeling is relevant, and that it would be productive for the therapy to express it, I do so. Once I have become aware of and made sense of it. I usually have a sense that if it is felt strongly enough to want to mention it – it is most likely to be relevant.

After all, one of the fundamental beliefs of psychotherapy is that the therapy room is a microcosm of the client’s world. That is to say that if it goes on the therapy room , it goes on in the client’s life. This principle guides me with my client throughout the entire therapeutic process. I use my feelings as a tool offering me an indescribable sensory glimpse into my client’s world; they can guide me with how the client feels, as well as giving me insight as to how the people around them probably feel towards them – often in a far more accurate way than straight-up verbalising does.

The trouble is, you see, that very thing that often brings us to therapy  – the ‘incongruence’ as Carl Rogers called it – is often a master of disguise. It takes our feelings and it tangles them up, it dresses them up in other things, it makes them hard for us to recognise and understand. It is often hard to talk about feelings, so hard that we get overwhelmed and don’t where to begin when asked about them. (I have very clear memories of my ‘bad old days’ – before I learned how to understand my feelings – simply dissolving into tears whenever my doctor or therapist asked me how I was. The tears were an uncontrolled indicator of how beseiged my poor brain was!)index

A massive part of my training as a therapist was me learning about my own feelings, how they impact on me and those around me, and where they have come from.  This helps me to separate my feelings from those of my client. A huge part of my job involves me and my client untangling and identifying their feelings. We pull them apart from out-dated defence mechanisms they have become welded to, prise them off misguided beliefs, tease them away from ancient narratives and only then we can start working out where they come from and how we can best deal with them. The knowledge I have of my own process with this is invaluable when trying to help my client effectively.

Freud’s initial concept of psychonanalysis was born of his observation of suppressed feelings leading to illness. It led to his ‘discovery’ of the unconscious mind – an idea that had not been considered before he suggested it. Early psychoanalysis was all about making the unconscious conscious, and that premise has not altered vastly over the years. (Sure, I would like to hope that modern therapists do more than that too, but really this constitutes the meat and bones of therapeutic work)

Feelings provide a pathway into the unconscious.They can set off a chain of bodily responses and events that we are quite unaware and out of control of.  Modern neuroscience has given us a a way of literally seeing  them lighting up brain scans -amazingly, we can actually watch the pathways brighten and pulse as the feelings are experienced. We can now see how much more there is going on within our astonishing bodies  than we may have previously been aware of.  What a gift! How Freud would have marvelled at that – although I’m sure that he would have noted that the scans reinforced ideas that he had already posited.

If we are clever, and develop our self-awareness well, we can follow our feelings and create a ‘map’ of where they lead us. Our brains are so magnificent and complex, and (most importantly) malleable, that we can then decide whether we want to continue following that map, or whether we want to try out a new route. This is often a good idea. After all, if the road map keeps leading us to a place we dont want to be in, why would we stay on the same route? Of course, its not always easy. A well trodden in pathway is often easier to take than a new unknown course.

So, back to the hug.

Sensing that perhaps it was something that they felt that they wanted too – and after asking them if it was ok – we hugged our farewell. My client seemed very relieved that I had suggested the hug, saying that it was what they had wanted but that they were unsure of protocol, and did not want to ‘break the rules’. It felt like a good way to end our work, and our hug spoke a thousand words that would have been very hard to say. I’m glad we hugged. (If therapy had been continuing, I would have been interested to explore their feelings surrounding ‘rules’, but thats another story, and tangent I cannot go to right now)so-many-feelings

That hug was full of  feelings that cannot be expressed verbally at the ending of a lengthy and productive piece of work. A long, intimate, intense (at times), relationship had been built. So much stuff had been felt, examined, considered, discussed, played with and understood. Lots more hadn’t been, couldn’t be – after all, we get way more feelings than we know what to do with. All the more reason, in my opinion, to act on the ones we do know what to do with  especially when we instinctively know exactly what to do with them. I just knew that a hug was right, on this occasion, and i took a leap and asked if that was a reciprocal feeling. Turns out it was. It spoke. It said way more than either I or the client could. Stuff that clearly needed to be said, otherwise we wouldn’t have both felt that we needed it. Did it add a new piece on to our ‘neural road maps’? Perhaps. Perhaps it underlined the biggest lesson therapy can possibly give any of us?

That we are human, and that our feelings are a huge part of what make us so, and that we have so many different ways of expressing and using those feelings. Why not make use of them? Paint with the whole palette, not just black and white.

Isn’t that an ultimately positive lesson to take from therapy? Isn’t the ‘incongruence’, the ‘sickness’, the unhappy or uncomfortable feelings that led us into therapy in the first instance, our body (which includes our mind, of course) reminding us that it needs to be used properly and as fully as can be, in order to work well?

I think so.

 

 

 

On how therapy can make things move

Firstly, let me begin by explaining why I haven’t blogged recently. I have moved house, and have been experiencing all of the upheaval and stress and fun and drama and exhaustion that goes with it. That thing that they say about birth, death, weddings divorce and moving house; yes, yes, yes and yes! Never again (although i am quite sure I said that last time, too)

Anyway, the whole moving process has made me consider how I regard the space around me, and the stages I have had to go through to create the space I want and need. It has been stressful, at times chaotic, definitely cathartic and ultimately therapeutic – in many ways, reminiscent of the counselling process. It’s been a period of massive change.

I suppose it began with me having to make the decision to move house (kind of reluctantly, after finally facing the fact that I really needed to), and having gone through the whole dilemma of choice in where to move to, and the crisis of confidence as to whether I could summon enough strength to face the process. I knew it was going to be intense, tiring, stressful, but hopefully – worthwhile Sound a bit like the pre- therapy process? Reaching the decision to seek therapy, facing the choice in the type of therapy and therapist, embracing the idea that change is on the horizon, and wondering if it is going to be painful, if so – how painful? How long will it take? Can I cope? Can those around me cope too? Yep. The questions that I always ask my clients at the beginning; just how uncomfortable are you in your life, for you be ready to face being even more uncomfortable whilst we sort this stuff out? Are you realistic about the distress that it can involve? All felt applicable to this process.

So, aims and anxieties considered, it was time for the hard labour to begin. I had to pack.

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Piece by piece, I went through every single object in my (and my family’s) home and made decisions on whether or not I should bring these objects with me to my new place. Do I need them? Do I love them? Do I have space for them? Do I want to make space for them? The meat and bones of therapy; let us look at your life, at all the components of it? Do you need them? Do you love or even like them? Do you have space for them and do you want space for them? Are they enriching your existence in some way, or maybe – having once been useful, they are now a hindrance to you?.

I found that that breaking my packing down into rooms, areas, helped me feel that my task was more achievable. Sometimes a whole room was too much for me in one go. Sometimes I needed help. Other rooms seemed much tidier, and more straightforward for me to approach. The days that felt easiest were the days that I let friends and family come and help me, and I felt sure that they were the most enjoyable and productive. Regardless of how quickly or slowly I progressed, as anyone who was in my immediate circle at the time will tell you,  there were times I was emotional and upset, as I went through it all. Looking at objects from the past can trigger a lot of repressed and associated memories and feelings. Sound like the therapeutic journey, again? I think so.

Whilst going through this process, I had to keep check on myself. As someone who suffers with a chronic health condition, I had to make sure I wasn’t overdoing it. If I pushed myself too hard, regardless of any urgency or deadlines I felt were looming, I would set myself back further. I had to keep a tighter rein than ever on my self-care routine.  Although my long (sometimes arduous) ‘object review’ sometimes felt liberating and exciting, I had to occasionally stop myself from running too fast, knowing that slow and steady wins the race. I had to explain to those around me that I would have to work in my own time, at my own pace. I had to learn to lay down strict boundaries along the way, in order to keep myself well. It wasn’t always easy, but for the most part, once I explained my situation, most people understood and were compliant to my needs. By keeping people around me informed and sharing my process with them, they helped me to see when I was losing sight of my own wellbeing; something that is easily done. Also sound a bit like therapy?

I have a very dear friend, who has moved house many times, and is a bit of an expert at it. She has been there and gone through so many of the trials and tribulations that moving brings that she is not daunted by it – she is prepared for being unprepared, unafraid of being afraid and fully understands and embraces the idea that things rarely go to plan. She has helpful hints and tips that smooth the way for parts of it that she knows are sometimes riskier. She has label makers and the right knowledge of moving services, that give her the knowledge and tools to guide me when I want and need her to. Despite all this, I knew that at the end of the day, she could not move house for me. I had to do it myself, but she was there to help in whatever way she could. I found myself telling her again and again how much I appreciated her, and how valuable her help was to me, and how she should really start advertising her services as a professional moving assistant, as it is such a useful service to provide, and I knew I couldn’t have done it without her help. Her reply; “It’s always better when you’re not alone”. Just knowing she was there for me helped. She was definitely my ‘therapist’.

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Now here was the thing that I forgot about, and I am thankful for being reminded of. Once moving day happened – stressful and crazy as that was – and I had the slightly surreal feeling of seeing my little world all packed up in front of me and moved from one place to another, I found myself in my new place. It was an empty shell piled full of boxes. It had nothing familiar or comforting about it. In fact, I found that I didn’t even want to live in it for the first week or so. It was strange, new, smelled different, had different sounds and a different feeling in the air. I was upset – had I made the right decision after all?

I had to start from the beginning all over again. Walls, floors – from the ground up, it was scary and intimidating – another mammoth task ahead of me! I was just unpacking all the stuff I had so carefully considered and questioned, I was completely reframing where they sat. Did this still belong in the living room? Would it be better in the bed room, or maybe tucked away in a cupboard for now? Did I still want to look at it, with this new light, context?

Again – therapy. That feeling, when things change, when WE change, that maybe it was easier before? It was certainly more comfortable. It often is quite uncomfortable for quite a while, as one gets used to a new way of living, a new way of being. It is also uncomfortable for those around you, as they struggle with the changes in you, and the changes in the way they have to adjust to living with the newer grown version of you. Sometimes they adjust with you, sometimes they can’t cope with it. Change is always a struggle. It is never easy. But if it is a growth, as we work for in therapy, it is almost certainly worthwhile and worth suffering through it. Most people would agree that the most valuable things in life generally are.

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So, slowly, I am getting settled, fixing things up around this place so that they suit me, unpacking my old stuff into the new space, and taking the opportunity to introduce some new things too. Some of them are things I have been considering for a long time, feeling like now is the right time to introduce them. Others are more impulsive. Some have been mistakes and some have been brilliant, and have made my life so much better.  It has been a bit of trial and error, with varying degrees of success. I have learned new skills, and discarded old ways of doing things (note to self; upcycling can be fun and successful, just don’t ever try to rush it and paint over old paint without sanding and priming first! Understand your own limitations – sometimes it pays to get a professional in when it comes to laying floors! Etc…)

All in all, the process has been liberating, exciting, scary, uncomfortable, exhausting and very, very, creative. Therapeutic – even (!) It has taken me to a new place, hopefully a better one. One where I feel happy and comfortable – a space I want to live in.

To me, this mirrors the ultimate aims of therapy. We all have the power to create our own space around us (even if that is not a visible space that we place objects in, and decorate to our choosing) Although we may sometimes feel powerless and daunted, we can and do have a marked impact on the space around us. By looking at ourselves and how we feel and behave in our space, by noticing our processes, and make adjustments to the ways we use the space, we can have more control over the levels of that impact. We can trust our therapist to hold a safe space for us, whilst we chew over and contemplate how we want and need our everyday living space to be.

Therapists can support us whilst we go through this period of change. They can give us objectivity, comfort, ideas, insight – hopefully, a good therapist will see what we need and intuitively provide exactly whatever that is. Our needs might – probably will- change as that process goes on. At times it may feel that progress is fast and powerful, at other times slower and gentler, but it almost inevitable that change will happen. The willingness of our participation in it may vary, but one thing is certain – we never end up in the same place we started.

So here I am in my new space. Maybe I can help you find your new space too?

On an interview I recently did for another website

So, I wasn’t going to post this on here, my blog, because initially it felt too ‘business-like’ for here. But then I though more on it, and I thought how – actually – it is not especially business focussed. It is ‘me’ focussed. Because ‘me – I’ am my business nowadays.  And that seeing as this blog is supposed to be about me and my thoughts and reflections – actually, maybe this is appropriate for here. Because this talks about a lot of the things that contributed to me reaching this point. So here it is;

 

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Why did you want to become a psychotherapist?

I have always wanted a career in mental health. Ever since I can remember, as a child, I knew that mental health was fundamental to leading a happy and fulfilled life, and understood that it was poorly understood and accepted by the world at large.

My own family was deeply affected by this stigma, as my Grandmother was very unwell with what was then known as manic depression (nowadays would be called bipolar), and it seemed that nobody quite knew what was to be done for her. Sadly she lived a very unhappy life, never really receiving adequate treatment for her condition – in fact sometimes the treatments she was given made things massively worse for her. Due to the lack of understanding in her community, she opted for residential care (not wanting to bring shame or more upset to her family) and lived most of her life under the influence of very heavy drugs or sedating therapies as a result. ‘Care in the Community’ and wider understanding of conditions like hers only happened towards the end of her life, and unfortunately – although she was eventually given the opportunity to have more autonomy in her life, and care – it was probably too late for her. Sadly, by the time she died she was so deeply affected by the long term side effects of the treatments she had received, that her distress had spread through the whole family, and the sense of loss, anger and confusion that we all carried about her illness had a deep and long lasting impact on us all.

I always knew that one of the only ways I would be able to make sense of the tragedy surrounding her life was to try to understand it better, and to try to spread awareness and understanding about conditions like hers, and many other similar conditions.

I had an innate sense that self awareness, self compassion and self knowledge provided the clues to the happiness that we all search for in life, not only giving us the tools to deal with mental illness, but also the tools for emotional strength and ultimately, a better life for all of us. It always seemed strange to me that we, as a society, seemed to shy away from doing this, and regarded the process as a luxury only afforded when unwell, when we need ‘fixing’. It always made perfect sense to me that ‘prevention is better than cure’, that if we took the time to understand and truly be with ourselves more, we would be happier and healthier in every way.

 

How have studies help you in doing what you do today?

I started my working career many years ago in mental health nursing, and the nurse training, although wonderful, did not satisfy me, by going into enough depth about how we, human beings, work; Primarily as individuals, then as part of larger systems – families, communities, societies. I quickly realised that I need to go into more depth with my studies to learn about this stuff. I started off with an introductory course in counselling, just to give me a taste of what it involves. This was a short 6 week course run by my local college, which I loved, and confirmed for me that this was what I wanted to do. I immediately went on to do a further foundation year in the same subject.

Life then got in the way of my studies for a few years. My children were very young at the time, and making a living took priority. I worked in a variety of other jobs – all of which gave me valuable experience which I consider just as necessary to my counselling skills as the years spent in formal education. Understanding life, and living through the challenges and joys that it brings, are vital components in making a good therapist. Who wants to sit and talk to an academic who is out of touch with the realities of everyday life? Most people want a therapist who is warm, real and who ‘gets’ them.

I didn’t return to my studies until many years later (probably a good ten or eleven years after my initial foundation course) The reality of education is that it is an expensive business. Not just because it costs in course fees and materials, but in counselling training we have to commit to spending as much time working voluntarily in placements as we spend at college, we have to find time to do all of our written assignments and pay for our own personal therapy and supervision for our placement work too. This means that we can’t do as much paid work alongside our studies as we would ideally like to, and we have a substantial amount in the way of expenses. I didn’t find myself in a position where I was financially able to make this commitment for quite a long time, and when I did, I had to bite the bullet and accept that I was going to have to struggle whiles I did it – as did my poor family, who supported me!

When I returned, because of the long gap in my studies, I took a year long ‘refresher’ course at NVQ level 3 (A-Level equivalent) so that I felt back in the swing of things and confident about moving onto studying at a higher level. This was definitely the right thing for me to do, and I found it much easier to go on to do the further four years at HE level that are needed in order to practice as a therapist working privately.

The years of studying went by in a bit of blur, to be honest, as the training process is so intense and gruelling that my brain regards some of it as quite traumatic, and chooses to defend me against those memories. Many use the metaphor of ‘peeling an onion’ as a metaphor for the process, as it seems to keep going for ages, going deeper and deeper for such a long time before you get to the centre of things. My tutor always said it felt like taking her skin off and wandering around with her raw self exposed. I very much felt like that.

We studied psychological theory, but without the detachment that a more formal medical training offers – we experienced every aspect of what we learned. As I already mentioned, Counselling psychotherapy students go into their own personal therapy as soon as they begin training, so they are unpacking their own baggage and looking at it in conjunction with learning about how psychological concepts take different perspective. As a result we applied each and every concept to ourselves and our own lives, and we felt the impact each concept brought with it. It was painful, and messy, but necessary in order for us to have true empathy with our clients, and understand the weight and responsibility of the work we are undertaking.

The placement work was just as hard. Because of many cuts to health service budgets, a lot of services and organisation rely on counselling psychotherapy students volunteering their services, in order to run their counselling services affordably. As such, we found ourselves ‘at the sharp end’ of counselling, dealing with clients that were at crisis point, within services that were also close to crisis point. This is working in an environment where social factors make the therapy itself even more valuable, yet much harder to deliver effectively, due to financial and practical constraints. Being raw and sensitive to all sorts of feelings, emotions that have been brought up by the other side to our study, this felt particularly difficult at times, but it was also so incredibly rewarding and satisfying, and such a massive learning experience for me that even though it nearly broke me at times, I would not change one moment of it.

 

 

What kind of people come to you? You look young, so don’t some say you don’t have experience? Have you had such situations?

There is no stereotype for the type of person that comes to me. I see EVERYONE. People from all different walks of life, social background, profession, age, sexual orentation, gender, race – whatever! We, human beings, all have brains – therefore we all have mental health. Just like we all have physical health – in fact I hate the differentation between the two. Our brains are part of our bodies, are they not? Its health. Full stop. Health affects everyone.

As far as looking young goes – thank you for the compliment! The truth is that I am not as young as I look, and that is quite a flattering photo of me on my web site. Being a single mother in my forties… having run my own business previous to this, having faced my own demons… having dealt with major health issues myself… having relationships break down… dealt with grief and loss… understood the pressures of modern living… addiction… trauma… been part of a large family with a plethora of family issues going on, I do feel that I have lived enough to be qualified to listen. That said, my clients’ experiences are not mine. They are theirs, and I do not – would not ever patronise them with an idea that I know what it’s all about EVER. As a therapist, I want to experience my client’s experiences with them, alongside them – empathise with them, not sympathise. It is important to understand that although my own experiences shape who I am and help me to know how I came to understand that, my clients are their own autonomous beings, who I walk alongside in this process. My experience of the process can give me encouragement, hope perhaps – definitely faith in the counselling and psychotherapy process. But this process is theirs, wholly theirs, and I honour that and their strength and skill in being themselves and understanding that.

What methods do you approach in your sessions?

There are no rules, there is no format. Therapy is an organic process. I am led by the client, it is THEIR therapy. I work with whatever material the client brings in the room to me. Whatever they want to talk about.  My theoretical training gives me a framework to refer to, and perhaps I may gently guide my client in a certain direction (often unconsciously) but my approach is primarily humanistic. This means that my emphasis and attention is given to the feelings in the room at that moment – we work with those. Sometimes, if I feel it is something that will be useful and useable for the client, I have exercise I can suggest. Very occasionally, I will make use of a worksheet, try an exercise of some kind, or issue ‘homework’ between sessions. But this is rare. Mostly I am ‘in the moment’ with my client, working with what that brings.

 

Are you a member of a professional body? Is there a code of practice that you follow?

I am proud to be a member of the BACP, the British Association For Counsellors and Psychotherapists, which gives us a strict code of practice to follow. Available here ; http://www.bacp.co.uk/ethical_framework/

At present it is not a legal requirement that counsellors and psychotherapists are regulated and governed, but I am wholly in favour of it becoming so. I believe that clients need to know that they are working with a fully qualified professional who is competent and continues to take responsibility for their standard of work in practice.

What are three things that you enjoy most about your job?

  1. It’s great to be with people. To meet all sorts of different people, to have meaningful relationships with such a diverse and interesting client base, is amazing. I feel privileged and honoured that people grace me with such intimacy and trust. I never, ever get over that. It is always a buzz. Even better, when they let me into their lives and hearts enough to have an impact on their world. Wow! A really special thing. I am very lucky.
  2. Actually, nothing comes close to number one. There are many other great things, about the employment conditions, the place I work, the pleasure of being my own boss, the interesting subject matter, the scope for continual learning, the research opportunities the job brings, the interesting CPD events I go to. All of these are great, but at the end of the day its all about people. I do this job (in fact I would call it a vocation, not just a job) because I love people, being with them, understanding them and hopefully, helping them live a better life, Its really what life is all about, isn’t it?
  3. Not doing that. 😉

 

This is also available to view at my website www.katrinamoorecounsellor.com

 

 

On my relationship with myself

 1 IGyM1JKzspP6hgHCuUv2jwSo, here I am, writing (again).

This time it is different, though.

This time, I am not anonymous. I have chosen to put my name to my words. In the past, I have not done this.

I am not really sure why not; was I always that afraid of letting people I know see how I process my thoughts? Perhaps…But time has passed, I am now older (42 this year! Wow, how did that happen?), I have spent a lot of time in recent years getting to know myself, and learning to like, value and respect myself.

Nowadays, I quite like myself.

It’s a short sentence, but a powerful one for me. The concept of ‘quite liking’ myself is that of applying a positive judgment  – a previously alien concept to me. So many things about that are hard for me, and scratch against the values I held throughout earlier phases of my life. We all struggle with reconciling the conditions of worth pushed onto us in childhood with those of our authentic selves. The self that marries our head, our heart and our gut; our three ‘centres of feeling’ that don’t always work in alignment.

For me, my ‘centres’ have rarely worked together in the past, leading to a lifelong feeling of internal dissonance. One that has manifested itself in many detrimental ways; most notably – ongoing chronic illnesses (mental and physical), and a struggle to achieve satisfaction in relationships and life choices.  No wonder I chose to hit the STOP button, right?

I reached my breaking point about six years ago. I let go (threw away, violently, actually) an old way of life. You name it, I either lost it or threw it away. I was exhausted, broken, and I wanted no more of anything. I wanted an end to it all. No metaphor there.

I shut down. I hid. I slept a lot,and ate a lot, cried a lot. I entered therapy a year later, made my first breakthrough (it’s breakTHROUGH, not breakdown!) a year later still , started counsellor training a year after that, and ever since, I have continued slowly and steadily with the therapy, the training, the learning  the ‘breakthrough’s (and the crying – I love the crying – please don’t let the crying ever stop!) Throughout that time my pace has changed – sometimes I move slowly, sometimes I move quickly. The interesting thing i that even when I feel as though I am standing still, the earth keeps turning and so – by default – I keep moving.

And so my relationship with myself has moved (as has my relationship with sentences that begin with ‘and’ — after a previous aversion I quite like them nowadays, can you tell?)

The main part of my work – in my personal therapy, in my psychology training, in my professional practice – the really REALLY hard part of my work (way harder than academic work, than business sense, than any of the other stuff that goes into creating a ‘career, as such’) – has been the job of bringing myself into balance, into an alignment of sorts. Of listening to myself and really hearing, really tuning in to the real song. It has been harder than I can find words for.  It is also an ongoing job. One I will always be working on.

It is not an easy thing, getting in touch with yourself. For me, it has taken a lot of learning, and takes a whole of practise, and truthfully – I still have a long way to go in my relationship. But I use a variety of techniques to connect me, and to keep me connected – therapy, meditation, artwork, listening to music, walking… just as in our every day lives we use so many different ways of staying connected to each other, our families, our colleagues – talking, touching, phones, online communication,being busy together, being peaceful together etc…

So I guess that this is another one of them. Writing. Publishing myself online, for all the world to see. For me, it feels as though it’s a step onwards from journalling.

My natural introverted self has journalled for a long time now (it forms a major part of the therapist training – thank goodness for such a valuable learning tool!). Over the years I have both loved it and hated it, but have always found it incredibly useful for keeping myself connected to a place where I can be open to myself.

So now I am reaching a point where I am ready to invite some of the world in to that place. I don’t feel I need to keep the feelings so private. Am I losing some of the shame and embarrassment I have always felt about being me?

I think that maybe I am. I think that maybe my client work has taught me that we all have more uniting us than separating us; and that being brave, baring ourselves in our truest form is how we nurture that connection. The connection with each other that we all (yes, even the most solitary of souls) need.

So here I am. I extend my hand and my heart within this new blog. I hope you choose to take it.