Lookingonthebrightside’s Weblog

Some nice lady replied to this post about my therapist. She said “he has a very kind face. i like him. i think he is a very clever chap”. Only she didn’t say it in italics. She said it in upright letters.

It made me think about him some more. I think he does have a kind face. It amazed me how he always managed to demonstrate unconditional positive regard and empathy week after week, year after year. He really did ‘get’ me pretty much from the start. Which was good. Because I had no f***ing clue. I should say ‘almost always’ rather than ‘always’ demonstrated UPR and empathy. I think maybe twice in seven years he seemed somehow different, distracted, like he wasn’t really with me in the room. One of those two times, he was trying to suppress yawns throughout the session (my appointments were 9.30am). I don’t think he did at all badly, two non-empathic (or less empathic) sessions in all that length of time. And those two sessions were as important as the others in the bigger picture of our journey. They made him human. And gave me an opportunity to wonder about what stresses and strains might be part of his every day life inside and outside of his work. And they showed me that I cared about him too. Both times, I spent the next few days wondering (not worrying) if he was okay and what it had all been about. I felt more connected to him in a way even though I never mentioned anything.

But his cleverness struck me more than his kindness. He was kind. But lots of people are as kind. And I don’t know how kind he was outside of my one hour sessions. He might’ve been a right old miserable git for all I knew. But he really was clever. I don’t think many people are as clever. The way he demonstrated trust in me and hope for me was clever. I felt as though he respected me and my resources and coping methods. I didn’t respect any of those things in me at first. So what he seemed to believe about me had a powerful impact.

And his boundary setting was clever. And surprising at times. Early on, when I was really quite distressed for most of our time together, he explained his feelings at my distress. I can’t remember his words but he was basically saying that when you see someone so upset you want to hug them. Especially a child. At that time I was probably functioning at the emotional level of a traumatised 8 or 9 year old for the most part. I really couldn’t understand what he was feeling because I didn’t know then how it felt to love someone, let alone somebody extremely distressed. And I had no concept of the love adults feel towards children. I now know those feelings well and understand his need to work it out with me at the time. We had some kind of (terrifying) conversation which basically resulted in an agreement that he would touch my index finger with his index finger when he wanted to comfort me. It makes me smile to remember. Literally. And feel all warm inside. It was a very uncomfortable but healing learning curve about people and the world and me. After a while, probably for the last three years, we always hugged briefly at the end of the session. I’m not sure if that’s the norm for other people but I didn’t expect it within a therapeutic relationship.

Another thing that I didn’t expect was the whole ‘ending the session’ thing. I pretty much always ended it, as far as I can remember, not him. Sometimes a couple of minutes before the allotted time, sometimes a few minutes after. If I went on a bit longer, it was only to finish off what was going on and put it all back in the right boxes. And it was with much apologising. But I always felt as though he trusted my motives and knew I would never go far over the time.

And he always sent me postcards from holiday. I’ve still got them.

The last boundary-related surprise I shall mention relates to the end of my therapy. I was ready and happy for it to end. I’d only been seeing him monthly for ages anyway. But I knew I would miss the sessions. And I knew I would miss him even more so. It’s not the norm to let someone in so deeply and then never ever see them or hear from them again. We had a lot of conversations about it. Occasionally he had read stories to younger parts. And somehow we agreed between us that he would read a story and I would tape it. So somewhere, I really don’t know where, I have a mini-cassette with him reading ‘the tiger who came to tea’.

The end