What Would Your Perfect Therapy Room Look Like?

The other day I was chatting with a friend who has recently qualified as a therapist about therapy rooms. She’s about to embark on creating her own space and asked me- as a seasoned therapy goer- what I thought makes a good therapy room and wondered if I might write something that she could share with other therapists starting out.

Having sat (and dissociated!) in many different spaces over the years, I have some pretty strong opinions on what have and haven’t been the kind of environments that have felt conducive to good therapy. Here are some of the ideas I have had over the years with my other wonderfully mental friends about what we’d like to see in ‘the room’ – other than our lovely (or not so lovely) therapists of course!

I’ve seen way too many therapists (!) to talk about every room I’ve been in – although I do remember each of them clearly! (fucking Brian brain never forgets shit!) and will talk about some of the best and worst bits from some of the more recent ones here.

Something that might seem a bit weird, is that a big part of what I recall about the rooms isn’t actually visual at all. I’ve come to realise that I am quite a sensory person…and some of the things that can really bother me/make a difference are smells, sounds, and textures…! Like these things are a really big deal in addition to what I can see and how the room is laid out.

Oh but of course it would be this way, wouldn’t it?! I am, after all, the client who has her therapists spray her transitional object with their perfume or wash my stuffed elephant so it smells safe and familiar, and likes everything to be snuggly soft to touch and the lighting to be ‘just right’ and… and… and… (I could be an extra in Goldilocks And The Three Bears!).

It’s no wonder that I’m going to notice every fucking detail then is it?! Honestly, I don’t think many people or therapists have any idea about the sensory overload we can be dealing with just from being in the space, and that’s before we even get working with the human sat in front of us and all the interpersonal shit that brings up…it’s a wonder we ever get to talking about what our issues are – or maybe not – I certainly take my fucking time. Elle and I have been working together a year now and I think it’s safe to say I’ve been going at a snail’s pace after the fuck tonnes of preceding shit with therapists.

Right, let’s do this! I literally have no idea how to approach this -space by space or issue by issue…? We might bounce around a bit…just like my mind…so sorry!

I remember vividly the smell of the therapy room when I originally started working with Em in the NHS – it was that kind of hospital smell mixed with a sort of ageing decay and staleness of a space that desperately needed gutting and redecorating. The Psychotherapy Department was in a gorgeous old, stone building but one of the downsides of it was that the tiny rooms were set north facing. The windows were almost like arrow slits and didn’t open and so it was always cold, dark and kind of damp feeling.

I think over the years the brown, utilitarian, super hard-wearing carpet (that had the texture of a brillo pad) had soaked up years of grime and had that sort a pervasive musty smell. The smell became familiar but never comforting but it was not entirely offensive either.

The rest of the room was no better. Because there was no natural light, or air, we always had to have the light on – and of course being the NHS it was one of those fluorescent overhead office lights (no floor standing lamp with a soft glow here!). To add insult to sensory injury, the room was painted a lurid yellow colour – it almost looked like gloss on top of the woodchip – and was just totally jarring and seemed to not only reflect the harsh light from above but magnify it. The walls were bare and the whole room just felt sterile and devoid of life.

Like many therapy rooms I have been in, the seating was just two pretty uncomfortable chairs facing each other about two metres apart. I am lucky that I am reasonably average build but for anyone plus sized the seating would have caused real issues as the seat was narrow but had moulded high arms.

I know this two chairs facing each other is not unusual but, honestly, I find that set up really triggering for lots of reasons. I struggle to settle and feel comfortable in a therapy room and so being stuck in a narrow rigid seat is hard. I like to take my shoes off and tuck my feet up under me. And… as you all know by now, there are times when I absolutely need my therapist to sit beside me, hug me, hold my hand etc and single chairs just don’t allow for this at all.

I can’t tell you how many times I have drifted away into a painful dissociative state because I have not felt in close enough physical proximity to my therapist. Having said that, if you are a therapist who has no intention of ever getting physically close or offering that kind of reassurance to your client then stick with that set up because fuckkkk it’s painful to be on a sofa and have the therapist tell you that they’ll never sit beside you when you build up the courage to ask them to.

This is what happened to me when, a few years after finishing in the NHS, I made the catastrophic choice to go back and see Em in her private practice in her house.  Initially, she had the two-chair set up – you know the trusty Ikea ones that almost everyone has? Those chairs were more comfortable than the NHS ones but still felt distancing and I felt like I couldn’t move.

Em also had the matching footstool and would place it between us – so it felt like another barrier to being near her and like she was trying to barricade herself in. (I have lots of issues with positioning of furniture – even now with Elle!). Sometimes the feeing of disconnect and distance would make it feel like I was staring at an empty chair – like the little girl in Oliver Jeffers’ book ‘The Heart And The Bottle’ and that was really hard too.

About 18 months into the second round of therapy with Em, she changed up the room. It was better – previously she had really grim dark red curtains that weren’t quite long enough for the window, some pretty shit net curtains again that didn’t quite reach the window sill by about three inches, and odd green walls but it was ok enough. The window was behind me, so I never really had to look at the curtains or see anyone passing by in the street. Although if anyone ever came to the door to deliver something to the house I’d jump out my skin because the front door was essentially next to the window…and I couldn’t see.

The room itself was filled with lovely, reclaimed bookshelves and so I had plenty to let my eyes wander over when eye contact or even looking in Em’s general direction felt too much which was better than the sterility of the god awful NHS room.

Em’s revamped room was nicer, the shelving and books stayed and there were now neutral walls and curtains, and a much more comfortable cornflower blue leather sofa. It wasn’t very cosy, though – especially in winter! I think one of the things I would say is that Em’s room mirrored her personality type – cold and austere! A couple of cushions to hug to my body when things felt shit, or a blanket folded over the back of the sofa like Elle has, would have made it feel like there was some comfort to be had – especially as she was so anti offering anything of herself.

Another thing that was there throughout my therapy was a sick-looking spiky houseplant that was in good need of a repot and feed. Bearing in mind I saw Em for three years that poor plant never got any care and looked like it was at death’s door the whole time. Now, sure, it’s only a plant, but I think as a therapist if you are going to put plants in the room make sure they look healthy. If you can’t look after a plant, how will you care for your clients?!

The room was the room, though – and it was a marked improvement from anything I had been in before in college, university, at a local charity, and the NHS. But as I said, sensory stuff is an issue – and it was very much the case at Em’s house. Sometimes I would arrive and the lingering smell of the previous night’s cooking had made it into the therapy room – her kitchen was next to the therapy room and I think she must have been a fan of Thai Red Curry and Fish! Occasionally, the smell would be really strong and totally off-putting the moment I walked in the front door.

That’s not to say I am advocating for air-fresheners, plug-ins, or sprays or whatever else in the therapy room. I think people have quite strong preferences and reactions to smells and I’d be really cautious of trying to have any noticeable smell at all tbh. I think airing the place out is a good move, though, and the room should feel and smell clean just not strongly of anything in particular.

OMG! An aside… I remember one time (fuck me I am so fucking picky) but there was a crumpled up, used tissue under the book shelf beside Em and it was there for four weeks…

Anyway…

Back to the story!…

One of my friend’s therapists has scented candles that she asks the clients to smell when they meet and if there are any that they like they light that one for them in the future sessions and I think this is a really nice idea – as it gives the client the choice…to have something or nothing.

Photo by thevibrantmachine on Pexels.com

Another thing that would be a bit distracting/off-putting was external noise at Em’s. She seemed to like to put a load of washing on first thing on a Monday and Friday morning – I guess cashing in on her private practice wfh days – and the machine would always reach its spin cycle in my session. As I said, the kitchen was next to the therapy room and sound really travelled around the house, so it was very noticeable and not ideal. There was that, but what was worse was her husband wandering around in the hallway outside sometimes and often I could hear him chatting on the phone.

I’d like to say that other people coming and going is an unusual event in therapy but in my experience it isn’t. This has been way less of an issue with Elle because I see her in an office away from her home and so any footsteps are only from people who work in the building, but with Em and Anita I had too many uncomfortable experiences with family members.

You might remember me mentioning that when Anita’s adult daughter moved back in, she worked from home in her bedroom that was just down the hall from Anita’s therapy room. I could often hear her wandering around to go to the bathroom next to the therapy room or when she was on work calls… not good! If I could hear her, then there can be no doubt she must be able to hear me. The have been times I haven’t used my session time as I’ve wanted to knowing that I might be overheard – and that just should not happen.

It’s not just what’s going on in the house. It’s what happens when we arrive and leave, too. Do you remember the month where I met Anita’s daughter twice on the doorstep?…the second time we had a conversation whilst waiting for Anita!!… FUCK ME THAT WAS BAD!! Or the time I ran into Em’s husband as he mis-timed coming back from his bike ride?? Yeah, that was crap, too, and really unsettling especially at the end of the session which had been really difficult.

I think therapists who work from home need to be really careful about protecting their clients’ privacy and anonymity and need to have clear boundaries with the people that they live with to ensure that when they are working the family understand the importance of client confidentiality and expectations of therapy.

I feel like I am really moaning now and being critical – but this is my real experience and I’ve spent fucking thousands on therapy over the years so it’s probably worth saying!

Do I need to talk about barking dogs? Or can we just agree that this shouldn’t be a thing…particularly not three of them for half an hour at time!

Umm…what did I like about Anita’s room then if not the outside world? Lots. The room was light and airy.  She had a sofa and a chair in the room – which meant that she could always sit beside me if I wanted that. The room had stuff in it but I guess what you might call therapy stuff: rocks, crystals, shells, books…things that would/could be used as transitional objects. There was a nice picture on the wall, too. The space was clean and uncluttered but felt warm and welcoming.

She had a small fish tank in the room too and I used to like watching the fish. Although, sometimes if I was silent and/or dissociating I would become VERY aware of the sound of the filter running! But that’s probably just me. Essentially, the room had Anita’s personality in it but wasn’t personal – no family pictures or stuff like that (thank god!). It was the opposite of sterile, though. There were tissues in easy reach – although I never used them, as I would only ever cry when she was cuddling me and so she would end up with a damp top instead – lol!

If I ever went for an evening session the room was lit with a couple of salt lamps and a soft side light…at my request. I once turned up and she had the ‘big’ ceiling light on and it just felt way too bright and so instead we put on all the low lights and it felt way gentler. I think basically I am always needing to be in a space that goes softly on my nervous system.

Downsides to Anita’s room were that it was pretty small and so there was not much space to be anywhere but the couch. I quite like sitting on the floor sometimes. I like to draw, or write, or do activities with objects (like when Elle and I did the buttons) or maybe do breathing/grounding exercises and it would have been really too cramped for that and so it could feel a bit rigid being on a chair all the time.

Photo by Boris Hamer on Pexels.com

Obviously, she couldn’t make the room larger and honestly for such a long time that room was such a sanctuary and holding space that other than making it a few feet bigger, there’s not a great deal I would have changed.

I was thinking recently again about rooms before my friend asked about it and I think a really good way of approaching therapy room set ups is to imagine you have a neurodiverse child that you’re tailoring the space to because actually most people would benefit from some or all of the provisions. Lots of therapists only work with adults and so gear their room up as an adult space and I think this is a massive error.

I like that Elle’s room has fidget toys and some games on the shelves even if I choose not to use them. I think having things like paper and colouring pens visible in the room is a nice idea, too (Hannah had that – I’ll give her one positive as the rest was utter shit!) as it lets the client know there is potential for all sorts of work to be done in the room.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

All my recent therapists have had Russian dolls in their therapy rooms- it must be a thing! Ha – if only more of them actually entered into doing active parts work, eh?! I think having little figures or maybe a variety of toys would be a great idea for this.

A while back there was a teddy bear sitting in Elle’s therapy room one session, but I don’t know where he is now. I think one of the things I would really like to see in therapy rooms are a few soft toys. I think signalling to the client that their inner child is welcome is hugely important as so many people new to therapy have no idea what therapy can be…and soooooo many people have work to do with attachment and yet believe that it’s only ever their adult that is welcome in the room!

How nice would it be to see a friendly bear in the corner or sitting on a chair? Especially if you need a hug…and especially if the therapist is not necessarily a hugger. I can imagine how holding it would feel to be feeling vulnerable and small and a therapist asking if you’d like a bear to hold. Like what an invitation to that small part to remain in the room rather than flee. So many of us try desperately to push that part away – especially when we’re new to therapy – as we often associate those feelings as being shameful and unwelcome.

I think seeing a soft toy in the room would also let the client know that they could bring their own soft toys to session too (if that’s what they want – obviously some people would totally not want this at all!). I can’t tell you how many years I went to therapy with Elephant in my bag when I saw Em and not once did I feel brave enough to get her out … and there were times when I seriously could have done with being able to self-soothe with her soft ears as Em would never reassure me or try and get me back out of a dissociative state and would instead leave me in agony.

It would be lovely if sometimes therapists would say, “If you wanted you could bring a blanket or a teddy in – I’ve got these here and you’re very welcome to use them, but I also know sometimes we have our own special items and they are most welcome here.” Because even now – as an almost pro client I sometimes find it difficult to open the bag. Elle has not met Elephant yet – and there’s huge work around this plushie.

I mean I am edging closer – and am actually amazed that I asked Elle for Monty (transitional object) and then last week after a month brought him back and asked her to spray him with her perfume. All these things are possible, but it’s taken me YEARS to get here, and I think therapists could really help with this.

It’s not only about toys, though, is it? Ok, I’ll put my inner child to one side for a minute!

I like Elle’s room – it’s a nice size and feels containing and private. I like that her room has nods to what kind of person she is. She has a little pride flag in her pot plant (which is very much alive) and I think that this visual cue let me know immediately that I was safe with her. I know therapy school would probably say “don’t give away anything about your political beliefs or views on contentious issues” but finding out Em was a tory Brexiteer late on in our work was hideous. I would NEVER have worked with her had I have known our feelings on particular issues were so far apart and knowing Elle is an ally is really important to me.

But that’s a whole other story.

What don’t I like about Elle’s room?! I have mentioned it a few times now, but I fucking hate the coffee table that sits between us. Like I want to literally throw it to the side of the room…unless of course we are using it to do something with buttons or whatever! It’s something to do with feeling like there’s a deliberate physical barrier between us – can anyone see a recurring theme here?! I think also it stops me sitting on the floor.

I think the longer I have been in therapy the more I want to not be always stuck in a chair. Over the years, friends and I have said how nice it would be to have an area of the room that is deliberately floor based – whether that be floor cushions or beanbags – just a different kind of a space. I guess sometimes I would like to almost be in a nest! But just sitting comfortably cross-legged on a cushion would be nice, too. I think the more options there are the better as you never really know what you’re going to want or need when you go to your session.

If there was space in the room, I think it would be totally awesome to have a blackout tent with cushions and blankets and little fairy lights inside – again – think neurodiverse child need. Lol!

Elle has two clocks that seem to tick at alternate times – sometimes I can tune them out and other times they are all I can hear. I imagine most people wouldn’t even notice these things, but I have always been hypersensitive and hypervigilant and so literally EVERYTHING that goes on inside and outside the room registers with me…and it’s frankly exhausting!

There’s loads more I could say but I think I am more of less done here for today – 3500 words – yikes!

So, I’m going to undo everything I have just said in a paragraph!

Of course, the room is really important in creating an environment that feels containing and safe enough for us to open up in but, you know what? I would happily sit outside on the cold concrete in the pouring rain so long as I could sit beside Elle and be with her and talk to her. Because, you could have the absolute most perfect therapeutic space to work in but if your therapist isn’t a good fit and the relationship isn’t there – it’s a complete waste of time!

True stuff.

I’d love it if you could comment with some of your own ‘hits’ and ‘misses’ for therapy rooms as I’m sure this would help my friend a lot. There’s so many things – like drinks? Elle has water out if you want it. Some therapists do cups of tea. Some think you shouldn’t do any of this. What a frigging ridiculous minefield!

The Mother Wound…AGAIN…And Other Ramblings.

Last time I was here I was in a right state – I don’t think much has changed where that’s concerned tbh! My life stress has notched up several gears with BIG shit happening and I am basically surviving my current day-to-day on a cocktail of junk food and dissociation – oh and terminal doom scrolling on my phone. None of these are really ideal, but it is what it is right now, and I just need to accept I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances…and the circumstances are fucking rubbish!

It’s a shame. Earlier this year I was doing amazingly well with physical ‘self-care’. I had made a conscious effort to try and give myself a solid base to hold the crap that I was struggling with in the aftermath of all things Anita and doing pretty well. I felt like I had a reasonable handle on things even if there was a shit load to process. I kicked out the crutch of junk food from my diet. I am pretty sure I have been sugar addicted for most of my life and had been propping myself up on chocolate and coke to get by so this was a HUGE deal. And I felt so good for it.

In addition to the diet shift, I had been carving out daily space for myself that didn’t revolve around work or chores. I would take a long walk in nature every day to create more of a balance in my day. I felt healthy-ish! The emotional stuff was there, of course, but the routine of getting out alone, listening to podcasts, taking photos, and escaping the demands of life seemed to be really helpful. It felt like I opened up space to be with myself to sit (walk!) with all of what is inside…and there is a lot.

There were days where I would walk beside the river and just sob the whole time. As someone who doesn’t readily cry this felt HUGE…and cathartic. I have been struggling massively with anxiety (my whole life!) – since Anita and I ended, and it’s been really physically debilitating at times, but I think the new routine helped a bit to lessen that too. Sometimes I would be really aware of the young parts of me and allow them space to talk to me… This is all great, isn’t it? Well done RB!

As a result of the better diet and steady exercise I shifted nearly a stone in weight that had crept on over the last 18 months of what would I call it? Self-neglect? Laziness? Freeze? Importantly, none of this shift in my behaviours with food and exercise came from a negative reaction to the emotional pain.

What do I mean by that?

Well, in the past I might have gone down a similar road but the cutting out junk food would instead be ALL food… it is so easy for me to switch into restriction and basically ignite anorexia in a few short days and then I am done for. Food becomes the enemy and exercise is a weapon to punish myself with rather than something to enjoy. This is why I no longer wear a Fitbit and deleted the Strava app from my phone. Once I get data, I just beat myself with it: go further, faster, hit that target… So, it’s best not to track in the first place. But there was none of this this time. And that is AMAZING after all these years.

I am so aware of my inner processes now and so I have been conscious of managing myself. If there was even a hint of that critical voice starting up (it never fully goes away), I would just not walk that day or be very mindful about putting some extra cheese on my plate when it was saying to do just vegetables or skip a meal because I am determined never to go back to that god awful place of an eating disorder.

These days, I listen in to that critical voice just as much as the young parts and ask what it is worried about. It is so desperate to have control when life feels out of control –  it is a massive protector part – but I have been able to tell it that I’ve got this now, and we don’t need to start punishing ourselves to cope with difficult emotions and situations. I’ve put that in fucking bold because this was ‘then’ and right now feels a little different and so I need the reminder!

Needless to say, this last couple of months I have fallen off the healthy self-care wagon in a big way as the level of out of control in my life has ramped up massively. Sod the wholemeal pitta, hummus and carrot sticks and epic levels of water –  fuck it – give me the Big Macs, coke, chocolate…ALL OF IT!!! And please wrap me up in my duvet – I don’t want to fucking walk right now or use the outdoor gym!

The impact of this is – weight has gone back on, I feel sluggish and lethargic, and generally in a bad slump. It’s a bit grim tbh. But I am trying to not get down on myself because lately I’ve been frozen a lot of the time so even getting off the bed has been a challenge. I’m too strung out to go want to go out into public spaces. I even find walking the five minutes across town to see Elle each week difficult. Of course I want to see her, so I walk the route with the minimum amount of people, put my headphones on and listen to something loud so I can switch away from the hustle and bustle of people. It still takes me about twenty minutes to relax after that though which is why I am glad Elle and I do a ninety minute session. I’d be totally fucked otherwise.

Anyone that’s read this blog for a while will know that my life is basically a rolling disaster but, fuck me, this has been one hell of a month… there’s been so many times when I have wanted to write and process some of the shit that’s been happening but instead, I just sit for sometimes hours at time in a complete freeze state. I either stare at the blank laptop screen beside me on my bed…or more often than not, can’t even open the laptop and switch it on in the first place!

At the moment it’s like there’s a concrete wall between my thoughts and my ability to get anything down on the page in a coherent way. I’ve been struggling with this for a long while now – certainly since Christmas. I think it’s something to do with being so overwhelmed that I can’t sift through the sheer volume of shit enough to know where to begin – or where to go with it and so I do nothing at all.

Like today, I think there are probably four separate posts I need to write but this could end up just being one long ramble of nothing (already at 1200 words!)…because knowing how I’ve been lately I should make hay while the sun shines. Ha, well, not hay…maybe clear the decks…or walk the fucking plank!

I can’t remember if I have mentioned it here in the last few posts but one of my children has been really sick since May. We’ve been in and out of the GP and hospital trying to get answers and FINALLY a couple of weeks ago after a long slog and being ‘that’ parent who won’t go away and pushing for tests, we got an answer. Only it’s not an answer any parent wants.

My child has been diagnosed with a chronic lifelong condition and so we are currently in the thick of testing before we can begin treatment. Honestly, this summer has nearly sent me over the edge. The only saving grace is that it has been summer holidays, and I haven’t been working and so been completely free to be able to do all the hospital visits without stressing about money. Being self-employed means if I don’t work, I don’t get paid but as school is out that isn’t a problem as I don’t teach now. I have no idea how I am going to pick up all my pieces in a couple of weeks for work, though. I am so barely hanging it together as it is.

We spent yesterday in the specialist Children’s Hospital and today we have all basically crashed and burned. Why am I mentioning this? Well, it has triggered a lot of pain. Feeling powerless when your child is sick is just hideous…and scary…but it also highlights aspects of your life that might usually sit just out of sight.

Cut to the chase RB and stop being so cryptic!…let’s put it this way…the last few weeks has triggered the mother wound in a massive way and I am not really ok – it’s complicated.

I am usually so independent and self-sufficient (through necessity, not want!), but right now I really need some support…from family…and there simply isn’t any forthcoming. My mum and I no longer have a relationship which has been made painfully apparent this year. Most of the time I can cope with my absent mother – let’s be real, she has been either physically or emotionally absent (or both) my whole fucking life so there’s no change there but right now, I really need a mum (just not necessarily my mum)!

I am very aware that the mother I have is not and has never been capable of offering the kind of mothering, love, and care that I need. So, it’s not as though I have lost some significant nurturing and holding relationship with her and am now left with the gaping hole. It’s not like at all. (But that is exactly what I have been left with after Anita…fuck me this is double-whammy of mother wound pain!)

So far as the relationship with my mum goes, I am not sitting with the grief of a significant heartbreaking loss at all – instead I am having to really grieve what never was and what absolutely should have been. This has always been the work – I mean it is absolutely the foundation of all the work I do in therapy if I’m honest – but right now I am plunged face first into the pain of never really being loved and FUCK ME I could so do without it right now- I’ve got enough going on already and don’t need to be staring directly at the sun! I just need a fucking hug and someone to pick up some of the pieces but alas, because that’s not happening, I guess I am going to have to navigate this deep wounding alongside the hard life stuff in the here and now.

My relationship with my mum has only ever made me feel like I am inadequate and unlovable, or unlikeable, or too much, or not enough or…basically just like utter shit… “I wish you’d never been born!” rings so clearly in my mind – but how could it not? There have been so so many occasions where I have needed to be truly seen and loved and supported for exactly who I am and honestly – I can’t think of a time where this has happened, or that I have felt connected or loved by my mum. Even when I had cancer and she would come to my chemo appointments it felt like she was doing it to be seen by others. Maybe that’s unfair. I guess, at this point there’ve just been so many occasions that I have felt let down it’s hard to see any good.

Any of my achievements seem to have been filtered through the lens of competition – either she’s done as well or better than me, or if not that, then my achievements are used to make her look good in the eyes of others whose opinions should not matter at all. I might be a disappointing lesbian (don’t let’s ever talk about that) but I am at least academic and that gives a degree of bragging rights – to this end I am a useful extension of her. I am pretty sure no one has ever cared about my top GCSE, A Level, Degree or Masters grades…! I have never once thought “Oh wow, my friend’s kid has got A grades- that makes my friend look good” because that’s idiotic!

I have jumped through so many hoops over the years and as much as I thought I was chasing the grades and degrees because I wanted that – part of me thinks I have always been just desperately trying to be noticed and good enough for my mum. The thing is (and it’s taken a good deal of time!) I realise now that no matter what I do or don’t do in my life I can never be enough for her.

I don’t need that constant reminder in my life. I don’t need every interaction to leave me feeling exhausted and drained and generally shit about myself and that’s exactly what happens every time I see her. The familiar sense of anxiety and treading on eggshells is so real. My young parts are terrified of her. I can never be authentically myself and it exhausts me trying to perform just to please someone who can never be pleased. I’ve shoved down all the times she’s hurt me and tried to build a relationship as an adult – try and give space to the idea that people make mistakes, parenting isn’t easy, and people can change.

Only I don’t think narcissists ever really do change. Why would they? Their personality type serves them so well. They are never at fault. It’s everyone else that is the problem. I am too boring and uninteresting – I don’t add value… but there’s always a conveyor belt of new people/faces who are impressed by the show and are entertaining enough– until they’re not, or they too see behind the veil. I have stopped playing the game and so I’ve been discarded – like so many other people in her life over the years.

When I got pregnant with my daughter, I was so incredibly excited. My wife and I had gone through several failed rounds of IVF and given up on the hopes of ever having a child. Then the UK laws around donor conceived children changed and a year later we met our sperm donor, and I fell pregnant straight away. I invited my mother and her husband over for lunch to announce the news. I handed her an early scan picture we’d had done, and she said absolutely nothing. Still face. Literal silence. No “congratulations” no smiles or hugs… but after a few minutes of awkward silence she said a simple, “I’m not old enough to be a grandmother”. Reader, I was twenty nine years old!…It’s not my fault she had me in her early twenties! She didn’t even stay for lunch. She then didn’t speak to me at all for the next three months of my pregnancy.

Who does that?

I mean really, who does that?

This is just one many many interactions that have been commonplace and normalised in my relationship but from the outside … well it’s completely fucking mental isn’t it?

Anyway, back to now. It’s been almost two years since I last saw my mum in person or spoke to her. There was no significant argument to make this break happen. It was just years and years and years of steady attrition where I had got so ground down by how much energy it would take to maintain any kind of relationship with her that I decided to step back and see what happened.

I stopped making all the effort to engage her. Stopped inviting her for dinner. Stopped suggesting get-togethers. Stopped sending photos and information about the kids and keeping her up to date with our lives. Basically, I stopped holding the whole relationship up from my side and waited to see what would come from her.

The answer is nothing.

Christmas 2022 we were totally skint. I had text my mum to say we wouldn’t be doing presents for anyone but the kids that year because of this…but I did send her a £50 box of Hotel Chocolat chocolates for her and her husband – because my mum is huge on receiving gifts and makes a massive deal of it all. She always knows exactly what she wants to be given…but she’s the queen of regifting stuff she doesn’t want…

Anyway, you might think that as someone who is pretty well-off the adult child not doing loads of gifts wouldn’t be a problem and you’d carry on as normal… I mean surely we don’t give only to receive?! Wrong. That year she didn’t even send my kids a present. Imagine your grandma totally ignoring you like that when you are primary school age. She didn’t even acknowledge the chocolates I sent and in the end I ended up texting to ask if she’d even received them.

Then birthdays rolled around…ignore mine and my wife’s, sure – but the kids???

This time last year my son fell off his bike and ended up in resus at hospital. Lots of time had passed but this was a massive deal and I text my mum because you know, it’s life and death! My wife and I were in hospital with him and my daughter, who was only eleven was at home. Her reply? “Oh no. Hope he feels better soon”…

No, “Oh my god, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. What do you need me to do? Is daughter ok? Do you need me to go to her?”

But that’s EXACTLY what my friends did.

I am still in a bit of shock about it, actually. Like…what the actual fuck?

Christmas came and went again. I sent another small gift this year-  nothing came back this way, not even a text.

And so it’s been quiet.

Then out the blue a birthday card for my daughter…so I text and thanked her for it.

Then in August a card for my son…so I text and thanked her for that. But of course, my son is actually really ill and has been in and out of hospital since May. So, I briefly outlined what’s been going on and how the poor boy got his provisional diagnosis on his birthday in hospital, would have to have an MRI the next day and then up to the Children’s Hospital yesterday.

I don’t know why I imagined that she’d care. I don’t know why I thought she might, just for once, see beyond the end of her own fucking nose and care about her grandkids or me. I don’t know why I imagined, she might at the very least text to ask how he is or perhaps even ask if we needed any support/help for our daughter whilst away in another city with a sick kid…or maybe ask how I am coping… I guess because if I was furnished with that kind of information, I couldn’t help but want to help in any way that I could. I cannot imagine a world where I wouldn’t want to support my kids or grandkids. If anything, I’d be the annoying mother who was being told to back off!!

Instead, and as usual, it is my friends that have rallied around us and supported us and taken care of my daughter. I am lucky to have an amazing set of close friends – chosen family… but it doesn’t change how much this hurts. As I have said, I am not stupid and I know my mum is incapable of being anything close to the kind of parent I need…but it just feels especially wounding when she won’t even do the bare minimum when there’s a real crisis.

Still, this last couple of years has told me all I need to know and shown me what I need to do to protect myself from being hurt further. I didn’t ever imagine I’d go no contact with a parent – especially as I only have one left. But I can’t continue on like this. Being reminded of how low my kids and I feature on her list of priorities is hard. Especially when I learn from other people that she is fixated on a friend’s wedding at the moment…

Anyway, there’s loads and loads I can say about that – and how a lifetime of this kind of thing has affected me – but you’ve read this blog. You know. When it all goes wrong at a young age with your primary caregiver and that persists throughout childhood and adolescence…you’re basically fucked.

And I am.

However, as much as there is a tonne of damage done and the fear of abandonment and rejection, my hypervigilance, my attachment issues, perfectionism, dissociation…*all the things* need a load of attention and working through in therapy what I will say now is that I am no longer prepared to put myself in situations that hurt me. I am drawing boundaries around what I deem acceptable treatment, and I’d sooner walk away than give any more time to someone that clearly doesn’t give a shit.

This is also true for Anita. I know it’s different. She is not my mother – but my god, we rode close to line on that in our therapy. It was active reparenting…until it wasn’t. Anita knew everything about my history and was closer to me than anyone has ever been and yet, when it came down to it, she walked away without so much as a backward glance. She’s hurt me deeply in a way I can hardly describe. I am grieving what actually ‘was’ and the hole she’s left. I miss her care. I miss her love. But actually, you know what? It can’t have been worth all that much if this is where we are now.

I’ve spent the last 15 months trying to navigate what’s happened without completely collapsing – and that has been hard. More recently I’ve been trying to figure out how to meet and end and get my stuff returned now that she’s finally communicating with me. The thing is – after all the heartache and stress with my son what I am really aware of is that Anita isn’t there (not that she has any idea about what’s happening) and actually I am both sad and angry about that. She promised me she was here for the entire journey and instead she cut and ran, choosing ‘easy’ clients.

As I have said so many times before, I could have got my head around her giving up being a therapist altogether and stopping client work…but choosing to end with me and keep working with others feels like such a betrayal and such a complete disregard for what our relationship was.

So now, I think, I am in a place where I don’t want to meet. I don’t want to see her only to be massively disappointed and hurt. I don’t want to play the game where I go and wander around a fucking garden for a walk and talk and pretend everything is fine so that she feels like she’s absolved herself from any responsibility for what she’s done. Because it isn’t fine. It isn’t fine at all.

I need to protect myself and my system now from being hurt – because frankly there’s been just a bit too much abandonment and rejection to swallow.

This has, as suspected, just become a long ramble of shite – so … sorry about that. Hopefully Monty and I will find our flow properly soon. We’ve just had a therapy break with Elle – and you can probably imagine the fun that caused inside with so much shit hitting the fan already – so there’s certainly some words on that somewhere! It feels like an impossibly long time until Tuesday’s session right now. Ugh…

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