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

so-many-feelings

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 😉

74e811e2506190142775b0d832993fdd--quote-art-art-quotes

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
Eugene-Gendlin-150x150-fuzzy
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.
index
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.

2

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.

index12

Advertisements

On Self-Disclosure and why I choose it, as a therapist

index

I feel compelled to write about an issue that was raised in a recent supervision session of mine – the highly contentious counselling issue of ‘self-disclosure’ (in other words – giving the client any of our own personal information) It is an issue of great debate amongst counsellors and psychotherapists, and raises some very strong opinions –mostly negative. After all, original Freudian psychotherapy required the therapist to provide a blank canvas and space for the client to fill with the workings of their unconscious mind. For many years, clients lay down on a couch facing away from the therapist to facilitate this process, whist the therapist said little or nothing throughout the session, but took copious quantities of notes – giving us our therapy stereotype that we all know and (maybe) love, or (sometimes) fear.

I didn’t realise I felt quite as passionately I do about the subject until quite recently, when I started to realise that I was self disclosing reasonably frequently. So with trepidation I cautiously mentioned it to my supervisor, knowing that it was something I had to revisit and explore. I was right to be nervous, as my therapist met my confession  – yes, that was how it felt – with a look of concerned shock and the response that she would never recommend this usually.

2

Here is where one of my character flaws kicked in before I could control it (yes, I own this), and my rebellious streak took over. Seeing her response, I couldn’t stop myself from pushing the envelope, and (maybe exaggerating some) I blurted out “Oh yes, I self-disclose all the time these days!”

Did I say that just to see the look on her face, and make her eyes widen? Did I want to play the disobedient child in order to test her ‘mothering’ skills (she is a relatively new supervisor to me – so it is possible) Am I so used to being provocative, and posing alternative ways of thinking, that I wanted to show her how competent I actually am? Or did I simply want to be completely congruent and own the fact that I am wholly myself in the therapy room – the exact same person as I am whilst out and about in the world?

Of course, she questioned me further on my statement (after all – what kind of therapist or supervisor wouldn’t?) and I found both all of the above, whilst going along on a train of thought that I hadn’t expected, and that my younger therapist self would have been quite surprised to hear. It took me back to my training;

 

One of my clearest memories of my first counselling placement as a trainee was of the final session I had with my very first long-term client. As you can imagine, this being my first proper job in the field, I was very keen to get things right, and wanted to make sure I did everything properly every step of the way, to the point where my self-awareness was often painful, and often extremely rigorous and perhaps heavy-handed at times. Although I had explicitly mentioned to him (whilst preparing for our ending) that the organisation I worked for did not allow us to accept any gifts, he had brought me one anyway. It was a lump of cheese –  and an extremely nice one too. I was surprised – taken aback, even, and I told him so.

 Why had he brought me a gift when I had clearly told him that he mustn’t, and how on earth did he know that I was such a lover of cheeses? He laughed, and told me that our therapy sessions hadn’t just been about me getting to know him – it had been just as important for him to get to know me, so that he could trust me properly.

He said that he had noticed my eyes widening every time he mentioned cheese in a recipe (he was a real food-lover, and had often discussed what he planned to cook that weekend) and that it had felt important to him knowing that I shared his enthusiasm for this. He explained that he knew that I was not supposed to give too much away about myself, but that he also sensed that I was a bit of a maverick, and that I would probably not mind him breaking the rules on this one harmless instance. That too was an important quality for him to find in a therapist, as he wanted therapy to be a place where he could find his own way in his life from now on, and not be encouraged to necessarily tow the line and keep the status quo.

What had I learned from this experience?

Firstly, that I have clearly got an extremely expressive face (!) and that I am not always aware of what it is doing. (You can take the girl out of drama training but you can’t take the drama training out of the girl, it seems)

Secondly, sometimes things come out sideways for a reason, and that may be because the client finds it important to know certain things about their therapist. Sure, it is most definitely THEIR space, and the disclosure should be kept to a minimum, but it is often important for the client to know they are working with a human being. Even if that human being is a bit (ok, a LOT) of a cheese fan.

Thirdly, when information isn’t given, sometimes the client will fantasize about their therapist, and make up stuff. Ok, so on this occasion my client was right. But, more importantly – there was relevance to his imaginings. He had needed me to be this non conformist for a really good reason, and thank goodness we got a chance to discuss it – albeit in his final session. I would have liked to have spent more time with it, but these things sometimes go like this.

 

I had learned all right. This experience had stayed with me, and (thankfully) helped me to ease up on myself a little. I stopped feeling quite so self-conscious, and a more natural ‘Katrina-type’ counselling style evolved, and continues to do so to this day.

In fact, when I look back on the period between now and then, there have been many, many, factors  and opinions that have contributed towards my therapeutic style, and my way of being with my clients. Discussion, work and experience  with many other therapists: colleagues, trainers, organisations,  clients and supervisors have all helped me to have confidence and belief in myself and both my skills and intuition. They have helped me to understand that I am the tool to be used in the process of change, and that I should trust how effective I am in it, in that moment. Usually if it feels right, there is a reason.

images

Which brings me right back to being present, and the here and now in my own private practice. ME working in the way that feels most right for me and the client. My client, who has chosen me from a vast selection of other private therapists in the area, and who is paying quite a lot of money to make use of ME. So what do I give them, for their money? What else? ME. The real me. Sure, the fifty minutes paid for is their time, and is completely about them, but I do make it clear to them that I am ME in the room with them. I  intermittently choose to share little snippets of information about myself that allow my clients to know I am really human, that I have lived a life that provides me with a broad frame of reference, and if I feel that snippet helps them I am happy to give it.  I do feel that I am working with them for them.  I always have empathy for them. I feel other feelings with them, sure – sometimes for them, about them, always for the benefit of THEIR process. I work humanistically, primarily. This means I am a human being working from the present moment using feelings to understand experience.

So this is where my supervision session led me, and where I led my supervisor. I explained to her that I do put myself out there for the purpose of my therapy practice. That I have a regularly updated website, that I use social media regularly, as I feel it is extremely important for me to do so. That I blog about my experiences and disclose on here. That this is how I run my practise, and that it seems to work for me and my clients. She listened, and we agreed it seems that the clients I attract choose me for who I am, and respond to this way of working – in fact, that this is almost certainly why they have been drawn to me in their choosing of their therapist. It can only be, after all – I don’t advertise anywhere else, it’s either online or word of mouth.

Yes, we agreed that maybe it is a little unorthodox in comparison to a traditional way of conducting therapy, but that times are moving on, and that we have to move with them. Modern as the concept seems, I knew that it wasn’t really as new as we thought. When I got home, I found myself revisiting the great Carl Rogers (founder of person centred therapy), and his core conditions, written in 1957 and 1958.

index3

He stated that there are six necessary and sufficient conditions required for therapeutic change:

  1. Therapist–client psychological contact: a relationship between client and therapist must exist, and it must be a relationship in which each person’s perception of the other is important.
  2. Client incongruence: that incongruence exists between the client’s experience and awareness.
  3. Therapist congruence, or genuineness: the therapist is congruent within the therapeutic relationship. The therapist is deeply involved him or herself — they are not “acting”—and they can draw on their own experiences (self-disclosure) to facilitate the relationship.
  4. Therapist unconditional positive regard (UPR): the therapist accepts the client unconditionally, without judgment, disapproval or approval. This facilitates increased self-regard in the client, as they can begin to become aware of experiences in which their view of self-worth was distorted by others.
  5. Therapist empathic understanding: the therapist experiences an empathic understanding of the client’s internal frame of reference. Accurate empathy on the part of the therapist helps the client believe the therapist’s unconditional love for them.
  6. Client perception: that the client perceives, to at least a minimal degree, the therapist’s UPR and empathic understanding.

 

Of course, he summed up succinctly, in 6 phrases, what it has taken me 1500 words and a jam-packed hour of supervision (plus processing time afterwards), to say. But I think he says it quite perfectly, so I have repeated it on here for you to read. It’s how I work, and why I choose to self disclose from time to time.

Because I’m me.

images

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.

index

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’.

images

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.

images

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;

 

images

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 crying. Why do I cry so much?

images

So, I have been crying lately. Often. So what?

Anyone who knows me will know that this is not unusual. I am a tearful sort of person. I cry very easily – my tears appear to be (literally, figuratively, both… who knows?) on tap. My friends and family laugh at me about it. I find something to cry about within virtually every film, tv show, book, song, piece of art, that I come across.

In my case, tears can really be for any emotion; sadness, happiness, frustration, exhilaration, anger, fear, determination, hopefulness, grief, you name a feeling – it will usually make me cry.

What a soggy mess! How – with this spectrum of tearful triggers – do I, or any of those around me, know what I am feeling, exactly? All that can be seen from the outside is a red puffy face and leaky eyes! To which I answer them back with a question – do you need to know? Do ‘they’ – they being the outside world – need to know? Do I want ‘them’ to know?  Well, isn’t Isn’t that what tears are supposed to be for? Letting the outside world know that there are big feelings going on inside?

Perhaps…Sometimes, for me, anyway… It is most important is that I know, surely. The thing I do seem to know, is that the tears seem to flow for me when I generally don’t know what my exact feeling is. Not only that – sometimes, i know that I am not necessarily crying entirely for the thing that started me off. Sometimes, I think, I have just hit old feelings, and triggered the tears again. Sometimes I’m not even really sure if that is the case, even.  Sometimes I’m not sure that the tears are responding to MY feelings at all. Maybe they are someone else’s? Mothers will recognise the feeling of wanting to cry when their child gets hurt. That feeling that they want to deal with the pain for them. Is this a similar bodily response to that?

Hmmm… complicated…

After many years of trying to get to the bottom of this, after having worked (as a client) with many different therapists who used many different psychological approaches, it felt that none of them managed to dive deeply enough into the place my tears originate from. I never really understood why I was such a ‘cry-baby’.

It took a long time (and needless to say, many tears), but I finally found one therapist who was unafraid to not just dive, but to hang around around and tread water with me and my tears. This was something absolutely nobody from my personal life could do. Think about it – could you just sit there and let a person you love cry and sob, and sob and cry, without trying to stop them and make them feel better? Its not a failing on the part of my people – it’s just the kind of messy thing that only a therapist (or someone else quite separate from one’s life) can help a person with (and in my experience, not all of them can do it, either). Thankfully, this one wasn’t afraid to.

So, by observing this very process, I slowly discovered that I have a tendency to unconsciously use tears as a defense mechanism. They tell those around me to stop, slow down, don’t push any harder; “Look, I’m upset, I’m crying, do you want make things any worse?”

The tears are my body and psyche working together to find a way to keep me protected from pain; “Look how fragile I am already – don’t go deeper, I can’t take it!” Possibly another ‘ancient caveman’ reason why children cry more easily than adults (apart from the more obvious and often discussed social conditioning which they have not yet received, telling them to ‘be strong’) – because their little bodies are not only more fragile, but their emotional muscle has not yet developed – they need protecting.

In my case, this actually makes a lot of sense. I was quite a physically poorly kind of kid –  I hit most branches of the childhood illness tree, had some health conditions that I sense made other kids wary of me, even a little afraid, at times.  My Mum has often told me of the times she was worried about me not making it through with this, that, or the other condition. As an adult – yes, I still am physically, the proud owner of several ongoing health issues (which I manage, on the whole, quite successfully), and am also proud to say that I have had some really close calls and have ‘cheated’ death several times. Another time, another blog post for that stuff… The point I am getting to, is that, although I may still physically be a bit on the delicate side – emotionally I know I have built muscle on muscle over the years. I am not ‘bigging myself up’ when I say I know I know how to cope with a lot of mental weight. I have simply been well trained for it, is all! (There is a very good reason it takes a long time to train for this profession!)

So, as anyone with a basic knowledge of psychology will tell you, the problem with defense mechanisms is that they sometimes outgrow their usefulness. Our preprogrammed self automatically goes to the standard response, regardless of how suitable it has now become to our current circumstances. Is this what I am doing when I cry? Am I reverting back to the pre-programmed self of my youth? Keeping my (what my brain thinks is) ‘still developing’ psyche safe from whatever assault is about to be thrown at it?

Yes. Partly. Although this does feel sort of right, it also doesn’t feel wholly correct. Because if this were the case, why do I still cry when I’m on my own sometimes? (Yes, I do – I’m owning that here on this public forum!)

These tears, these solitary tears, actually feel more confusing to me than any others. These tears have no direct antagonist, only myself and my inner world. These tears feels more tangly and mixed up than any others to me. They are harder to name feelings for, and often, the feelings and the tears pass through me so fast and with such fluidity that I can’t hold onto them for long enough to work them out.

What I do know about the tears, is that they hold those feelings – those uncertain, unnamed and unnameable, indescribable yet very very real and felt feelings – and they help them to move through me. They stop me feeling trapped in an unnameable hard to understand place. I shed the tears, and often (mostly) I shed the feeling. And that feels good.

Moving through feelings is a sign of emotional health. When we feel stuck in a feeling, we feel stuck in our life. Many of my clients seem to echo the ‘stuck’ feeling when they first come for treatment. So many repeated behavioural patterns can be manifestations of this ‘stuckness’. Addictions, behaviours, compulsions – they can all be ways our bodies and minds  sometimes work to overcompensate for an outgrown defense which is keeping us stuck in an area of our life. My job is to help them through whatever is causing them to feel stuck. To get the feelings flowing again.  Because once that starts happening again, we generally begin to start feeling better.

I guess that is why I love crying. And I love that therapist for letting me cry with her, for never trying to stop me. Because letting the crying happen is the only way to move through and feel better. Sometimes it takes a lot of tears because there is a lot to move through. I guess that could be why I am still crying, years later? Maybe I am crying my way through the old stuff, maybe I am crying for new things I am picking up along my way, and maybe I have no idea why I am crying at all? And that’s okay. It’s definitely okay to cry. In fact, more than okay – positively great to cry.