abandonment

I’m Still Here And ‘HARM IN THERAPY’ revisited.

rubberbandsandchewinggum22 Comments

Well, in case anyone is wondering, I’m still alive, folks… just about! It’s been months since I last posted anything here. I have been in a total freeze where life and writing is concerned. There’s been lots of times I have wanted to blog but I simply couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even turn the laptop on, let alone start tapping at the keys or come up with anything on the page. I don’t know why exactly, because there’s so much I could have documented – I just couldn’t physically do it.

I have told myself today that I just need to write something, anything, it doesn’t need to be any ‘good’ – I just need to break the back of this horrendous block that I am experiencing. Like I said, the craziest thing is, there is loads to write about – some great and some not so great – but stuff that definitely needs to be here:

  • Elle and I had our two-year therapy-versary back in August and that was really special
  •  We had the summer therapy break (groan) but Elle absolutely nailed it this year by writing me a letter to open during the break and recording a massive eight hour long story for me to listen to whilst she was gone
  • There’ve been a few little bumps in the road (a forgotten/mistimed phone check in) but largely it’s been really good in the room with Elle – and out of it
  • Sex dreams with Elle… god help me!
  • My life has been rough going – body is not behaving- but it’s getting dealt with
  • I managed to lose Monty Mouse the transitional object that Elle gave me last year and basically lost the plot last week

Like there’s plenty I could be writing about and there’s probably heaps I have forgotten about now too… but I just haven’t been able to do anything here or actually in my life if I am honest. I will get to it though. I need to get back into processing like this because it’s such a helpful outlet for me…when I am not frozen!

I experience the freeze response such a lot these days and spend so much of my time trying to circumnavigate my complete inability to function in my free time. Like I am literally shouting at myself to get my shit together and yet I just cannot move. I feel completely burnt out and anxious almost all the time – and even the summer holidays haven’t helped.

The only thing that is at least a part positive is I can generally turn it on for when I need to work… but my own ‘free time’ is a shit show. I waste hours doing nothing. Stuck. Knowing I have stuff to do and yet am completely unable to do anything is so infuriating. When I am like this I don’t think,“Ah well, fuck it, I’ll just give myself permission to do nothing and rest today” instead I feel like the weight of everything is sat on my shoulders and chest and I continue to beat myself up.

Until reasonably recently, I have always been able to keep on top of things at any cost (and there is a cost!). I am used to running on empty and powering on through. I know I need to do the laundry, clean the house, get the ironing done, go to the supermarket, sort out life admin all around actually doing my job…and I just can’t. It’s just fortunate, I guess, that I also have days where I am totally ‘on it’ and just go all out for four or five hours and clear the decks…but it’s all exhausting.

I want to be able to switch off properly, power down and rest. But my system just cannot do it. I think for so long I have had my self-worth tied to the idea of productivity and serving others that it is taking quite a lot to move out of that place. Like my conscious brain is wanting to do the self-care, give myself space and time, allow myself to be human rather than trying and failing to be superhuman … but my system hasn’t got the memo yet.

The only saving grace is that at least some of this (exhaustion, anxiety, brain fog etc) might actually be down to/exacerbated by the fact that my blood chemistry is a bit out and not simply perimenopause and trauma. I found out this week that I am deficient in some areas after going to the GP and getting some tests done. I am hoping that the supplements I have to take will see me bounce back to a more normal state … even if my normal is still a bit whacky! I can’t spend my whole life stuck in a freeze, that’s for sure!!

Anyway – that’s a load of unnecessary preamble… it’s just an explanation of where I have been – if anyone has even noticed I’ve been AWOL. Tbh, I feel like blogs have died these days. Very very few people that I have followed here for years write at all anymore. I miss them and often wonder how they are getting on having been lucky enough to witness parts of their journey. I sincerely hope that life has worked out and they are happy and have no need to write because things are so great, now. But I wonder, too, if like me, people just don’t have time/capacity to post anymore especially when it feels like you’re sending your deepest most vulnerable self out into what can feel like an echo chamber.

I do wonder a bit, too, if the death of blogs is about the way social media works these days and how we consume it.  We need to be grabbed in seconds and have about a ten second window of attention before we scroll on by.  I know that I get a lot more engagement with my mini-posts about Monty over on Instagram and it takes next to no effort or time to keep his page active. Maybe long written posts just aren’t what people want to read anymore –  or perhaps we read them but don’t engage/comment. My stats would suggest this page still gets tonnes of traffic… so who knows?

https://www.instagram.com/montys_awesome_adventures?igsh=YWdyaWQzanhnM2U%3D&utm_source=qr

I guess the place I have always come back round to, is that first and foremost this blog is for me. It is a place for me to put my stuff and have a record of what’s gone on in my therapy and mess of a life. And so, it really doesn’t matter if I blog weekly, monthly, or only occasionally…it’s always here for me. And if it helps anybody else along the way to feel less alone, or get an insight into what therapy can/should/shouldn’t look like then that’s really great.

Like I said, I am definitely going to spend some time and write separate posts about the lovely things that Elle and have done this summer to celebrate our relationship and remain connected but today I want to double back round to something that has come back round to front and centre again for me this week and that is HARM IN THERAPY… and it’s taken me a thousand words to get here – that ten second window has most definitely expired for piquing anyone’s interest. Lol.

Still – fuck it- I’m here so I am going to say it once again:

It never ceases to amaze me what a fucking shit show the profession of counselling and psychotherapy actually is, and the absolute carnage and devastation that therapists leave in their wake after enacting the most heinous gaslighting bullshit on their most vulnerable clients…there should be some serious consequences for that!

It’s almost unbelievable (yet also not unbelievable at all, sadly) what I hear from people who reach out to me when they have come across my blog. So often it seems that having read my account of what’s happened to me over the years they at least feel like they are not alone in experiencing the utter devastation and grief that comes with being unceremoniously, and often unexpectedly, terminated by a therapist who has promised to be in it for the long haul, “no matter what”.

I wish it wasn’t the case. I wish that my experiences with damaging therapists were isolated, that I was just unlucky, or that what’s happened happened because it’s fundamentally a ‘me problem’ and that’s why things have gone wrong with those whom I have invested time and energy and love into to try and help me.

But no.

It’s not just me.

I’ve met so many lovely, yet wounded clients that have been basically left for dead in callous hit and run jobs via this blog. And every single time I get an email about a rogue therapist it actually breaks my heart a bit. I hate that we, as clients, go and seek out therapy for wounds that are already incredibly painful and are then made a million times worse in the therapy.

There’s a reason the wounded child parts of us went into hiding when we were kids, why we shelved our needs, why we overcompensated, why we were so compliant, why we suffer with eating disorders and addiction…we’ve tried to adapt and morph ourselves into something that allows us to survive what in reality is unsurvivable unless we severely contort ourselves and armour up and DISSOCIATE THE SHIT OUT OF OUR LIVES. Attachment is key to our existence as kids and we will do whatever we can to preserve even the worst kind of connection to our caregivers- even if it comes at the expense of our soul.

Therapists know this, or at least, therapists SHOULD know this.

Relational trauma is serious shit… you can’t just wing it and hope for the best as a therapist. It’s not good enough to be well-meaning and think that just being warm and compassionate will be enough.

I mean you’d think that was self-evident. So why does I find my inbox peppered with heartbreak time and again year on year? Why on earth are people still getting so badly hurt and harmed in therapy? Why, when these therapists actually say they are trauma informed, specialise in complex trauma, and even work with an IFS leaning do they fuck it up, fuck us up? Why do they not learn from their mistakes?

Sometimes it really feels like it’s the clients that are the sane ones and the therapists that are completely screwed up.

I do wonder, though, how many people go into training as therapists unconsciously looking to heal their own wounds?

I’m not against the concept of a wounded healer at all. In fact, I think sometimes it’s really helpful when a therapist has a lived experience of some of what their clients are going through — but if this is the case it is absolutely essential that therapists are VERY AWARE OF THEIR OWN SHIT, UNDERTAKE THEIR OWN THERAPY, SEEK OUT PLENTY OF SUPERVISION where they tell the fucking truth to their supervisors, and most importantly don’t start unconsciously working out their own shit in their client’s therapy.

We are not there to be their relational guinea pigs. We are not there for them to enact their fucking rescuer complexes… and when we trigger their own wounded child and disgruntled teen and all the other parts, we sure as shit are not there to bear the brunt of their anger, their frustration, their unacknowledged inadequacies, and god knows what else! But it happens all the time.

It is so incredibly traumatising – or retraumatising – to the client when therapy goes wrong. My biggest fear about myself is that I am ultimately “too much” and “not enough” to be loved by anyone. And my therapies with Em and Anita did an epic job of driving that message home. Rather than rewriting the narrative they wrote it in permanent ink – tattooed it into my skin. I can’t just scrub it off. It feels like the core messaging has been backed up time and again.

So what do I do after every rejection and abandonment yet still crazy enough to believe that therapy can help me if only I find the right person to work with?

I go to therapy armoured up. My system watches carefully to see whether a therapist seems safe or not. It’s very hard to bypass my protectors. But steady work, and reassurance that I am cared for, that I matter, that this time I am not going to be left or punished simply for having needs means that I will eventually remove my armour…and be completely vulnerable. And be needy. And let’s be clear, I have a lot of unmet needs from childhood…and life, tbh. And for a long time that’s no problem… until one day it is.

It’s always when a therapist is burning out in their own life that I start to trigger them. What used to evoke compassion and care now provokes scorn and the need to distance and self-protect. Anita said that her own inner child was struggling and she couldn’t deal with mine. That’s not my fault. It’s hers for not getting into therapy and attending to her own inner child. She ignored her wounding and then bled out all over me. It was me that bore the brunt of her failure to look after herself.

It was slightly different with Em. I don’t think she ever really liked me much. But I am certain my very active and vocal (in email!) system triggered the shit out of her. I became so aware of my parts and how they operated that I think it freaked her out. I truly believe that she hadn’t done enough work on herself and my need of her scared the shit out of her. I think she spent her working life in False Adult or Acting Professional Adult but underneath was a whole heap of exiled young parts.

I think what spooked her more than anything wasn’t my ‘tick like’ need for her and the attachment – we’d been working on that for years. It was my suddenly feeling brave enough to bring my anger and dissatisfaction to her. It was when I started to challenge what was going on in the therapy that she found an entirely new level of cold and distance – despite telling me it was safe to bring my anger for years and that there was nothing I could do that would make her end the therapy aside from physical violence…which would never ever happen.

But what happened when I got justifiably angry but in my very measured and clear way? What happened when I really started to advocate for myself? Withdrawal of already (lukewarm) warmth as a punishment…followed shortly after by a character assassination and termination.

It’s all here on the blog. It’s not new news. All I am saying is, this stuff shouldn’t happen. And it does. Time and again.

The reason I am writing today is actually because someone reached out to me this weekend who is going through the wringer right now and it’s made me angry. I am mad that yet another vulnerable person is suffering at the hands of professional who thinks it’s fine to wash their hands clean of them when the going gets tough.

This person had read enough of my blog to consider it possible that their therapist might actually be Anita because there were so many similarities in what had just happened to them and what happened to me and it seemed we are in the same area of the country.

I can’t lie, part of me felt sick at the idea that Anita might still be working with someone with complex trauma after her swearing blind that she no longer did that sort of work, and the idea that she’d possibly let me go and kept this person on, felt sickening. But, of course, it wasn’t Anita. It was another fucking rogue bastard ‘therapist’ in my city behaving in a completely terrible way and leaving their client in a state.

Like me this client had already experienced harm in therapy before and so it is even more galling that the current therapist is reenacting the same old stuff.

How on earth does this keep on happening?

I think part of it is that the world of therapy is so closed doors. Who really knows what happens in these rooms unless we say something? Most people go to therapy and trust that the person sitting opposite them knows what they are doing. Most people see that these therapists belong to a professional body and therefore, surely, that means it’s safe enough.

Only it’s not.

So often it’s not.

Because what happens when things go wrong? Most of us just leave with our tail between our legs and go off into a dark corner to lick our wounds. I have never made formal complaints about either Em or Anita…and maybe I should have. Therapists have told me I would have a very strong case against them both. But I have zero faith in the system and governing bodies to act appropriately when faced with the evidence.

I know that Em and Anita would do everything in their power to save their skins rather than take any kind of accountability for what they did to me. And not only that, in those attempts to protect themselves they would have thrown me under the bus, labelled me, blamed me, shamed me, and I know I would not have survived that.

It seems to me that unless a therapist has crossed a sexual boundary everything else is garners a little slap on the wrist and some advice to seek out more training and supervision for the therapist – especially if they say they were ‘stressed’ or ‘burnt out’. There is nothing in it for the client…and let’s be real here, even when we have been hurt really badly we don’t suddenly stop loving these people. We don’t want to hurt them…we just want them to say sorry and admit that maybe they fucked up but it wasn’t because they didn’t love us. But they’d never utter the ‘L’ word again and I think that would hurt us such a lot.

So instead, we try and navigate being suddenly cast adrift. We are terrified, traumatised, triggered. Panic floods our systems. We are left without any support at all – there is no safety net. The grief is unreal. It feels like a bereavement… it’s not even funny.

Even now, five years on I still feel sick when I think about Em. I was in therapy this week, not feeling very well, and suddenly I dissociated when I thought about how neither Em or Anita cared enough to stay despite knowing my history – both emotional and physical. It was too much to cope with and my brain vacated the space. Elle was sitting right beside me but I couldn’t feel her. It was awful.

I am not completely overcome by this stuff all the time – thank god. Time is a great healer -or at least gives a bit of distance. But I am not free of it either. I know the pain of what has happened to me in my therapies will never completely go away. It feels to me like shrapnel in my body. I am always trying to move in a way that prevents me from feeling the pain of the sharp waste inside me. Mostly I am successful at it. But not always.

This week, for the first time in a long time I longed for Anita. I wanted to hear her voice, be in her presence, and have her hold me in the way she used to. I know that version of Anita is long gone and another part of me would never want to see her again. But there are parts that still miss her. There are parts that miss Em and wish there was a way of at least getting closure if nothing else. I think that’s the hardest part in lots of ways – having to pick up the pieces and try and make sense of it when the other party refuses to.

So yeah, I get it when these emails hit my inbox. I will never not be moved by someone’s story. I will never not feel sad when I see the same promises that were made to me being broken. I will never not be able to relate to the absolute devastation that this sort of ending causes. I feel it in my body every time I read it. I am just so sorry that so many people are still getting harmed in therapy. We deserve so much better. We have always deserved so much better.

x

I Was ‘The Good Girl’ In The Therapy Room And I Hurt All The Time

rubberbandsandchewinggum3 Comments

I’ve been in therapy for a long time.
Like, a really long time.
It’s been ten years solid this time around, albeit with four different therapists (not that I am counting!). I’m not sure how to explain how long that is in soul years, but it feels like a thousand.

I am no stranger to the therapy room. Even before this latest solid run of ‘trying to get my mind fixed’ (or should I say my nervous system recalibrated and the mother wound healed?) there have been some hopeful episodes in the ‘room’ over the last twenty-five or so years. But mostly, as is generally the case when you’re a student in college or university, these were relatively short-term therapies.

I went, then, because I was suffering with anxiety or depression or stress, or my eating disorder, or imposter syndrome or whatever (the list goes on and on). I knew deep down that something was very wrong and those sessions acted like sticking plasters for a wound that was far deeper than I ever could have imagined at the time. Little did I know that I needed far more attention than four or six sessions could ever hope to provide.

I remember feeling like I was fully losing the plot as it was coming up to Christmas when doing my MA. I was twenty-two and I realised that I needed to see someone having not been to a therapist since my A Levels. The university I was studying at had a counselling service and, fortunately, as most people had already left for the holidays there was some availability to see someone.

It was in that room that the dam broke. It was a tiny room in the back of an old Victorian red brick building not far from my seminar building. I started to let out ‘all the things’ and although I only had four sessions with that counsellor it was such a relief to finally have someone say to me that I wasn’t overreacting and that actually they thought I could really use some long-term therapy because ‘trauma’…and no, it wasn’t just the stress of deadlines and they didn’t try and ply me with strategies to get through the immediate stress rather just gave me a space to be heard and collapse a bit after trying to hold it together for such a long time.

I might have walked out of those short-term sessions feeling a bit bereft – like, it would have been so great to be able to spend a few months with that particular therapist as a bit of a scaffold around my crumbling self, but that wasn’t how the service worked…and where was the long-term therapy that a student with no money could afford? I certainly couldn’t access the kind of therapy I need/ed back then and so put everything back in the box on the top of the shelf and continued on with life until I couldn’t do it anymore.

One thing I will say, is that these episodes of short-term therapy never did me any harm. They may not have been long enough, but I didn’t leave those sessions in a worse state than when I started. But then perhaps these therapies were never quite long enough to activate my attachment system. I don’t know. But then, that doesn’t work, because I saw a therapist N, for two years after my dad died and it helped, I was attached to her- and we’re still in contact now seventeen years later – certainly no harm done there.

Harm in therapy didn’t become a reality for me until Em – the highly experienced Clinical Psychologist, the person I was led to believe I stood a really good chance of healing with, and so the person I trusted with my whole story and self. Gosh. What a mess it was.

I met Em thirteen and a half years ago, now. I feel so sad, looking back over my life, that I have been trying so hard for so long to feel ‘better’ and yet here I am still working on undoing damage not just from my childhood, my life, but actually my therapies. It’s tragic.

Em and I initially did sixteen months in the NHS — it was the kind of therapy where the clock ticks louder than your voice and the radiator only half-works and my god, those awful shiny yellow gloss-painter woodchipped walls were really something!… but finally getting a space to delve into my psyche with someone who (on paper at least) really had the skill to help was much-needed.

But like every therapy before – the time I had wasn’t long enough. NHS work, even when it’s extended (which mine was) is still time limited. There is only so many sessions you can have and then that’s it – there’s a huge waiting list (three years for me back then) and you can’t clog up the system forever even if you really need the therapy. And surely you should be grateful to get a long stint of therapy in the first place. It’s kind of laughable, because it took me a year to even get close to the work or for my system to activate. In reality a little over a year of once-a-week therapy is nothing for Complex Trauma and quite honestly, the NHS just isn’t at all equipped to help with these kinds of issues.

And my god, opening my version of Pandora’s Box and then being left with no therapy at all really really messed me up. The nightmares. The panic attacks. The eating disorder and self-harming behaviours were triggered again. My child parts (and my structurally dissociated system – not that I knew that that was what it was then) had a complete meltdown. The feelings of abandonment and rejection felt huge. And I didn’t cope at all. But I was completely and utterly alone and without any kind of support…because I’d used it up.

Em had agreed that we could see each other in her private practice when our sessions finished but the NHS had stipulated that there needed to be a three-month break between ending there and commencing with her again. At the time I accepted that as how things had to be – but knowing what I know now about my system I can see how very wrong it was to leave that work wide open and leave me essentially hanging. What I should have done then was reach out to Em and let her know what was going on, but of course, I didn’t know that was possible. I was just following the rules…because I have always followed the rules.

After two months on my own without therapy, my graphic nightmares finally stopped in their tracks and I didn’t even dream again for nearly three years– I basically shut off/dissociated my entire system and lived my life in ‘false adult’ I think. And so, I didn’t go back to Em for three years.

You could call it a ‘break’. I call it surviving without witness – but I think there was always a part of me, a child part or five, that I had exiled who was desperate to find my way back to Em. The little parts of me that had been so activated in her therapy room, and all the trauma too, needed a place to go.

And so when I finished my cancer treatment and all the wheels fell off – I went back to her…because… well…to parts of me she was mum, and a kind of safety, and I very badly needed someone because I was very much not ok.

In the intervening three years since I had sat with Em a lot had changed in my world – but underneath or inside I was just the same – all those little parts were frozen inside needing to be seen, held, and attended to. The trauma was there still, unresolved.

I remember the first day I walked back in the room and how hopeful I had been and how excited I had been to see Em again. And yet, it fell flat. I guess there was a part of me that wanted her to welcome me back with open arms or some kind of acknowledgement that it was good to see me again now that we weren’t in the sterile hospital. But she was ever the blank screen, and although my child parts came alive again the moment they saw her, they knew too that the rules were still the same.

And I am nothing if not the girl who follows the rules.

I came to my session/s every week.

I paid on time.

I was never rude.

I never cancelled on her until we were right at the end and broken (but then why would I, my sessions never felt enough and so I would never enact a break willingly).

And I tried so hard to do therapy ‘right’ – and stick within the confines of Em’s very very rigid boundaries (although occasionally failing and texting her – god forbid).

I tried so hard to be grateful for what was on offer. I tried to make it enough. I tried to be insightful and brave and DO THE WORK…and bring everything to the room even when I felt terrified and physically unwell.

I tried not to be too much.  

But man, I felt small and disempowered.

I was the good girl in the therapy room and I hurt all the time.

I could never understand why it felt so painful to be with her…and so painful to be away from her, too.

I guess I  thought I had to earn tenderness and care, and prove myself worthy of it because of course that’s been hard-wired into me from day dot.

I thought being easy to work with would make me lovable – or at least palatable.

It didn’t.

But then why would it?

That strategy had never worked with my mother so why on earth would it work in the therapy room? And yet here I was unconsciously repeating the same pattern with my therapist.

It seemed being the quiet good girl wasn’t ever enough.

So, I changed tack. It took a really long time for me to bring my pain about the relationship with Em into the room unwashed and unedited. Em had said she felt “blindfolded” with me and I thought this meant that my caution and hiding my feelings was stopping us being able to really connect. And man did I want to be connected to her and so I took a leap towards her around about the time I started this blog.

I wrote things down when I couldn’t say them out loud (because shame was so ever-present and dissociation never very far away). I folded pages of typed letters or blog posts inside my pocket like secret spells. Sometimes it would take weeks for me to build the courage to hand them over. Every time I did, I felt like I was giving her the map to the world inside me — it felt like I was screaming over and over, “Please, please just look. Please see what it’s like in here. Please help me not be lost anymore.” And perhaps in also written between the lines was, “Please love me”. But Em would sit and read my words never giving much away as I sat squirming opposite her and then carry on like she already knew the way and didn’t need my map.

And so, I walked alone over terrain that felt like barbed wire and cold rain and shame.

It felt in some ways like I was in the Truman Show – but no one told me what the point of it was, and the lights were much too bright, and whilst I could see Em she was always sitting behind her glass screen taking notes about what I was (or not doing) on her clipboard – she wasn’t in the scene with me. Every now and then she’d tell me where I was going wrong, “Like a tick”. It was as though she was some nasty film director coaching an actor who was absolutely doing their best to act the ‘right’ way but failing miserably time and again.

The thing is, I shouldn’t have ever had to have acted in that room. I should have been able to go and be me – exactly as I was and have that met with kindness, compassion, and curiosity. I should have been able to remove my various masks.

I wish.

I feel so sad when I look at how small I made myself in the room with Em – I don’t mean falling into my child parts small, I mean how little space I took up and how little I asked for from her and yet even that was made to feel like ‘too much’. I feel so sad that I tried to bend and fit to be the client she wanted me to be and it breaks my heart that for all those years my small parts couldn’t get anywhere close to what I needed. There was no we in that therapy- just me…flailing around and hurting.

I took big elephant with me in my bag for years but was never brave enough to take her out even when I had told Em about the many many child parts that were inside me and how they felt and we both knew how much hurt was inside. There was never an invitation from Em to be anything other than my very competent adult self…and that was really hard when my young parts were so very present. Part of me feels angry at my adult self for not doing more to protect my young parts – but I genuinely thought at the time going to therapy was me looking after myself.

I am not the same client I was back then. I have learnt such a lot about myself over the last decade and there is simply no way I would put up with what I did with Em now…or even Anita. And so although this growth and understanding has come at a heavy emotional (and financial cost)…I do at least know myself and have boundaries around how I will let myself be treated now.

But back then, I felt ashamed and embarrassed asking for anything from Em and her NOs to my very few requests cut so deep. Object constancy has always been a massive problem for me and I remember reading an article online by a therapist about how to stay connected to therapists on a break. They’d suggested a simple three dot text message in the week – like it’s bare minimum effort, no words to misunderstand, just a reminder that they are there. But no, she wouldn’t do it.

I remember asking for a simple transitional object – I wanted a short note written on a pebble that I had found on the beach near her house – and that became a torture project for well over six months. But in reality, I didn’t want a rock… I wanted a soft toy like Monty…only I never asked because I knew that was way out of the realms of acceptability for Em…and I was right. We couldn’t even get a few words on a pebble right, a toy for my young parts would have been simply outrageous!

I was made to feel like there was something desperately wrong with me because I wanted her to sit closer to me. I would dissociate so badly when I felt like she was far away but there was never concessions on Em’s part to make a move to adjust how we worked to make things better for me. I wrote in a letter once that I wished I could hug her. Somehow that was really inappropriate and uncomfortable and was addressed only once, “You know I don’t do that”. It felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

And heaven forbid we go anywhere near the ‘L’ word. Love was made to feel like a dirty word and I never once uttered it aloud…I only alluded to it in my maps/letters. And yet it is so much part of the work… talking through human emotions in all their forms is the work. And it shouldn’t matter if they are directed towards the therapist or anyone else. But also, I struggle hard to understand how if you spend years and years of your life with someone picking apart your most vulnerable stuff that love wouldn’t become part of the fabric of the therapy.

Ugh.

I’m not here to talk about her though – although I seem to have gone down the rabbit hole a bit today – I guess I am still reeling from the hurt… and we can totally skip over Anita, and Hannah because – well – I want to talk about now – 2025…

I want to talk about Elle…I want to talk about how I can be who I am, not who I think I need to be with her. I want to say how that the ‘good girl’ part of me has been allowed to rest a bit and that I no longer hurt in the way that I used to – but given this part alone is 2000 words I’ll break this post into two…and believe me, the next part is far more uplifting!…there’s even a picnic to tell you about!!

The BIG Rupture: What Happened Next…

rubberbandsandchewinggum7 Comments

I realised something this week – and that is, because I blog way less frequently than I used to (although my summer resolution to myself is to make time to write again), that often I post about HUGE OUCH things that happen in therapy and then don’t come back here and talk about the ‘what happened next’ for ages, if at all. For example, a couple of my more recent posts have been about ruptures in my relationship with Elle (remember the slogan t-shirt debacle and then finding myself on a therapist forum? – groan) and this is the first time I have returned to discuss the repairs Elle and I have made, and so these ruptures are sort of left hanging on the blog.

I imagine it’s starting to look like Elle and I are lurching from one terrible mishap to another without any sense of there being a resolution in between. That would be fucking terrifying, wouldn’t it?!…and it simply isn’t how it is. Thank goodness! Let’s be clear – I am not the same client I was back in the day with Em where she would say or do something to upset me, we’d be in massive rupture territory, and I’d just tough it out on my own because I was so frightened of her reaction to what I might say and the potential for abandonment and rejection that it felt safer to keep it inside (or here on the blog with you guys!) than talk to her. I didn’t dare raise my head above the parapet for years – turns out that wasn’t completely stupid given what happened when I did! #likeatick

It’s so funny – not funny haha, just funny TRAGIC looking back on that total mess (shitshow) with Em. In therapy, so much of the work is about building trust and working through/round your defences and so the main advice we generally see online for people when they are struggling about something in the therapeutic relationship is, “Take this to your therapist and try and have the difficult conversations because THEY WILL BE ABLE TO HANDLE IT. They are trained professionals, have done their own work, and see this stuff ALL THE TIME.” Only it’s not always the case, is it? How many of us have had therapists who have shit the bed the moment you challenge them, or tell them you’ve been hurt by them, or tell them you love them? How many of us know what it is to feel the walls go up, the air in the room drop to below freezing, to get the ‘boundary talk’, or worse – terminated?

So, the advice to bring the tough stuff to the therapist ‘should’ absolutely be correct – but I think really it also needs a caveat: if you think your therapist is safe enough to hear it.

The thing is how do we know if a therapist is safe?

Blimey, isn’t that a question?!

There should be that ‘felt sense’ of safety with your therapist (eventually), but sometimes that doesn’t come…and then all we are left with is a therapist saying, “You can trust me” – #Icallbullshitonthat – and a desperate hope that it’s an ‘us problem’ rather than a ‘them problem’.

Safety never came with Em – even though the really strong attachment (disorganised of course) did. The parallels between her cold, detached personality and the almost literal begging for evidence of care mirrored my relationship with my mother so perfectly that it’s little wonder I stayed for so long. Therapy felt horrible but so fucking familiar to me. This is how relationships were, right?

I was stuck in a place of paralysis waiting for my protectors to stand down, wanting to trust her, and after a few years of feeling more and more unsafe I found myself forcefully working against my protectors – hitting override again and again – making myself jump into the shark infested waters… and no doubt that might work (in a safe therapy where there are no sharks)…but it can be catastrophic in a ‘disaster therapy’. I used to laugh about getting the ‘therapy shits’ before sessions – but what a ridiculous situation to be in week in, week out – anxiety was sooooooo high that I felt physically sick before every session… and yet I wrote that off as ‘part of the process’. Fuck me. That’s never right.

I think one of the things I regret most about working with Em was that I went against my gut ALL THE TIME. I felt her frustration at how little I shared with her and how strong my protectors were (queen of dissociation!)…but I realise, now, that I must’ve had a sixth sense about how things would eventually go because when I did push myself to BRING IT ALL to her, the shit hit the fan on high speed didn’t it? My bravery and vulnerability were met with stone cold still face, topped with thinly veiled psychobabble insults “adhesive like a tick, taking whatever it wants, like you almost need a permanent breast, pushing the boundaries with no regard for what I want”  … Ouch.

So – yeah – building trust and feeling safe is so hard, especially when you’re in therapy working with core messaging from childhood about being ‘too much’ or ‘not enough’ and perhaps never having even known what safety would feel like.It’s understandable that sometimes we, as clients, are scared stiff and the idea of being vulnerable freaks the living daylights out of us. It’s hard sometimes when we hit the skids to figure out how much of what we are feeling is because, “I recognise on an emotional and somatic level that this person is not safe!!!” and how much is the wonky brain making you think past patterns are repeating when actually things are fine.

It’s all the harder when you have also experienced harm in therapy as well. My therapists ALWAYS trigger complicated mother transference in me (ugh!) – but poor Elle also bloody triggers SHITTY THERAPIST transference too!

After my recent experiences with Em and Anita, Elle is basically doomed because in so many ways she isn’t like them but SHE IS A THERAPIST and Brian (my brain) doesn’t really trust therapists anymore. Thankfully, enough of my system does trust Elle…wholeheartedly…and so this means I can bring ALL OF THE THINGS TO HER EVEN IF IT FEELS SCARY OR UNCOMFORTABLE.

It’s taken a while but we have built a strong foundation of trust that can withstand my wobbles. It feels like I can safely show up and work through the ruptures or miscommunications we have because every time I do it’s more evidence that I am safe to be me, bring my feelings, and that Elle is committed to working whatever it is through with me. As she said the other day, “I’m here for it all”.

Thankfully, I am not in that horrible place that I was with Em where I felt that there was no choice but to hide my feelings and hope that things would work out without my saying anything…and to be honest, that’s how it got with Anita towards the end. I was so conscious of her wheels falling off that I tried to be as little work as possible for her. Didn’t exactly work out, though, did it? That’s definitely a throwback to my early years – suffer alone and get over it – but it’s so sad when you think that I have been paying for therapy for so long and been in hiding for so much of it trying to make it so the other person can stay. UGH. I am still really mad with Anita…but that’s for another blog post as this is sure to be lengthy enough as it is.

It’s no secret that I absolutely am still ridiculously sensitive to perceived rejection and abandonment but the difference is I ALWAYS tell Elle when I feel there is something wrong between us – even if it’s just that she’s turned up in my dreams and hurt me – and even then, she’s kind and lovely about it and not weirded out! But it’s all these little moments of connection and understanding that ultimately build the trust so that when there is something bigger, I have the confidence to tackle it.

Bear with me, I’m circling back round to the point – of ‘WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?’ – slow burn…

So, as I said earlier, I think at the moment my writing here makes it look like my therapy is just one long protracted shit show/mess when actually it’s mostly just steady, consistent, safe work but also it’s not really all that interesting. I mean, it is interesting to me, but the safe, familiar, connected, conversations and sessions aren’t really exciting to read about. We talk, we connect, sometimes we read stories, we laugh, we cry, we cuddle, we do the work…mostly.

Week in week out I show up, she shows up, and we keep going deeper and deeper into the deep darkness of my psyche, but we’re holding hands and, generally speaking, there’s a candle to light the way and so it feels safe because I am not doing it alone anymore.

I think, therefore, that ruptures take me all the more by surprise these days because Elle and I have such a solid relationship and so it completely knocks me for six when things go wrong. When we lose connection it feels like our hands separate and the candle blows out for a minute and it’s fucking scary because I really don’t like it in the dark on my own.

But I guess there are ruptures in any therapeutic relationship – I mean there’s so much written on rupture/repair in therapy that it would be naïve to think that any therapy is perfect. The important thing, though, is that ruptures aren’t too frequent and that the repair is effective and fast. Just like parenting, therapy on balance needs to be ‘good enough’. Elle is really good like this. She doesn’t leave me hanging when I tell her I am in a pickle and to date, she has always received whatever I have to say with openness and curiosity.

Until recently there hasn’t really been anything ‘major’ happen outside the normal run of me getting angsty and upset around breaks, or feeling disconnected and so the rupture has been triggered by my attachment issues rather than something being properly amiss. I might be activated and upset but not because of anything that Elle has done ‘wrong’. This last couple of months, however, has seen us step up a gear in working through some big rupture content. Like it’s not “Like a tick” (Em) or “too dependent” (Anita) – but it’s felt like it was in that sort of sphere and that triggered the shit out of my system.

The good news is Elle has been so receptive to what I have to say when I bring it to her. She doesn’t run and hide. She knows how to apologise and take responsibility/accountability for her part in things. She never shames me (which is huge), and as much as we have had some really BIG conversations lately, it’s honestly really refreshing to be working with someone who is able to reflect and is always wanting to do the best by me and really invites me into bringing EVERYTHING to her even if I am swimming in shame and embarrassment.

This is especially helpful after Anita became so incredibly defensive and avoidant in the last year of our work together. Of course, I would rather not have had these ruptures with Elle but at the same time it feels like we a doing some serious rewiring of the system when I see that I can bring my big feelings to her and she will do her best to repair. She shows me again and again that I am important to her.

I won’t lie. The most recent rupture when I found reference to my work with Elle on a therapist forum (albeit anonymous on both sides) really floored me and it was a right fucking mess. I truly believed that the person I thought I know and loved was someone other than she had presented herself to be – and that felt so upsetting and dangerous to my system. To think that Elle was feeling like I was some kind of pathetic client who refused to see that we were in a therapeutic relationship was so painful…even though that isn’t what it was at all.

My ability to take really small snippets of info and join a handful of dots and turn them into a spectacular constellation of horror is nothing if not impressive. I wish that I could see the 99% of brilliant alongside the 1% of terror – but when I am in the scary zone I can’t remember anything good at all. My fear takes over and all my stories about being too much, and being unlovable, and that I can’t trust anyone get really loud…but mostly I feel my system collapsing internally because this is how we get left isn’t it? This is the start of the abandonment playbook.

Elle being away on holiday and it all tying in with the anniversary of the end of seeing A was just the icing on the cake really, like if I was ever going to be primed for being sensitive to perceived abandonment and rejection – this was it.

So, what happened after I posted the blog?

OMG RB are you actually going to cut to the fucking chase? – after 2000 words?!

Well, I sat on my hands for a few days, tried to keep myself busy, and basically got more and more upset at the idea that I had misread the relationship that I have with Elle. I know I am client but I had never imagined that she felt that I was a problem, or that I didn’t understand the boundaries of the relationship, or that she saw me very much in a black and white way as a ‘client’ that needs to understand I am just paying for her time.

Seeing that online post title (but not being able to see the actual post as it was deleted) and the replies from other therapists hit me so hard because…well, it sounded so much like something Em would have said…and nothing at all like how I have experienced Elle in the room. It confused me, but mainly it devastated me, because in that week I was completely unable to reference any of the last nearly two years of work with Elle where she has demonstrated care and that she is a safe person…and instead my Inner Critic went, “See, this is it, behind the mask, it’s all just a façade to get you to part with money each week and make you keep coming back. The reality is you’re a fucking loser and here’s another therapist that can’t tolerate you.”

As we all know, part of complex trauma means it takes me a very long time to trust people and yet I really and truly believed that I could trust Elle…and now here I was…once again falling face first into the reality that there’s something wrong with me. I felt like my barometer for safety had royally let me down. Like, given EVERYTHING that has happened with Em and Anita, you’d think I’d spot inauthentic communication and relationship a mile off…and yet I hadn’t. In fact, I’d completely missed it. If anything, all I have found with Elle is someone who seems to be really honest and real.

So yeah.

It stung.

Then I started down the spiral. Maybe I’d just let my guard down too much. Maybe I was hurting so badly after what happened with Anita that I would overlook anything to feel safe and held. Maybe my search for ‘mother’ meant I’d latched onto Elle’s care that simply wasn’t there and created a version of her that simply wasn’t real – it was all just wishful thinking that maybe, just maybe this time someone would see me as I am and love me for it.

But that simply isn’t the case because she is real and I feel her care. If anything, Elle has had to work three times as hard to earn my trust BECAUSE of the damage that has been done by others that have come before her. My protectors are elite level royal marine commandos at this point, not sleepy security guards.

I wrote that post about what I’d found on the Saturday and by Thursday night I was … down in the depths of the spiral. I was swimming in shame. I was so hurt. I was so badly disconnected that I had no idea how I would come back from it…and my runners were ready to run.

So, thinking Elle would be more or less back from her time away because the thing that her and my friend do together was happening that evening, I sent the blog by email because I just couldn’t wait another five days to see her or start to try and fix it.

And then I heard nothing.

Fuck.

This was not like Elle AT ALL.

(Of course, I didn’t know she was still away with patchy signal up a mountain…)

Twenty-four hours after I sent the email I got a long email in my inbox. It spooked me a bit because well, there was a lot and my scared little heart was scanning for rejection and also I know that that post was A LOT. I can see now that she was really trying to reassure me and explain as best she could what had gone on whilst also being aware we were not in the room and that this wasn’t going to be an easy fix via messages…

The end of the message said:

I feel sorry you don’t believe that I love you and that my care for you is anything other than a real human emotion grown from knowing everything about you that I do, but I think I really do understand why.

And just because you don’t believe me, and even try to find evidence that I don’t, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop, or punish you for it. I am a person who loves you and wants to support you, that’s all I’ll ever be, and every decision I’ll ever make is based on that.

And you can ask me anything you want about any of this on Tuesday, and I promise I’ll answer you carefully and honestly from that same place.

And I can see that this, and the paragraphs that came before it all come from a really caring place. But because my system and runner ducks had had almost a week’s head start on her, my protectors, my teen, all the hurt parts simply replied:

I don’t want to see you anymore.

Fuck.

And then there was more silence from Elle’s end which freaked the absolute living shit out of me because what if she took that at face value and was so hacked off with me that she would let me go.

When she finally did reply, it didn’t sound enough like the Elle that the littles needed – and it panicked me. I realise now what was going on but in the moment the fear was massive on my part. She didn’t do an Em on me, by any means, and she did tell me that she felt sad and heavy and that she understood that it felt too much for me but that she was there and would always want to see me if I wanted to and that she very much would want to see me on Tuesday if I felt able to… it didn’t land how I needed it to, but I was able to see enough that she was trying and not giving up but I could also read that she was struggling too.  

Fortunately, her message was enough of a way in for me just do the vulnerable and tell her what I needed in no uncertain terms – that I was scared, that I needed a hug, for her to hold my hand and to hear her voice – and then she replied with exactly what I needed and it sounded like her:

I’m super conscious that – halfway up a mountain with shitty reception, broken glasses, and just my phone – I’m in the worst place to be reassuring you that I’m close to you right now, but I am, and yes, very very definitely holding your hand.

I’ve had lots of feelings about this, but not one of them has been to let go of it. I also wish I could be there for an all-encompassing hour-long hug, but I absolutely promise from the side of a windswept mountain that I will be again very very soon. xxx

It wasn’t until this point that I realised that she wasn’t actually home yet and had been communicating with me as best she could from a tricky location. I felt bad because the one thing I had wanted to avoid was encroaching into her holiday time with this mess…and it turns out I had.

On the Monday morning, I got my personalised session reminder telling me that she was just home and looking forward to seeing me the next day. I felt way more settled even though we were still going to have to talk it all through…and repair…and it wasn’t going to be an easy session by any means.

As I said earlier, this whole thing was made so much worse because we were on a break and the break also coincided with the anniversary of Anita telling me she had to end therapy…I was looking for danger and seeing it EVERYWHERE. If we could have sorted it out immediately when it was happening it would have been so much better, but that’s the sod’s law of therapy (and my world) the shit rarely hits the fan at a point where it can be contained and not cause much damage! It ALWAYS comes about when I am a million miles away from a shower.

I braved up when I had seen Elle’s morning text and sent her a message which alluded to something she wrote in her original email response to me where she has said something about how it was her job to always think carefully about what she shares of her process and only telling me what she thinks is beneficial for me to hear:

Glad you’re back safe. I feel really anxious and like I have inadvertently thrown a grenade in between us that’s just about to explode. I need you to be honest with me tomorrow. Not ‘honest but couched with a “this is beneficial for you to hear”’ like the actual truth even if I might not like what you have to say because I’d rather that and know exactly what’s going on rather than some half-truth and also it’s absolutely fine to walk away if that’s easier.

At the exact moment I sent the text I got a notification came up on my phone that Elle had sent me an email.

And talk about synchronicity – what she sent me couldn’t have been more real and honest if it had tried. I knew from that email that we were going to be fine, and actually will continue to be fine as we bump along down this road together.

By the time it got to Tuesday I was just desperate to reconnect and sort things out.

And we did.

It was a proper digging in deep, honest, raw session that felt really connecting. We talked about such a lot of stuff. Elle apologised for the post and explained where she had been coming from. And of course, her intentions and my version of her intentions couldn’t have been further away from each other.

I won’t go into lots of detail about the ins and outs of what was said but what I will say is that it is incredibly refreshing to be able to bring the biggest scariest fears and hurt to someone and for them to own their part in it, and be completely present and willing to talk about ALL of what has happened. No blaming, no shaming, no putting it squarely back on me, no clipboards, no withdrawal or freezing me out – just getting in the tough stuff together and forging a deeper understanding of how we impact one another and what that means for us going forward – and how to manage things in the future.

I don’t like ruptures… but I am confident in Elle’s ability to make repairs. And this is a lot of my work having grown up in an environment where I could never speak up about how hurt I was, or if I did so much as show hurt or dissatisfaction it would bring on another barrage of abuse.

One of the things that Elle and I have committed to is trying to bring stuff up in closer connection to each other. I write a lot, and it is helpful, but I think we both find it hard reading about ourselves in the third person… I mean, she’ll never write about me again and has shut down that social media account altogether now, but I know she doesn’t find it especially easy reading what I have to say without my being there either… because just like I focus in on the scary 1% rather than being able to hold in mind the 99% she’s human and does the same sometimes especially if it looks like she’s really hurt me and HASN’T MEANT TO.

She’s really good at doing her own internal work but we’ve figured out that we have similar stories around being too much/not enough. So, my ‘too much’ can often trigger her own countertransference about being ‘not enough’ or being ‘misunderstood’. And so sometimes sending things in written format can make it so we don’t see the entirety of what’s really happening. The good thing is we are now both really conscious of this and so can work with that explicitly.

And this week, yet again, this stuff was tapped into.

It’s been a month since we repaired the rupture, but we haven’t returned to it explicitly and I think sometimes I need to keep doubling back and checking in on this kind of thing. So, after my session last Tuesday (which was lovely and holding and connecting) part of my system piped up and started wondering where we were at now. Was everything really ok, or was anything festering on Elle’s side. So, I decided to ask Elle where we were at and what would happen if we found ourselves in that place again in an email.

I’ll write about that next post because this is insanely long already. But one good thing to come out of the haze was that rather than continuing down a road of trying to find her in the fog, I just asked for a phone call to check in…and that was gold. So, that’s my next plan – try and build in a regular check in at the end of the week regardless of where we are at.

I’m sure this post is vague…and frustratingly lacking in detail about the rupture… but mainly I wanted to come back and say that it’s all ok. I wanted to write this sooner, but I have been really struggling with going anywhere near the laptop to write about it even though it’s fine. It’s weird. Sometimes I can just write and it comes freely and other times my brain just won’t allow it.

Anyway, if you got through this, well done!

Some Real (Unfiltered!) Therapist Testimonials

rubberbandsandchewinggum23 Comments

Have you ever wished there was a space where you could see the real experiences that other clients have had with your next/potential therapist rather than relying solely on unverified ‘glowing’ testimonials that therapists place on their own websites to help you decide whether they’re the ‘one’?

Shopping for a new therapist isn’t easy. You can do all the due diligence in the world: research, ask questions about their practice, their modality, how they view the therapeutic relationship etc… but you’re rarely going to get a therapist admit to their previous mistakes, difficulties, or lack of competence in the early days (although it would be really great if they did!!).

Not very many therapists open themselves to Google reviews (unsurprisingly!) as they have no control over what’s posted and it’s almost impossible to get a Google review removed. The thing is, you’d think on balance if these ‘professionals’ are even half of what they promote themselves to be online then their ratings would even out over time. The odd unfavourable review pitted against a stream (tsunami) of gushing five star ones wouldn’t be enough to paint a wholly negative picture would it?

There surely can’t be all that many of us out there that have been so harmed in therapy that we want to give our honest zero star reviews and warn other clients off can there?

I think we know the answer to this question 😆.

So, given that ‘Trust Pilot For Therapists’ doesn’t actually exist, we’re left with no option but to try and trust and put faith in what we see online. Most unwitting clients take therapists at face value from the glossy bios on the BACP website, or other therapy advertising page, or a therapist’s own personal website (cue soft lighting, benevolent smile, a nice cardigan, or some outdoor woodland scene) and the likelihood of us ever finding out what might have happened in the past that might be – how shall I put it? – less than optimal remains concealed in the shadows.

I think it’s tricky, too, when we do take steps to book a session and go and meet someone new because although we might get a ‘gut feeling’ about someone from the off it can take a while to get a sense of whether someone might be a good fit or not. This is especially the case if we’ve been hurt in therapy before. Our antennas are looking for it feeling ‘wrong’ but there’s also a part where we think we should override doubts because it’s probably our defences.

Meeting with Elle for first time was hard. I’d just come out the long-term therapeutic relationship with Anita and then done eight sessions with Hannah that crashed and burned. Therapy wasn’t ever going to feel safe and part of me hated Elle because she wasn’t Anita and she didn’t know me.

Still. We made it through to where we are now- almost two years in.

Last night I decided I’d write my own therapist reviews for some of the ex-therapists I’ve had and let my claws out – it was more Wolverine than cute kitty. Can’t see these ever making it onto their testimonial pages, can you?!!

Enjoy. 😉

P.S – If anyone feels like they’d like to write their own (positive or negative) and ping them into the comments, I’d love to see them! You’ve got to laugh otherwise you’d cry…and man, I’m all too familiar with the crying.

*

EM:

As a highly trained and experienced clinical psychologist, I had high hopes for my therapy with Em. She said she specialised in trauma as well as many other of my presenting issues. It turned out that Em is frightened of entering into relationship with her clients and thinks that any move on the client’s part to try and discuss the therapeutic relationship or feelings that arise in the relationship is getting away from the therapy and is in fact ‘pushing the boundaries’. Em is unwilling to meet the client where they are at and operates from a one size fits all model (although she would call herself ‘integrative’). As a therapist, Em says that she is able to handle all the feelings a client might feel and welcomes them – only I wouldn’t recommend expressions of love or anger should you enter into therapy with her as these may trigger her into calling you an adhesive parasite as well as suggesting that you may secretly want to fuck her. If you have any feelings of compassion for those with mental health issues – she is not the therapist for you, as she believes that the majority of her NHS clients are ‘playing the system to get their PIP’ and if this isn’t enough to put you off- I found out much too late that she is a tory (as well as a class A cunt). 0/10

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ANITA:

Anita presents herself as an ‘ethical’ therapist who takes great care and pride in her work. This could not be further from the truth. She is, in fact, more damaged than the clients she professes to help. Indeed, she is the equivalent of an emotional wrecking ball. Her avoidant personality means she is unable to take accountability for her actions and behaves very much like an ostrich. Anita is neither emotionally intelligent or competent enough to be working as a therapist and it is laughable that she believes her services are worth £60 an hour. My advice would be take your money and set fire to it. It’ll do less damage to you in the long run. Don’t be fooled by her website and the extensive list of glowing testimonials. The truth of the matter is that Anita has left a trail of devastation in her wake and justifies her serious failings by repeatedly citing her ill health and ‘situation’. Her situation is of her own making, and her health has been steady enough to get married as well as sustain her counselling business. If you are seeking a therapist with integrity and honesty – Anita is not the therapist for you. Steer well clear. 0/10

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HANNAH:


Hannah is an inexperienced therapist who really should only focus on light work – she is certainly not equipped to deal with trauma. As with many therapists, her ego is far larger than her capability and she is prone to bite off more than she can chew. As much as suggestions of practising ‘yoga’ and going on a ‘retreat’ would maybe be welcome from a friend when sharing your struggles, it is hardly helpful advice from a therapist talking with a client who has been in therapy for many years who has a complex trauma history and recent trauma from therapy harm. This is straight out the playbook of CMHT suggesting a warm bath and cup of tea to people suffering suicidal ideation and self-harm. Chat GPT would dish out more helpful strategies than this at no cost and from the comfort of your own home and phone. Hannah does, however, have a nice set of colouring books and pens. 2/10 Give her five years and she might be worth a visit.

If (When) I Run Away – Please Come And Find Me.

rubberbandsandchewinggum4 Comments

Last year Elle and I were talking about when things have gone wrong in my therapies (there’s plenty of content there and we visit it regularly!) and situations where a client might choose to ‘end’ and not come back to therapy but it feels somehow unexpected or not the ‘natural end’. I was in one of those sensible adult places, not activated (!), and so able to express some of what goes on for me when the wheels feel like they are falling off in the therapeutic relationship and how panicked I get. I recognise that sometimes the reasons I bolt for the door (sometimes literally) are often not what appears to be happening on the surface in the moment.

What can seem like a very small trigger can send me totally spiralling…but then that’s hardly surprising when we look at this through a Complex Trauma lens, or the fact that I have tonne of parts who are all processing stuff in their own ways – many of which are not particularly sophisticated! Of course, my four-year-old self and teen parts don’t see things the same way my adult self does, nor have they the skills to manage things in the way that my adult does. You’d think I’d be ok, though, seeing as I have a really fucking competent adult self. The problem is, my system is complicated, has the capacity to hijack me, and I am really really good at dissociating. Adult self is rarely there when I need her when I am freaking out.

Let’s face it – what scares me (all of me) more than anything is broken connection, feeling like the attachment is severed, and that I am on the verge of being abandoned. This is not at all surprising given my history because there was a time when disconnection really was a life-or-death situation. My mother’s PND did nothing for my little baby self or my developing nervous system and I have spent so much of my life in survival because my caregivers have never been reliable.

It’s hardly surprising that when I feel like the relationship with Elle (or A or Em…) is headed towards a cliff edge I am the first to run away. I am the absolute queen of ‘leave before I get left’ which is why I absolutely need my therapist to know this pattern and make sure I don’t bolt and disappear when there is a rupture (even if from their side it might seem small, repairable, or can wait). Ruptures can feel catastrophic to my system these days because … well… there have been ruptures where I have been hurt really badly and basically been abandoned and rejected because of my responses. Think of Em. My reaction to being called a tick, calling her out on it, and running scared didn’t see her try hard to meet me in it, to apologise, to understand why I was terrified, she just saw it as a perfect opportunity to let me go.  

Anita was way better at handling ruptures… until her life collapsed around her ears and she couldn’t hold herself let alone anyone else. The damage from that ending is ongoing and painful. I feel so sad that in the two years since I last saw her, she hasn’t been able to step outside of her struggles and meet to end but that’s not what I am here to talk about today… although it definitely fed into the intensity of the panic I have felt with Elle during our recent rupture. 

So, what’s this post all about?

This is a pre-curser post to help understand a bit of what happened in the most recent rupture with Elle (i.e when I brought it to her attention). Because yes. I got myself in a mess. A big one. And I ended up sending her this message:

I don’t want to see you anymore.

You can only imagine what sort of a state I had got myself into to send that. Eek. Like, I am the person will ALL THE WORDS… not none!

I’m almost done writing that post – and it’ll be up soon. But suffice to say it’s been a wild ride.

I am glad, then, that over the time I have been working with Elle, I have given her pieces of the map of me so that she has been able to understand me better and figure out what I need.

Most of the time I probably appear pretty together when I see her despite the crap that keeps hitting my day-to-day life. I probably seem a bit wounded and in need of support for my little parts but also seem generally functional. Sometimes I am a bit closed off but I am present in the room rather than off in space dissociated. The completely derailed, panicked, reactive, scared stiff self hasn’t really made it to the room (she’s done some emailing though!) – or if she has, she’s not been triggered BY ELLE. Elle has been a witness to the struggle and in support role in the room, not the trigger. It’s only this last month that Elle has had to misfortune of meeting that part of me in person.

Anyway, back to last year. I was testing the water with Elle knowing that it was only ever going to be a matter of time before something triggered my runners and protectors and I needed to know how she would respond if I unexpectedly disappeared. We all know that there are those diehard therapists who will say “I respect client autonomy, and if they choose to leave that’s their choice and I will not contact them thereafter. It’s up to them to contact me should they want to resume therapy.”

Puke.

Honestly, this kind of therapist really annoys me more than anything. If that’s your stance as a therapist then you absolutely should not be working with C-PTSD or people with multi-part systems. This ‘in the service of the client’s autonomy’ is bullshit. I’m not for one minute saying to beg and plead for a client to come back, that’s not realistic. But so often when we start running and slamming doors behind us, it’s not because we want to leave – it’s because we are scared! And we need for the adult, regulated nervous system (therapist) to remind us that we can come back, that we are wanted (even if we are having a tantrum and full of shame), and that they are committed to working through EVERYTHING with us even if it is HARD. Letting a triggered client disappear out the door is abandonment… it’s not kind.

And so, that day I asked Elle if she had ever made a mistake with a client that led to termination and what she did, or what she would do differently. Elle told me the about the biggest regret of her career was a time when she wasn’t as sensitive as she could have been with a client who kept cancelling last minute. She reached the point where she enacted her cancellation policy after several missed sessions – i.e charging for the session by sending an email, and the client left as a result – never came back in. Elle said she had failed to recognise potential wounding around money and still feels terrible to this day.

Mistakes and missteps happen, but what I wanted to know was what she did when the client said they were not coming back. Was she a ‘respect client’s autonomy and let them go’ therapist, or did she do something different?

Elle assured me that she had reached out and suggested that they meet in person but that the client didn’t want to come back, that there were some back and forth communications but that the client ended.

[For the record there was nothing identifying or specific – merely Elle’s feeling that she fucked up and had learnt a lot from that.]

I told her that I would always want her to reach out to me because it made me think about all the times I ran out of Anita’s and how when I am upset I can pull the plug (or parts of me can) and how it is really important to me that my therapist recognises when I am truly wanting to end and when I feel backed into a corner and feel like I need to leave because I can’t tolerate the feelings of disconnect etc.

Even though Elle was clear that she would always contact me in a rupture situation – my brain was whirring after the session and so I wrote her this letter at the time:

I was thinking about what you said yesterday, about the client that never came back – because of course that’s what my brain does at 3am when I can’t sleep and the anxiety is doing its thing. I actually had a lot of thoughts, like I can think of hundreds of reasons of why that all happened, but I am sure there’s nothing you haven’t thought about over the years so it’s not relevant.

However, what it did make me really think about was what would happen if something similar happened with us. You’ve probably figured out by now that I am not someone who cancels last minute and, generally speaking, if I did it would be because something was out of my control with the kids or something. But, actually, there are times when I get completely hijacked by my system and the “I don’t want to go” (it’s much bigger and more complicated than that) is really hard to get around.

Tbh it’s rarely an “I don’t want to go” because there is lots of me that absolutely does but it’s sometimes more of a “things feel very wrong, something is up, I’m scared that it’s all going to blow up, I don’t feel safe, I feel hurt, abandoned, rejected, maybe even angry… [on and on and on]…and so I need to protect myself from that and stay away – and she doesn’t care anyway so what’s the point?! It’s better to leave before I get left…”

I mean I totally get what happens, where it comes from, what parts of me are involved, and yet when it’s happening it is not always easy to sidestep it. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic but I guess at least there’s a really clear trajectory on how it all runs which I guess at least I am aware of now. And I see it a lot. Clients, for whatever reason, find it difficult to go to their therapy, maybe don’t show up, and might seem to be ghosting but actually it’s not because they don’t want to be there it’s because there is some kind of a rupture (that maybe the therapist has absolutely no clue about) and they, for whatever reason, can’t bring it to the room.

So many of us are conflict avoidant and even though bringing ‘big feelings’ shouldn’t be a problem, I guess most of our experiences have been that when we have, we’ve been mocked, or shamed, or abandoned, or gaslit…you know the deal… and so we’d rather not risk that repeating. I think sometimes, too, part of us knows that our reaction to whatever has been triggered is MUCH BIGGER than it ‘should’ be and so there’s shame and embarrassment there too because we feel completely derailed and it’s not even that big a deal (only it is a massive deal!).

I think it can be all the more unsettling for people that don’t really spend much time contemplating the therapeutic relationship and so when something between the therapist and client happens it’s hard to know what to do with it. Like it’s much easier to say, “I’m sorry, I’m sick” rather than, “I feel really anxious and something you said has really upset me” when they thought they were there to talk about their work stress and all of a sudden all this other shit is stirred up.

Sometimes it feels like a toddler or a teenager having a tantrum but actually I think that’s exactly what is happening – whatever is being triggered isn’t necessarily conscious and, in that moment, the adult self isn’t available enough to navigate the situation and all we know is that it just feels huge and insurmountable and overwhelming and completely in our bodies – and so the instinct is to run away and hide.

In some ways I think this can be really hard to manage because whatever is happening to stop a person turning up to therapy feels massive to them, and acting out can bring on all the massive feelings of shame and embarrassment afterwards and basically like you just want to crawl into a hole and die. It takes a lot to feel brave enough to come back and talk it through, and there has to be a strong enough sense that the person opposite you isn’t going to confirm everything that you fear is happening. It really is like with toddlers and teens. They need an adult to help them out of their meltdowns sometimes and an invitation back to work things out.

It is really complicated (but also not). I think when people don’t show up, rather than being flaky or disrespectful (I mean I guess there must be some people like that), is about testing whether the therapeutic relationship is strong or not. Like do you care enough to come find me if I disappear or will you just let me go? And I really get that this is complicated because all the training is like, ‘therapists should respect client autonomy’ and all the shit about not creating a dynamic that encourages ‘game playing’… only that is really pathologising and really makes it seem like everything that happens is down to us. It’s not game playing, it’s trying to protect ourselves.

As I said, lots of us have been hurt over the years and haven’t had the experience of managing conflict in a way that doesn’t somehow burn the house down and so rather than face a situation that potentially will hurt us more on top of whatever hurt feelings we are already feeling, we disappear. I think, for me at least, if I experience something as being abandoning or rejecting then it absolutely triggers the need to run away.

I’m not explaining this brilliantly well, and this is looooonnnggg, but I guess what I am trying to say is, if I cancelled last minute, or didn’t show up it’s not because I am rude, or don’t respect boundaries or whatever else – it’s because something is really wrong (from my side) and it feels too hard to come. If you just let me go and never contacted me to find out what was up or didn’t reach out and invite me to come and try and figure out what’s going on with you in person, actually what it confirms to me is probably everything I was running away from in the first place which is the feeling that you don’t care…

I’d like to think that a situation like this would never happen – but I also live in my head and experience often enough my runner ducks bolting. Just usually I have enough time to gather them back together before I see you.

Having a therapy go south in this way is sooooo common and causes such a lot of hurt to those involved. I have way too many stories – not just my own! – and I was wondering whether after the event a therapist reaching out would make any difference. And I think it would. An opportunity to talk through what happened when it’s not live would probably be really helpful because I think we tend to carry this shit around for a long time. 

Anyway, that’s… a lot. I’ll try not to run away, but if I do, please come and find me. X

And so… I guess it was helpful that I sent that last year, because Elle did come and find me…and the session when we did get to meet was HUGE. I’ll get the ‘what happened next’ post up asap.

Dear Therapist. Just Because We Don’t Want Reminding That We Are Therapy Clients Doesn’t Mean That We Don’t KNOW That We Are Just Your Job.

rubberbandsandchewinggum34 Comments

Today has been rotten. I’ve spent weeks trying very very hard to keep my chin up – or should I say, keep my nostrils above the shit soup that I have been neck, or even, mouth deep in for the longest time. I have painstakingly worked my way through the metaphorical ‘A-Z Book of Self Care’ – exhausting all my tools and strategies in an almost frenzied attempt to stave off sinking beneath the surface (again). I really don’t want to drown in the emotional cesspit!

My social media accounts look like I am living my absolute best life right now, but as we all know there’s often quite a distance between appearance and reality. My exterior looks one way (picture perfect), but I can tell you with complete confidence that my inner world is mired in the deepest, darkest shit right now. I have always been good at masking, though.

Knowing that Elle would be on a break right at the same time that all the anniversaries of Anita pulling the plug on my therapy two years ago has meant that May has been one hell of a messy month inside of me – my minibus has been renamed ‘The Struggle Bus’ and has some wicked looking decals on the side – not that anyone would know. I haven’t just wallowed in the ache and panic of it, though. I’m not lying when I say that I have been making herculean efforts to keep afloat. I have been trying to keep my life vest inflated by blowing into the little tube meanwhile pretending that I am not actually drowning…in shit. My friend said that perhaps I should start flashing the little light and blowing on the whistle…but I don’t want to disturb anyone. And who is going to want to rescue me from a huge vat of shit anyway?!

I took myself away this week, on my own and have been immersing myself in nature, living on my own timetable largely off the clock. I have tried to take out any of the stresses and strains that can leave me feeling overstimulated and overtired – and snappy, and on the verge of meltdown (!)… and it has been great, and I genuinely thought I had warded off the emotional disaster that felt inevitable with the break looming… but today I woke up and felt off. That familiar sense of painful ache and emptiness had rooted and the emotional dark cloud had firmly placed itself above my head.

Despite all the effort to avert the emotional crash it’s happened anyway. Of course it would. I walked 26km of coast path yesterday in an attempt to not end up where I am now (in my bed all day, in a freeze with the curtains closed feeling hopeless and sad). I thought that if I just kept moving, I would be ok. I kept finding a point on the path in the distance and walking to it, then finding another, and another, and before I knew if I was miles and miles from home.

I should know better by now than to try and outrun (walk) something that lives inside me. I can’t run away from my parts and my pain. Sometimes it feels like I live with pieces of shrapnel inside and have learnt to move and bend in particular ways in order to try and avoid the worst of the hurt. Most of the time I am successful. Unless of course I trip and jerk in an unexpected movement and then … OUCH!

And that’s what’s happened today.

Again.

I probably should have made more of an effort to let Elle know what was going on inside me in the two sessions before she left. I have a children’s book called ‘A Shelter For Sadness’ that I read once with Anita. When I got ‘the box’ back from her in December it was the one I picked to show Elle. It’s lovely and talks about making different spaces to house Sadness (or I guess, this expands to whatever other feelings you need to hold). To be honest, I think the sessions before a break need to be all about creating not only a shelter for sadness but for all the little parts that struggle so much. I need a youth hostel!

Sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it?  

It would be if ‘False Adult’ hadn’t been fronting quite a bit. There’s also been another active protector part – probably a slightly ‘low volume’ version of the ‘Inner Critic’ piping up here and there warning me not to be “too needy” or “too honest” about how things feel for fear of being “too much”. The very last thing I want to happen is have another therapist go off on their holiday and then decide that I am too much like hard work and terminate when they come back.

The thing is I don’t help myself at all by avoiding saying, “The idea of you being gone is really unsettling me” or “I really need for us to do some focussed work before your break with the little parts” or “I might turn up and be adult but the reality is the young parts need stories and cuddles before you go” or “I hate to be like this but can you give me some kind of tangible reassurance that we are ok because my system is in freefall” or “Can we maybe organise a check in later in the week so that it cuts down the break a bit?” or “I am swimming in shame right now and feel so untethered. Can you tell me how you are feeling right now about me so I don’t create stories in my head when you are gone?” or “Can you remind me that just because Anita left at this time of year that you aren’t going to, too?” or “Can you write me a note for when you are away that I can open in our usual session time to keep connected?”…. You know… any of the things…but I know why I do.

I don’t want to be ‘that client’ even if I am so totally ‘THAT CLIENT’. So instead, I spent the last couple of sessions before the break wittering on about my day-to-day (which to be fair is full of serious shit as well). I felt like I wasn’t even in the room for the very last session before Elle left and I went away feeling really sad and disconnected which is never the ideal situation to be in when there’s two weeks between sessions.

I know it is a tendency of mine to emotionally check out as a kind of protective measure before a break. You know, leave before you get left. It wouldn’t have been obvious to Elle. I looked ‘there’ enough. But I think actually I was dissociated – or parts of me certainly were.

So yeah, May has been tough for the most part.

But it’s especially tough today.

I started to feel myself edging towards the shame slide on Thursday night thinking about how hard I struggle with separation and how it ALWAYS feels like a rejection or abandonment. I feel embarrassed about having given something to Elle before she’s gone away that on one level, I think is really thoughtful and shows exactly how important she is to me…but then as time has gone on I wonder if it’s too much? Like, get in your lane RB and remember that you are just a therapy client. And with that has come that painful reminder of the time I gave Em a copy of ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’ and a glass snowflake for Christmas and she basically rejected them telling me that I paid her for her time and that’s enough.

I sent Elle a short message about feeling ashamed but not why I was feeling that way or any detail at all and she reminded me to stay off that “slippery slip”. But it’s not that easy, is it?

You may be wondering how any of what I am saying has any bearing on the title of this blog post?

I don’t know how to get this out to be honest because it’s swirling in my mind and nothing has landed yet.

But I suppose the thing about breaks is it’s another reality check that therapy is just therapy and we are our therapist’s work. Nothing more than that.

One of the things I struggle such a lot with is the authenticity of the therapeutic relationship. Like it’s so hard to settle in the space that is, “my therapist genuinely cares…but it is a paid-for relationship”. I think that is especially the case for those of us with early trauma and attachment issues…and *all the things*!

I would hazard to say that most of us would rather not be perpetually reminded of the fact that the relationship we have with our therapist only exists if we can pay for it, and the moment that we can’t we’re out the door (this has been very present in my mind since my wife is out of work and finances are an absolute disaster). Or that in reality the relationship as we know it only really exists for that hour or two each week. Outside that, you’re on your own – and we need to be soooo careful about hitting the concrete walls of boundaries we don’t know about outside that time don’t we?

Like who doesn’t love, “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be working with you…but I will not respond to or even read your emails and should you choose to contact me in that way you are deliberately walking yourself into rejection and pushing boundaries…” Cheers Em. It was very hard to believe that she saw me as anything other than someone who reliably showed up every week and handed over money. She never wanted to enter into the ‘us’ of the therapeutic relationship and I felt horrible all the time.

I guess some people find the transactional nature of therapy easier than others. I mean, sure, if you are going to talk through work stress, or getting divorced or whatever – I am sure it’s no problem at all to have the ongoing reminders that your weekly session is an ‘appointment’ because perhaps the sessions are less about the relationship with the therapist and more about what needs immediately fixing in the world outside the room. I know people who think of their therapy sessions in the same way that they think about going to the GP or the dentist… but Elle doesn’t occupy that zone in my head at all…and I know a lot of the people that read this blog don’t think of their therapists like this either.

Get to the fucking point RB!

So… I guess what I am trying to say, and have said it in so many different ways over the years, is that I am not stupid: I know my therapist is my therapist. I know my relationship with Elle is a paid-for relationship. I know she is not my friend. I know that there are clear boundaries around our relationship. I know that although she’s supportive, she’s not there at 3am to call when I wake from yet another nightmare feeling panicked and like I want to give up on life altogether. I know that she sees other clients. I know that as much as I would like to be ‘special’ to her, that I am just one of many people she sees, and in fact – my experience would tell me that when it comes down to it, I am not one of those clients that therapists want to hang onto. I am one of the first to be chopped when things are hard.

But you know what?

I know it, but I don’t need reminding of it.

It’s there all the time.

That doesn’t mean I am in denial. That doesn’t mean I hope that one day our relationship will be something different than it is now. It doesn’t mean that I am living in some kind of fantasy about the therapy being anything other than therapy. I am not hiding from reality.

The parts of me that want to feel safe, and loved, and like I matter are constantly aware of exactly what therapy is and what it is not. I know I am a client. But forgive me if I don’t want it ramming down my throat.

And yes, I’ll be the first to put my hands up and say that I find it hard navigating the therapeutic relationship… I mean, this blog shows that doesn’t it?! And I absolutely do get triggered by things that maybe I shouldn’t. Well, ‘shouldn’t’ is bollocks anyway…because my experience is my experience. But I can’t believe that I am in unusual in feeling how I do, in reacting how I do to certain kinds of communication. I bet, actually a lot of people have a response but feel too embarrassed or ashamed to even bring it up. Sometimes it feels easier to keep quiet and move on through triggers alone than let our therapist see how ‘small things’ can really ‘hurt a lot’.

I did absolutely find the weekly automated texts from Elle reminding me of my session time painful – for lots of reasons. I don’t think that impersonal communications are easy to metabolise for the parts of us that aren’t ‘adult’. I have C-PTSD – and structural dissociation with a system of at least nine parts so is it really surprising that my four-year-old self feels upset when ‘the Elle that she knows’ sends group emails ‘to all clients’ when she has no idea what ‘a client’ even is when she is used to being referred to with more affectionate terms. It’s jarring.  

The other thing is: I DO NOT NEED REMINDING OF MY SESSION TIME … because I am pathetic counting down to 12 o’ clock on a Tuesday from the moment I leave the room and by Friday I am really struggling. Having what felt like a sterile and cold message on a Monday morning when I was so far away from a state of connectedness was just endlessly triggering. That doesn’t mean I don’t know that I am a client. It just means that my system needs something different. And you know what? That brings up so much shame and embarrassment for me.

I spend so much of my time second-guessing what is ‘real’ and what isn’t in the therapeutic relationship. I want to feel like the relationship I have with Elle means something to her too when it means such a lot to me. I don’t want to feel like I am on her conveyor belt of people to see. I don’t want to be reminded that I am on a conveyor belt at all – even though I know it completely and feel it all the time.

That doesn’t mean I have a sense of grandiosity or that I feel like I am more important than other clients, or that I am not ‘a client’. In fact, it is the very opposite. I hate group emails and impersonal communication because my self-esteem is so low that being reminded that I am just ‘one of many clients’ directly taps into the recent trauma with Anita ending our long-term work. I couldn’t even pay her to stay. She chose to keep other people on and not me. I don’t think Elle understands what that rejection has done to me and how hard it is to trust in her and how much of myself I hold back or keep out the room because of what happened with A.

I feel like I have never been enough for people to stay. Or to care.

The person that should have loved me no matter what (my mother) has happily disappeared from my life again, too. Although the abandonment started young of course…

So with all this in mind, knowing why I am in therapy at all, is it any wonder then that I don’t want to be reminded that I am just a client? Is it so very wrong of me to want a place and a person that feels safe and where I feel like I matter? Is it wrong to want to believe that someone might actually care just because I am enough as I am? Is it wrong to want to feel like the person sitting with me might just love me not just despite my flaws but because of them? It’s scary being seen but therapy is sometimes the only place where that truly happens.

I thought Elle of all people would understand this.

Although, I’m not sure now.

I always imagined that if she was struggling with something between us, she would tell me first…or you know, take it to supervision and then come to me. But imagine my horror to discover a post in an online therapist forum by her (albeit under a pseudonym – but it is most definitely her from other comments and posts) that talks about a client that has issues being reminded they’re a client and asking advice.

The original post has been deleted – but the comments from other therapists and her replies that are attached to it are still there – and you can imagine how reading a string of thirty comments about yourself and what might be ‘wrong’ with you feels. And I can infer enough from those that she doesn’t know what to do to handle it delicately because I have a total emotional shutdown in our next session any time she sends something formal or automated or a change in office hours (that last one really upset me because the reason I got upset at Christmas when we couldn’t see each other on Christmas Eve wasn’t just a change in office hours – it was so much more than that). And there’s a reference to something that she can only have read in a blog post of mine because I never shared it with her directly but actually – she’s misread that too – she said I was angry about something A did in communication – it wasn’t that AT ALL. What I was feeling was scared.

One of the horrible side effects of developmental and relational trauma is hypervigilance. I have always had to carefully watch for change in people because so often there was a form of abuse coming with change. One minute things would be fine enough and then all of a sudden the wind would change and it was fucking terrifying. You get really good at ‘noticing’ when you are scared all the time. A simple shift in tone of voice, body language or whatever could often be the signal to get out of the way in order to not be hurt. But then there was also the stuff around silent treatment as punishment and I think sometimes more formal/sterile communications can feel like a withdrawing of warmth (and therefore care). It’s complex. But has absolutely fuck all to do with my not wanting to be reminded that I am in therapy and a client.

I am so hypervigilant, though. I notice everything. So of course if I get some kind of written communication that feels very different to what I am used to experiencing with someone my brain is scanning for meaning in that. I would love for my brain to be able to switch into, “this is just admin, everything is fine” but that’s not how it works. It starts with stories about how “something must have changed” or “watch out because something bad is going to happen”. And it’s not as though there isn’t evidence for this bad stuff happening. I’m not stuck in old patterns and unable to make a leap into the here and now, because the reality is, not all that long ago my sense of things being off wasn’t wrong…despite Anita’s protesting otherwise…and the next thing I knew I was dumped. So yeah. I do worry when there is inconsistency and that isn’t because I don’t want to be reminded that I am client, it’s because I am terrified that change means abandonment or rejection.

I just don’t understand how someone who is so big on authenticity and honest communication and you know all the Brene Brown stuff about being vulnerable and open has chosen to go online to figure this stuff out rather than come to me directly because I thought by now we had a strong enough relationship to have those conversations.

The irony is not lost on me that this is exactly what I am doing now! Running into the safety of the online world rather than reaching out. But I am the client… or capitalise that… CLIENT… you know, the thing I don’t want to be reminded about – and she is the therapist – the therapist who is currently away on a break. I am just a client who will not bring this up in an email right now (even though it’s really knocked me for six) and will hold onto it for as long as I can because I respect the fact that she is on holiday from her job – which is me – and therefore this ‘work’ can wait. But hey, I have problems with being reminded I am a client. Like, seriously, please do fuck off.

So, I have felt hurt today…and also maybe a bit angry it seems based on that last line.

This probably sounds so much worse than it is. There is nothing ‘identifying’ about me (in the real world) in that post or in some of the other comments elsewhere that reference how we work. But I can identify myself clearly from them and so, it seems, could someone else who has been following my blog in the background for years and thought that they recognised me through one of Elle’s descriptions of how she works with a particular client on another post – such a small world – ugh. That person clicked through Elle’s posts and was able to join enough dots from stuff I have said about me that they thought they should reach out to me and let me know that they thought they could identify me via what my therapist had posted – albeit still in an anonymous way. Ugh.

So of course I checked this out. And this is when I came across the stuff about not wanting to be reminded of being a client. Elle would never for one minute think that I would have found this stuff but I think she underestimates my ability to take very small snippets of information and make links – or it seems, for readers of mine to… she ought to , though, because I know she is the same with this kind of thing. Neither one of us is not very familiar with the online world. This is why I stay away from forums generally, there’s so much crossover and I don’t want chance encounters (well not like this)! I do also get that the reason I was identifiable is because of what I’ve written on the blog…so it’s not straightforward.

So, yeah, this is utterly fucking rubbish isn’t it?! I so wish that when this happened a couple of months ago, she’d have said to me, “RB, last session you were really shutdown but you didn’t tell me why and hardly talked – you just snuggled into me and cried. I sometimes read your blog when you seem far away and shutdown to give a me a clue of what’s going on for you because you said from the start that I could have access to your blog before we even started working together and often you send posts to me. I know that you found the automated texts hard a while back and we’ve changed that, but then I see from your post that the email I sent about fee increase has been triggering too but not because of the money – which is often what people feel upset by. Do you think we might be able to talk about this together?”

Like, please please Elle – come to me before you head out online for advice…because although I can’t read exactly what you posted originally, surely – surely by now you know me enough to know that I am not some delusional fucking freak who has no grip on reality. The thing is, because I only have what I can see to go on, the story I am telling myself is exactly that – and not only that, but that you find me hard work, that I am in some way problematic, that how I react sometimes is too much and that I am making you feel uncomfortable and that there is a big problem you don’t know how to solve, and probably too that you don’t really even like me very much. It’s basically activated my Inner Critic and given it a megaphone.

As a result I am completely triggered and stressed and worried that history is going to repeat itself and you’ll decide that I am a pain in the arse and get rid of me because I can already see how this could land. And that hurts such a lot because I trusted you with me and this just feels like a massive betrayal of that trust. But not only that, there’s a part of me that now feels like I need to go into hiding – because obviously my reactions to some things are extreme and that is a horrible place to inhabit…albeit really familiar.

I just want my 90 minutes a week to feel important, and protected, and safe, and like I actually have some sort of value even if I have to pay for that and that I don’t have to think about anyone else and can be in the moment just with you. And I am sorry that I struggle when faced with the stark difference between the warm person I see each week who sends me really lovely emails and holds me so carefully and the one who is running a ‘business’. But sure. It’s me, hi, I’m the problem it’s me... because it always is a me problem.

It seems kind of cruel that this had to all happen today on the anniversary of the day that Anita dropped the bombshell that she needed to end with me – and when it’s fucking ages until the break is over…but it’s my own fault. I should never have gone down the rabbit hole in the first place. But it was that thing, feeling far away, disconnected, sad, lost, and looking for a sense of the person I think I know…and finding the person I think I know…but also not.

All I am hoping for now, really, is that I don’t get myself so worked up between now and the 27th that I end up backing so far away that there’s no going back. A triggered system left in freefall is never a good combination.

I think the best thing I can do is retreat into myself and try very hard not to catastrophise…

Good luck with that!

Dear A, It’s been Two Years…

rubberbandsandchewinggum15 Comments

Dear A,

It’s hard to believe that it’s two years since the Anita that I knew and loved was last properly in the room with me. It’s two years this weekend since you went off on your holiday for your birthday, full of reassurances, telling me that “nothing will change” and that you would be “coming back” and that you “love(d) me very much”. Little did I know, then, what would happen to us barely two weeks later. Little did I know you’d never properly come back to me. Had I have known you would pull the plug on us, on me, I would have made more of an effort to take in those last moments of feeling (relatively) safe and held.

I would have taken so many mental pictures of the room, and of you, and tried so much harder to commit the feelings of connection and safety to memory so that I could refer back to them and use them to soothe all the hurting parts of me later down the line. I would have breathed your familiar smell in, carefully listened for your slow, steady heartbeat all the while soaking up every last second of feeling safe in the moment because I can count on one hand the times that I have managed to settle my nervous system since we ended.

Having said that, I think it’s actually all the memories of the connected moments that now hurt me the most. I find it so difficult to sit in this place where I know what we had, how it felt, how you made me feel…and to now be here – it’s all gone… Of course, I have so much of ‘us’ evidenced in my writing and in voice recordings as ‘proof’ but I can’t bear to read back over my blogs or listen to our sessions anymore.

It hurts, too, that the tangible items that you gave me, gifts and transitional objects, now only bring me pain. On the one hand they serve as evidence that we really did exist for a moment in time, well three-and-a half years, but on the other hand that no matter how much “love and care” there was, it wasn’t enough to make you stay. We don’t exist in the here and now and it breaks my heart.

Sometimes I wonder if there was anything I could have said or done differently in those last sessions before your holiday? Could I have said something to pull at your heart enough so that you wouldn’t have ever considered leaving me in the first place? It’s hard to know. I spent months saying ‘less’ and hiding myself away, trying to give you space for fear of being too much because I knew that you weren’t well and things were hard in your personal life…as it was I ended up being “too much” and “not enough” all at the same time regardless of my best efforts to behave in the right way.

When you came back from your trip you were not the same Anita. From the moment I walked in the door I knew something was wrong and it took less than five minutes for you to say, “I’m going to have to bring the counselling with you to an end” and that you were ending with all your “long-term clients”. It’s funny. It’s so much easier to say “counselling” rather than “relationship” and for you to refer to me now as a “client” rather than “RB”. It’s easier to say “I need to cut the stress out of my life” rather than “I am cutting you from my life.”

For someone with the kind of wounding I have, and the issues around rejection and abandonment I struggle with, the way you handled our ending…or should I say ‘not ending’ (?!) couldn’t have been worse.

The day you told me we needed to end, you broke down, there was a complete role reversal, and you even said, “This is meant to be your session not mine.” And yet, I still paid you for it – and for all of those ridiculous sessions where my heart was basically being emotionally stomped all over in hobnail boots.

I focused on trying to save you (not for the first time), because if I could rescue you then it would mean I would be saved too. At the end of that first bomb-drop session, you shifted and said that we would, “find a way to connect” and that we would “figure something out.” I left devastated but somewhat hopeful because this back and forth with you wasn’t completely new territory for me.

Looking back over the last eight or so months of our time together, there was such a lot of push/pull and it wasn’t coming only from my end. I absolutely have a wonky brain, and things get messy, but there is generally a trigger. One minute I was “too dependent” and the next you’d tell me that you “love” me “such a lot.” It’s weird being someone’s “stress” but also being “so important” to them. It’s no wonder I got more and more panicked, and more and more clingy because things weren’t really safe, were they? – I wasn’t imagining it, even though you tried to tell me it was all in my head and that you “hadn’t changed”.

You said so many times in those weeks, “This isn’t what I want” but it was you who made this happen. You chose to cast me adrift and yet keep working with your other clients even if it was because you couldn’t “afford not to work”. I will never ever be ok with that. No matter how many angles I come at this from, and no matter how much benefit of the doubt I want to give you, I can’t let that go. You chose to sever our connection and chose to maintain others. It doesn’t make sense to me. I get that different clients demand different things from you but I just don’t understand how if anything you ever said to me was true that you would do this to me…and to others like me.

You wax lyrical about the importance of ethical practice but I am struggling hard to find anything ethical in how this all went down. At the very least, surely you would ensure that the clients that you were letting go were safe, and had someone else to go to. Like what on earth were you and your supervisor doing when all this was happening? You must have been speaking with her throughout this car crash time. Surely, there’s a fundamental understanding that you, as a therapist, safeguard your vulnerable clients – I mean you do understand complex trauma, don’t you?

And on a human level…well, on a human level you just do better.

Perhaps I am just too sensitive. Maybe I care too much. I have always worn my heart on my sleeve and this has proven to be both a blessing and a curse. But I sure as hell know that if I had hurt someone in the way that you have hurt me that I couldn’t just let it go. I couldn’t just bury my avoidant head in the sand and pray that when I came up for air that everything had gone away. I would have to try and make amends even if the other party didn’t want to hear it. Like how can you sit in your therapy room week in, week out and not be perpetually reminded of what you have done? Are you really able to just blank it all from your mind? – I just don’t know how you possibly could.

I think this is partly why, now, even two years later I am struggling to let the last bit of hope of you go. There’s a little bit of me that wonders if one day you’d try and repair because this isn’t how we treat people we love is it? Surely, somewhere in you there is a part that wants a proper resolution, a proper goodbye, to know that you have repaired some of the harm you’ve done…because that’s what I would want if it were me.

I know that is really only the hope of a little part that thinks you might come back, the one that trusts and always wants to see the best in people…and ultimately the one that always gets so very badly hurt. It’s certainly not my adult self, because there is no way on earth I’d let you near my poor vulnerable heart ever again. Even if you did muster up an apology that acknowledged and reflected the magnitude of the damage that you did to me, I could never trust you again and I think I would even struggle to accept an apology now. I no longer respect you. In fact, I think you are pretty dangerous.

I know too, that I cannot continue to judge your actions and behaviour by my standards. You are not me. And whilst I couldn’t do what you’ve done to me and your other poor clients…you clearly aren’t bothered by your conduct. You probably now just notch it up to having burnt out and “stress” so of course you weren’t at your best…but that doesn’t mean you aren’t responsible for what you did and the harm you caused…it just gives you a sense of justification for it.

I have spent years and years waiting for people to change and do better – but the thing is, people rarely change. It’s a good thing then, that the majority of my system has, not exactly let you go, or moved on, but there’s some thick scar tissue forming where that open wound was. I’ve protected myself from what’s happened – to an extent. I don’t long for you anymore. I don’t look for you out in the world. In fact, if I were to come across you now, I imagine I would walk the other way and avoid meeting you because really, what is there to say?

It’s done now. You’ve moved so far past it and our relationship. You’re still working. You’re still advertising that you work with trauma and on a long-term basis. None of the things you said about moving to “couples work” or “online work only” and “no more trauma clients” are remotely true. And I think maybe that’s one of the hardest parts. The lies. Like why bother? It hasn’t protected me any. It hasn’t made it easier. All it’s done is make me question everything about what I thought to be true between you and me.

And where am I left in all this? Well, it’s two years on and I am still hurting – although not like I was. Anniversaries – or should I say ‘traumaversaries’ are rough. I hate the fact that once again I am super aware of dates and how they correspond to our relationship disintegrating.

I hate the fact that I have been a depressed, frozen, dissociative wreck all week.

I hate that once again I am left trying to process all this by writing you a letter that you will never see.

I hate that I will spend the next month struggling hard to keep my head above water as the various anniversaries of aspects of our final month together unfold.

I especially hate that the emotional upset is already making its way into my relationship with my therapist Elle. I am scared stiff that something bad is going to happen between us because I am hard-wired to look for problems and the slightest sense of something being ‘off’ feels completely catastrophic – and it’s not fair.

Elle is going to be away in May right at the time that it was all unravelling with me and you… it couldn’t be worse timing. She did ought to be able to go away without my wheels falling off… and yet there seems to be almost an inevitability that the shit will hit the fan this month. I get that I should be able to circumnavigate that, but when all my system is activated it’s so much harder to hang onto any sense of safety.

Part of me is so angry about all this. I am mad that two years down the line I am still trying to undo the damage that you have done. And I am mad that I’ve basically spent the last five years trying to heal from failed therapeutic relationships on top of the original traumas I came into therapy for.

So, happy birthday Anita, I’m sure you will have a wonderful time… I hope you choke on your cake and the candles set fire to the table cloth! See… I don’t even mean it. I really want to but the truth is, I still wish you nothing but love and happiness because as much as I wish I didn’t, I still love you. x

An Updated Website Full Of LIES And Glowing Testimonials, Triggers RB’s Rage As Well As A Significant Wobble!

rubberbandsandchewinggum17 Comments

Can I start yet another blog post with, ‘well fuck’? Because WELL, FUCK!… FUCK ME!… You just can’t make this shit up. I’d love to say that this blog was a fictionalised version of an imagined experience of therapy with serious levels of embellishment to make it all the more appealing to the reader…but it’s not. It’s just the sodding truth of what ‘therapy’ can look like and an insight into how some therapists ‘work’ and the untold damage that they can do. *Not Elle, she’s great (thank goodness).

At this point I feel like Anita is the equivalent of a drunk driver in charge of an ambulance. She’s ‘driving’ whilst on her phone or half-asleep, not paying attention, and is veering all over the shop. The rear doors keep opening and closing at intervals and people keep tumbling out onto the road, sustaining further injuries, but she doesn’t care or even notice. Instead, she continues speeding along the road totally oblivious to the carnage she’s left in her wake, believing all the while that she’s doing a sterling job.

There’s a reason that paramedics work in teams (for the safety of the patient!), but Anita is seemingly operating as a one-man band and her co-pilot is actually a magic fairy that lives up in the Shetland Isles! I imagine her co-pilot fairy has little idea what kind of driver Anita actually is because for all intents and purposes she appears to have a clean license. “I’ve never had an accident” she’d say and I’m sure the co-pilot would take Anita at her word because why would you doubt someone that waxes lyrical about the importance of ethical behaviour and safe driving?

There are quite a few bodies lying injured in the road now, though… it’s not just me, apparently, because it turns out other ‘paramedics’ are picking up the pieces of Anita’s mistakes, and talking to each other. Anita is getting a bit of reputation in our area which is both validating and absolutely fucking terrifying…because even though people know what she’s doing/done there seems to be no effective mechanism to deal with these rogue paramedics unless the injured person goes through the long and arduous act of reporting to the governing body that actually seems to be completely on the side of the paramedic and dismisses the injuries of the patient – maybe even suggesting that they threw themselves out the ambulance on purpose and are overplaying their injuries.

It might be different if all the injured patients could get together and take on a class action but sadly, none of us know who each other are, and this is why these people like Anita (and all the other people you guys tell me about) keep getting away with what they are doing.

Ok let’s stop with this metaphor shall we?

We all know she’s not a paramedic (thank god, can you even imagine that?!) but it seems that Anita is now getting a name in therapist circles.

She’s hurt a lot of people.

It’s shit.

Fuck her.

Still, I am not here to talk about that because I don’t know them, but I do feel for them…because I know what she’s done to me and how much damage it’s done and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I’ve been thrown through a few loops again this last month or so with all this ‘stuff’, ‘shit’, ‘disaster bollocks’…but the good thing is I am, at least, safely supported by Elle. She is helping me loads. We’re bandaging the wounds and waiting for the broken bones to heal and gently sitting with it all. Elle’s really looking after me and when I am not triggered out my brain I can see it so clearly. I feel really lucky that I have someone like her to help me manage whatever fallout there is with Anita and I feel like the steady work we’ve been putting in over the last year, or so, is really starting to pay off now. It’s been slow-going on my part but I’ve needed that time to build trust and safety with Elle – it couldn’t have been rushed.

Anita can’t do me too much damage now, the worst has already happened, but there is lots of processing to be done. Our sparse interactions pretty much always feel upsetting in some way, but it’ll be over soon because there is movement with it all (finally!)…I am just mad that this ‘end but not’ hash-up as dragged out for as long as it has. I wish that when we hit the three-month mark back in September 2023, she’d have met with me as we had agreed, to end properly, rather than saying she wasn’t “in a good enough place”.

Chasing her on and off for the next six months and being fobbed off or totally ignored until I mentioned bringing in her supervisor or a colleague made things much harder than it needed to be. It’s been such a long, drawn-out process simply trying to get her to even agree to meet with me that it’s felt exhausting and upsetting and it should never have been this way. Like terminating is bad enough but ending without a proper end is awful! Surely, this isn’t how you treat a long-term trauma client that you’ve been seeing twice a week for three-and-a-half years…? But apparently you do if you’re Anita…and sadly, it looks like I am not the only one who’s suffered her…what’s the word?… Carelessness?

The whole thing sort of ebbs and flows so far as my coping goes around this stuff. It’s been a fucking mess these last few weeks again, and it’s totally impacted how I have experienced my relationship with Elle outside the sessions. I have been so anxious and fearful — and it’s ALL because of Anita and nothing to do with Elle at all…and I can completely see that now.

It’s nice to be writing from a reasonably calm place today rather than from deep in the hole or spiralling through anxiety like my last post. It’s Friday today, and I haven’t yet hit the panic of ‘disappearing Elle’ … at the moment she still exists in my mind, I just miss her a bit. She reminded me on Tuesday (a huge erecting of scaffold around me and shoring up my foundations sort of a session) that the bracelet she gave me that I wear all the time is “evidence” that she “exists” and I can literally see that…and Monty, too, like I just need to use my eyes sometimes. We all know it’s not quite as simple as that, though, don’t we?!

https://www.instagram.com/montys_awesome_adventures?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=ZDNlZDc0MzIxNw==

It’s been hard being really massively triggered lately, and I feel really sad that my brain (Brian) hasn’t been able to differentiate between real life threats from Elle (there aren’t any), and the fears that feel massive but are not rooted in the here and now about Elle hurting me in some way. I am terrified of being abandoned and rejected and it’s because all the feelings of being abandoned and rejected have been reactivated by my recent interactions with A – like I say none of this is anything to do with Elle.

So, what’s caused the utter chaos in my system this time? – You know, aside from my being fucking mental?!

Well, turns out I really don’t do well with the feeling I am being lied to.

You might remember I had my own health stuff going on earlier in the year just as I had been in the process of trying to negotiate a meeting to end (remember Anita’s ‘walk and talk’ suggestion?!) but as it happened, I got shoved onto the rapid pathway referral for cancer investigations (all clear – phew!) and had all the blood tests and hospital stuff to do instead, so told her I’d be in touch to arrange to meet once things were more settled and my work had settled down after the crazy exam period in May/June. Then of course my son got very very sick and has been basically in and out of hospital since May and that has been an enormous amount to hold and cope with.

The summer just evaporated into medical appointments and caring for my little boy and then somehow, I found myself in mid-September, term had started again, and I realised that I still hadn’t got in touch with Anita to end but also realised that I was in no place to deal with her/us/this with so much stress in my daily life. I would have to be feeling pretty robust to see her and also have a degree of confidence that she wouldn’t make a total balls-up of any meeting which would actually set me further back.

I’m now basically 90% sure that I am just going to arrange to get my stuff back and not bother with a meeting at all because I have zero faith that she can end in a way that honours the work we did or our relationship but it’s taken this last few weeks of shit and also talking with Elle for that to really crystallise…so how did I get here?…

On the 15th September I sent Anita a message to say that I had been going through a lot of shit over the summer in one way or another and didn’t feel like I was able to meet with her just yet -this is the last bit of it:

None of this is really important but it’s just that I don’t really know what to do with meeting and getting my stuff back from you because I don’t feel like I have much capacity to hurt any more right now and actually that’s all there is. I feel so sad that all that we worked on over the years has been reduced to a sick feeling and another rejection added to the pile.

Like literally everywhere I look, it’s abandonment and rejection or just fucking horror and I think seeing you will only compound that right now. So, I don’t know what to do really. I feel like something has to shift because it feels like limbo and it’s painful but I am out of ideas on how not to make this feel any worse than it already does.

She replied a couple of days later with another of her stock feigning personal but actually pretty blank replies:

O my goodness, I am so sorry to read your message. I really do understand and will wait to hear from you to decide what would be the best way for you. Thinking of you with love and care, Anita x

When it came in, I didn’t really have much of a response internally. It is what it is. More of the same. I didn’t reply. What was the point?

So, lord knows what got into me on the 27th but I decided to check out her website – you know as an act of active self-harm it would seem.

Anita’s website hadn’t changed at all in the entire time I was working with her (since 2020) and low and behold it’s just undergone a MASSIVE overhaul. This would make sense seeing as she’s changed how she’s working wouldn’t it? It would make sense to update and remove any mention long-term work, or trauma work, or face-to-face sessions if you have stopped with long-term and complex clients, and are moving your practice online…so of course she’d need to do that, I’d say it’s well overdue 16 months after she dumped her long-term trauma clients.

Only this isn’t what’s happened to her site at all.

I suspect you might already have joined those dots and noticed a hint of sarcasm.

So, what’s the site like then?

Well, there’s lots of new/additional pictures of her looking really smiley and happy. There’s a fuck tonne more ‘glowing’ testimonials (I could fucking puke!). There’s an updated listings around her work etc. But absolutely no mention of her plan to move to online sessions only or the fact she won’t do long-term work or work with trauma anymore – in fact it’s the complete opposite.

I’d love to type up some of it here verbatim, but I know that could be searched in Google and despite everything I won’t compromise Anita’s confidentiality even though it is sorely tempting to at times.

To summarise, she waxed lyrical about being a member of the BACP governing body in the UK, her commitment to creating a “safe environment” and the importance of ethical working (warning clients about a local therapy organisation that has therapists practising who have been struck off from BACP). She mentions her ability to be flexible with appointments both face to face and online, even at weekends, as well as working on an “open-ended basis”. She then explained how “passionate” she is about her work and her commitment to providing a safe and caring space…

Ha!

It was particularly galling to see listed among the issues she works with:

  • Past and childhood issues
  • Abuse past or present
  • Post-traumatic stress disorder

Perhaps the most hard to swallow thing was a quote by Jung:

Know all the theories,

master all the techniques,

but as you touch a human soul,

be just another human soul.

Is she fucking serious?!

I swear at this point I was incandescent with rage.

The only soul Anita is right now is an arsehole.

Too much?

I told you I was mad!!

I basically lost my shit, and fortunately a good friend of mine who knows all about this saga was there to let me rant on Whatsapp. It was a lot! A useful bonus to this ‘unravel at speed’ and ‘rage’ was that it was all there ready to be screenshot!

Despite the big feelings and the embarrassment I felt about it (not with my friend, she totally gets it) we decided that it might be a good idea to let Elle see what I had written and how I had felt because it gave a really good ‘real time’ insight into what I was feeling and was a really good springboard into starting the conversations Elle and I have been having lately which have started to really metabolise this stuff.

Of course, reading Anita’s website made me feel so angry but also just really let down. Because all this time I have been patiently waiting for her to be ‘well enough’ to see me to end and then here she is with the time and energy to go into massive personal promotion, extolling how much she enjoys her work and what a privilege it is…and here I am in the fucking black pit of doom, battered and bruised.

So, well, umm, I decided to reply to her message:

I think the problem is there is no best way because however you look at it, this is not what I wanted or ever imagined would happen. All the years of work just feel like a joke and the words of love and care mean nothing because I don’t get how if you actually loved or cared about me we’d have ended up here.

The fallout and damage that’s been done is enormous and that’s especially the case because you didn’t just stop working because you were sick you stopped working with me and continued on with others. Even if I sometimes can get my head around needing to end so you could have space to recover, I’ll never recover from how big an abandonment and rejection this has been.

I’ve never been so emotionally upset for such a protracted period of time and it’s made me really ill. I’ll work through it but it’s been utterly awful and completely impacted my ability to trust in anyone but especially my therapist because I’m just waiting for the same to happen with her.

I know this is a big rant and I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that we ended up here.

I obviously didn’t mention her website or anything like that – there was no point- but after having been such a ‘good girl’ for so long I just felt like I had to say something. Because I feel like she’s pretty much washed her hands clean and feels like we are ok now – and we just aren’t.

I didn’t expect a reply. Anita has a habit of burying her head in the sand when I bring up anything remotely challenging.

And ten days went by and there was no response. Not that it really asks for a response. If there was going to be one it would have been nice to hear something like:

I know that our ending has really hurt you and I understand how much pain this has caused and I am sorry. I never would have wanted this for you but I accept that I have hurt you in a way that has tapped into your original wounding and I know that this is incredibly painful. I would like for us to come together and spend a proper period of time working this out so that we can move on from this with a degree of repair and get some proper closure. I have been thinking we could meet in my office for 1-3 sessions to enable us to properly tie our therapy up and to give you the space to collect your things. I know that this won’t be easy for either of us, but I want to honour the work and relationship we had, too, and feel in a place to be able to do that now. I know that this is not what you wanted and I understand that this we need to take this gently.

I mean that’d be hard but fine…

So, this is what came in last week just before my session with Elle literally a week and a half later:

I know it’s hard to believe but my life has not gone the way I planned. My practice has completely changed and, yes, I am still working as I can’t afford not to. I am in the process of moving to online only, and I don’t work with complex trauma anymore. I am unable to give my clients myself as much as that work requires and I can feel the protection of myself as a survival mechanism is very much there because it needs to be, whether I want it or not. My website is still the same as it gives me a platform to inform clients about the lack of regulation and [therapy practice] in an effort to try to keep clients safe even if it’s a very small way. So yes, I am still working but not in a way that you feel I am and I had to end with the deep emotional connecting work as I just can’t do it anymore.

This message came in a 4:50pm and I immediately sent it to Elle. When we were talking about it in our session this week, she said it had the feel of a 2am WhatsApp message not something written in the working day because it seems so defensive. I laughed. Defensive and reactive!…and yet again nothing at all to do with my experience of what’s happened.

I think it’s interesting that she made reference to her website, though – because as I say, I never have. I wonder if she was aware that it’s changed and that I may have seen it. But why lie about it? It’s not the same. It’s updated and yet also inaccurate.

Imagine finding Anita’s website, contacting her, and her saying something like “I only have online availability at the moment” but thinking you’d start like that and then hopefully move over when she freed up space – only to discover she doesn’t, in fact, work face-to-face. Or thinking you’d go and see how things go but with a view to there being long-term work and you’ll eventually get to your childhood trauma and PTSD once you’ve addressed some immediately pressing relationship issues and work stress if it feels safe to go there and then finding out actually that’s a no go zone.

I don’t for one minute think she’d end with those clients. I actually think she’d just a fucking massive liar.

It’s hard reading her message because as much as it isn’t personal – it is . I am ‘Complex Trauma’ and apparently, it’s that (me) that is triggering her need to protect herself as a “survival mechanism”. I know she would be horrified to think I would read it in that way, but that’s basically what she’s saying. And ending with “deep emotional connecting work” isn’t an abstract concept. She ended with me. She abandoned me when we were right in the thick of the work because she just couldn’t do it. All the words of “It’s not what either of us want” and “I love you so much but I have to get well” feel utterly ridiculous don’t they?

Anyway, that’s why I have been a colossal wreck for a few weeks. Elle has been steady and available and actually really just helpful. We’ve looked at this stuff quite a bit and that’s huge given how much I have shied away from bringing it to session over the last year.

Having had a lot of space to turn this over in my brain with Elle, and seeing how much it’s all upset me, I have pretty much decided that I am going to ask to get my things back and leave it at that for now.

As much as I would love to go and meet Anita and really lay out how badly this has all affected me, I have absolutely zero confidence in her ability to hear that and not somehow throw it back in my face. I don’t need her reacting defensively. I need for her to be able to hold the space.

A while back Elle suggested getting another therapist to hold the meeting with us and act as a facilitator. I think this might be a good idea but I can’t see Anita ever agreeing to it.

So, the next plan that Elle and I are figuring out at the moment is finding a way to get my things back. Again, Elle has suggested using someone as an intermediary – so she wouldn’t meet her. I am wondering if she might be thinking the person that shares her office on the days she’s not using it. To be honest, Anita works over the road on a Thursday and she could just drop a box of stuff in to the hall/reception and it could be taken in at some point during the day if they knew it was coming. Still, this is something to think about…

Ooofff. This is long again… x

Mental Health Crash: Stuck In The Hole

rubberbandsandchewinggum10 Comments

Well, shit, I have been stuck deep down in the emotional black hole this last week (again). Tbh, I am always in the hole somewhere, it’s just distinguishing in which part of it and at what depth of it I am located. Sounds cryptic but it’s not really. You see my ‘hole’ (not a euphemism so stop that!) has a very particular quality to it– it’s like a bloody endless underground cave system these days rather than an open pit! Awesome. What a gift long-term and enduring mental health issues are!

I imagine a lot of people when they hit the skids with their mental health probably feel like they tumble and fall into a dark hole. These pits all look slightly different – we all have our own personal holes that come with our own specific and individual décor! It would make for a really great issue of an interior design/mental health magazine if people submitted plans and images of their nightmare hell zones wouldn’t it?…  

Anyway…

When we fall in, I guess it’s common to get stuck at the bottom for a bit, feel pretty hopeless and alone, and then try and scrabble our way back up and out to ground level when we feel able to – maybe with the help of someone else. Assistance can certainly expediate things but unfortunately a by-product of landing face first in the hole is that we often don’t believe there is anyone else who can see us or help us. And even if there is, there is a very real fear that we may inadvertently end up dragging that person into the hole with us, and if/when we do manage to get out together, they’ll leave/abandon us because they’ll be so horrified by what they witness in that hole alongside us. (It happens, sadly).

The hole is a bit like ‘Fight Club’. You do not talk about the hole. What happens in the hole stays in the hole. Because even though the hole itself is fucking terrifying enough on its own – how we behave in the hole can also be problematic. It can be a place where we fall into self-harming behaviours, self-neglect, and addiction to name but a few issues – and let’s keep that shit secret! Well, that’s what our shame would tell us, anyway.

We are not always our best-selves down in the hole – we’re simply trying to survive using whatever tools we have available to us in the moment and, honestly, even after years of therapy, my go-to self-care strategies often feel completely out of reach when I am suffering in the depths. It’s amazing how quickly I can slip into negative coping strategies just like a comfy pair of slippers…only, actually, these ones are full of thorns and hurt every time I move!

The goal, then, when you find yourself stuck in this cess pit of doom is to get the fuck out of the trench as quickly as you can. Of course, that’s much easier said than done. There can be a lot of slipping, sliding, and stumbling on the way back up because the way out isn’t easy and it’s fucking exhausting work trying to drag your dead weight back to relative normality.

I really feel like the struggle isn’t understood or appreciated enough, and I think sometimes people make the assumption that we must like being down in the hole, or that we are deliberately careless because we keep tumbling in and spend such a lot of time in there. It’s hard enough when friends and family might hint at this sort of thing but it’s especially awful and shaming when therapists comment on how “stuck” you are and that maybe you’re not trying hard enough to get out… FUCK OFF!! (I’d forgotten about this until now, and so that’s just given me the rage when I am already in a rage!!!)

Of course, if and when you successfully make it out the hole, it’s super important to try and be mindful going forward. I really try and scan the path ahead. I’m constantly trying to spot any future holes so that I can try sidestep them should any come into view – but we all know it isn’t that simple! My life has been riddled with concealed hole entrances and at times it can feel like an endless landscape of craters waiting for me rather than solid ground. It’s inevitable that I will, at intervals, be unlucky and end up in the dark…and actually, I have been consistently feeling my way through the dark for almost two years now and so it’s hard to imagine what it’s like not being in the hole.

So, what’s my hole like? (stop it!) Well, I suppose my hole isn’t really a hole at all, rather it’s a series of holes or dark rooms stacked on top of another linked by unseen trapdoors going deep into the depths of the earth. The further down we go, the spaces stop being dark rooms with manmade walls and instead become cold, dark, damp caves almost like prison cells buried deep into rock. I’ve spoken about falling through endless trapdoors before, and this analogy far better fits my experience of being in the dark depths for me than in a singular sticky shit hole.

So how do I end up in this place?

Imagine being at ground level, wandering along the street, minding your own business, living your day-to-day as best you can, occasionally getting your foot stuck in a puddle that actually turns out to be a pot hole, twisting your ankle, but generally maintaining momentum and keeping in touch with the world and people around you. You’re functional even if you have a bit of a limp. You can usually feel the sunlight on your skin – well, more likely it’s a dark and cloudy day, but you at least have sense that it is daytime – it’s ‘good enough’. Life above ground isn’t perfect by any means but it isn’t terrible, either.

Then imagine, unexpectedly, falling down an open hole – you know, like how pubs have cellar trapdoors outside in the street? Well, that first fall down into the dark is bloody shocking and painful and you want to scream “OUCH!” but generally it doesn’t take too long to assess the situation and start looking for a way out. You brush yourself off, check for any broken bones, and start shouting up to the world above “HELP ME!!!” because you can very clearly see the sky and the people walking along outside and you believe that there is a way out. You’re probably only 12 feet below ground at this point and a return to the world above is completely possible.

The problems really start to come when you repeatedly fall down the hole. Bones break. Bruises never quite seem to heal before you fall again. Fatigue kicks in from the endless effort of trying to escape. It gets harder and harder to crawl back out the more times you fall. At times it can feel completely pointless even trying as you know it’s only going to be a matter of time until you’re back in the dark and honestly, I feel like maybe I should just accept that the hole is where I actually belong and make the best of it.  

Sometimes, there’s a complicating factor – especially for those of us with childhood trauma and relational injuries. I can be doing absolutely everything right. I’m checking every step I take and can be wandering along quite happily and then some fucker (who I really trust) deliberately pushes me down into the hole and runs off! I mean that’s just fucking horrific.

That’s where I am now. Only, it’s worse than that because I wasn’t at ground level to begin with when I got pushed. I had Anita in a mid-level hole with me having worked our way up through quite a few levels after Em had done a fab job at leaving me for dead down in the depths in 2020. Anita was holding my hand and it felt like we were successfully navigating our way through the dark…and then she decided to leave me, but not just leave me on level -5 of the hole, she forcefully pushed me down through another trapdoor.

As I have fallen, I have kind of rolled and rolled and unfortunately found more and more trapdoors. I’ve passed the place where Em left me and have kept tumbling and tumbling. Surely, I must be pretty close to rock bottom now. There simply can’t be any more trapdoors to fall through, can there?

The saddest thing about all this is that it isn’t just adult me in the hole. I could cope with that. But there are all the child parts too – and they are so scared. Every single one of them is terrified of the dark and it is totally pitch black. There’s not even the tiniest bit of light where we are. It’s like their worst nightmares playing out in waking time and as much as I try, I don’t always have to ability to contain them all. No matter how I try to reassure them and say we are safe and that it will be ok, it just doesn’t land…because I am not sure I really believe that either, now.

To say that it’s really not nice in the cave/pit/hole would be a huge understatement. My brain can attack me/us with some pretty shit messages about being “a burden” and “unlovable” and “too much” or “not enough” – the list is literally fucking endless…! If you’re reading this, then you’ve probably been there. You know the drill. Basically, you’re stuck in the dark with a sound system that only plays your Inner Critic’s hit list on full volume and on repeat the whole time you’re down there.

Just glorious!

I mean who doesn’t love their deepest wounds and insecurities coming at them on loop? Who wouldn’t want to be told that “you’d be better off dead” or that “no one would miss you if you were gone” and that “even your ‘friends’ only tolerate you” or that “you’re disgusting” or “pathetic” or “worthless” or a “fraud” or that you “deserve this” and “what kind of loser can’t even pay someone to stay and care?”… and then of course throw in real life soundbites from people who have really hurt you, “you’re so sensitive and defensive”, “you’re too dependent”, “your child parts are adhesive like a tick” and … well… it’s not brilliant is it? I could go on and on and on but you all know your soundtrack and will be familiar with how hearing it makes you feel. I mean it is a total immersion in the shit and shame isn’t it?

The messages of doom and isolation have never really changed much since I first found myself in my dark place back in my early teens – perhaps the messages are more insistent and louder than they were initially, and the shape and dimensions of my hole (honestly, every time I type that I am giggling like a fourteen-year-old kid!) have definitely changed. As I say, these days it’s not just a hole or cellar – it’s a much more complex subterranean structure. It’s not a dark hole with a consistent depth and bottom – I’d take that any day of the week.

Despite how crap it is, I’ve come to accept that this multi-floored/roomed/cave system is just part of my internal landscape now. I know that I can’t avoid it, it can’t be filled – there is not enough concrete in the world for that! – all I can do is tread carefully and try my best to keep feet on solid ground if I do ever make up to ground level and I will continue to put things in place for the next fall.

When I am in the dark, feeling scared and really suffering like I am now, it’s really really important to try and remember that the Inner Critic is only trying to protect me. As loud and terrifying as it is, it really doesn’t want to harm me – it’s scared too, it just doesn’t know how best to express it. Perhaps there is a little bit of comfort in knowing that all my system is ever trying to do is look after me – it just has some pretty fucked up ways of doing it.

When it is awful, like it is now, I need to trust that it is always worth taking the chance on screaming and asking for help even if I believe that no one can hear me, because there are people who care and who do want to help…and have ladders and torches… I just need to let them know where I am rather than cowering silently in the dark.

Last week, before our session, I pre-warned Elle that I was in the hole and unravelling – which felt like a big thing to do. I needed to do that, though, because False Adult is so skilled at pretending that everything is ok and denies that there even is a hole (A ‘Fight Club’ hole pro!), let alone that we may be stuck in it. As I result of letting Elle know quite how bad it feels, I’ve been hit with some huge feelings of shame and panic. I feel like I’ve dragged her down into the hole and am terrified that she, too, will freak out and run off, but not before giving me a hearty push down through another trapdoor. She’s given me absolutely no sense that this would happen…but my brain can’t help but worry.

It’s really sad that I feel this way and it hurts a lot to know that my trust is so fragile. For now, Elle and I are just sitting together, waiting for some of the painful injuries to heal a bit before trying to make a plan to find our way out of this mess. It doesn’t feel quite so cold and scary with her sitting beside me and the dark doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming when I can physically feel her holding my hand. The problems happen when I lose contact for a bit (you know, like the six days between sessions!) and can’t immediately find her…it doesn’t take long for the Critic to get back in my head and the panic to take hold.

I will write a post about why things are particularly hard right now, next time. But needless to say, it involves Anita… bleurgh.

Sending love and light (candles, torches, flares!) down into your holes. Whatever your Inner Critic may have you believe, you are not alone and you are worthy of love and care. x

Grief: When Love Has Nowhere To Go

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It’s been one hell of a year – and honestly the level of grief I have been dealing with (navigating my way through the dark!) has been huge and it’s intense at the moment with all the anniversary stuff happening now. It’s bad enough that Anita and I have ‘ended but not’ on such a weird footing but what’s made it all the more difficult is what this ‘end’ (abandonment) has tapped into.

The work Anita and I were doing in my therapy was so much about trying to make sense of and, hopefully, healing the mother wound and the physical and emotional abandonments from the past that have so massively impacted me.

It might seem hyperbolic but this deep wounding that happened so young and continued on as I grew up has formed so much of the fabric of how I see myself and how I operate in my life. I guess most of you that follow this blog probably relate to that in some way.

The anxiety, the hypervigilance, the never feeling ‘good enough’ whilst simultaneously feeling ‘too much’, trying to prove my worthiness through productivity, trying not to have any kind of need… the list goes on and on…really stems from the relationship with my mother. It’s not a secret to me or to anyone else here!

Sadly, my efforts at working through this mess with therapists has not gone brilliantly despite my best efforts. What happened with Em was completely devastating – I don’t think I’ll ever really get over being compared to a ‘tick’! But what has happened with Anita is soooo much worse. To be left in the way I have by someone who professed to love me deeply has triggered so much grief and pain.

I’ve lost Anita who was so much to me for so long seemingly for something that wasn’t even my fault but even knowing this, it doesn’t change anything – she still left me. I wasn’t ‘enough’ for her to stay. And that’s the kicker in relationships – even when we get our side more or less right, we can’t account for the other. And I do get it, Anita’s life got messy… very… but she is working…and this is the thing I can’t make right in my mind.

So despite there having been no rupture, no lack of love (ha- really?!), nothing actually wrong with me (apparently) I am still having to stare down this loss, as well as all the other hurts that have filled this well over the course of my life because Anita chose to leave me when she did. The work wasn’t done and so rather than feel healed I just feel additionally wounded. It’s another loss to work through on top of so many other losses.

I remember early on speaking with Anita about therapy and saying how obviously the goal is to leave one day but actually how important it feels to have a sort of open door policy. There’s a supportive relationship that we would build and could always be returned to at intervals if needed. There would be a period of intense need, dependency etc but the goal of the work was to basically let my young parts integrate, experience what it is to be held, to have some of their needs met and eventually the maturational process would take place and I would naturally individuate and need A less.

Like that’s the idea.

That was our plan.

A kind of gentle reparenting.

Only premature termination of this work didn’t help that at all. All it’s done is reinforce the original message that no one is safe and I am not worthy of love or care…or at least some parts feel that.

My adult self is stronger than it has ever been and is more able than it has ever been to communicate with those on the minibus inside and hold them to a degree. I was well on the way to the end point – but my god it’s painful being here right now.

Of course, I now see Elle, and as I have said, I really like her a lot. I can feel the attachment to her building and honestly it scares the fucking shit out of me. The push/pull inside is agony at times. I am so tired of having to hold all this and really desperately want to just collapse in a heap on the floor of the therapy room and remove all the armour and masks…I am getting there…

Anyway, one of the things I have been doing more recently is spending time at the beach walking on my own and just feeling into the feelings.

Yikes.

The feelings are big.

I cry a lot.

It doesn’t matter, the beach has been pretty much abandoned and I often go out early morning or towards sunset so no one sees me with tears streaming down my face.

One of the things I do is collect pebbles and interesting shells. I have always drawn hearts in the sand but lately I have been making hearts from beach material. It’s so cathartic wandering up and down the sand seeking out whatever colour or type of rock or shell I am looking for and spending some time creating something really simple but so meaningful to me.

It feels like an act of grief and act of love.

There has been nowhere for my grief to go this year with Anita. I’ve held it tightly inside – because actually all it is is love. So much of it. And so I make these hearts. Sometimes they’re for A. Sometimes for Em. Sometimes more hopefully, for Elle and a bridge to connection with her.

Here’s some for you to see:

Be gentle with your vulnerable hearts xx