Eventually, I went to counselling. I felt that it was a sign of failure, but I knew I was reaching the end of my reserves and something needed to give.
The first counsellor I saw kind of didn’t really work for me. She was a genuinely lovely woman and terribly sympathetic. Sort of cuddly, and it became apparent to me with each passing session that for whatever reason, it wasn’t what I needed at that time. I wasn’t looking for sympathy, and I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I needed to take better care of myself. I knew all of that. I didn’t do any of it – but having someone else telling me what I already knew wasn’t terribly helpful. The sessions took place in her home, and I found myself terribly distracted by that – making value judgements based on what I could see. Noted: crystals, plug-in air freshener (the horrors!) someone I could hear moving around upstairs, personalised mug. (You’ll never invite me round to your house, will you?!) I felt uncomfortable being on her territory – it felt too homely, too personal and sort of too welcoming, and I found that I didn’t want to be in that environment. It wasn’t her fault, it was mine. I guess it’s horses for courses, but being brutally honest, ( and perhaps a little disparaging) – the “you ok, hun” approach irritated me. I felt distracted during those sessions and willed them to be over. I guess the thing is with counselling, you’ve got to be in the zone. You need to want to work things out, and I really do think you need to find the right person to do that with. I’ve never done any counselling myelf, but I guess they must be as human as the rest of us and I’ll warrant she was as irritated and frustrated by me as I was by her. She once popped up on my “people you might know” on my instagram feed, presumably through contacts, and I was as horrified as I was curious, but reader, I didn’t look.
Some time later, and via my GP, I then spent some months with another counsellor who was the polar opposite of the first. The sessions took place in a medical setting. I scanned it for information about her – something that might give me a clue or two about who she was – but there wasn’t a trace. Not a photograph, trinket, nothing. It was almost sterile. Painted white, with a grey venetian blind at the window – a window that looked out onto – nothing. There was no distraction and absolutely nothing to be interested or diverted by. Like a cell, I suppose. I focussed on her clothes instead – but again, it told me pretty much nothing. For all I didn’t want all that information with the first counsellor, I was intrigued that the second gave me nothing. It felt like a competition. How contrary we are.
I found her very difficult to warm to – almost stand- offish and distant. She was quiet, polite, professional to a point of veering towards severe. You wouldn’t have wanted to play her at poker – her face gave absolutely nothing away. She was incredibly challenging and she definitely didn’t want to be my friend. Which of course is exactly as it should be. The first couple of times I saw her I came away exhausted and feeling almost a little wounded. She wasn’t going to let me off the hook – and there were many times where I sat in a stunned silence not knowing, or perhaps not wanting to respond to her.
In fact there was a great deal of silence to begin with. Ordinarily I am not keen on silence – it feels awkward and I feel the urge to fill it. However I could not fill that yawning silence that stretched between us and she would not. She seemed completely comfortable with just letting things hang in mid air, like a giant invisible question mark that wouldn’t go away. She said that I spend a great deal of time avoiding her – and she was spot on, I did. I felt really, really stuck. She was also insistent that we talked almost exclusively about me – and not about AJ or the rest of the family, and to begin with I found this bewildering and really uncomfortable. I had gone there wanting to talk about AJ and the events unfolding in our household, I kind of thought that was the purpose of the sessions. However every time I strayed off the subject – me- she brought me back.
We persevered in something of a strange stand -off and over time, I found it more and more helpful. It was as if the harder I worked, the warmer she became. That might just be my imagination. She urged me to take an extended period of time off sick and I refused, and that was a real bone of contention. Avoidance! She said. Probably. In any case, my time with her was tremendously helpful, although at times it made me melancholy and deeply introspective. I realised over time that she was incredibly kind, but in a way that I hadn’t experienced before. She wasn’t going to rescue me, but nor would she collude with me by allowing me to deflect the spotlight from myself to those around me. Every time I tried to do that, she would purposefully bring me back on track.
I went one November afternoon as the sun was beginning to wane. It had been a grey day, one of many, and the sky was heavy with rain. Foreboding. I have always disliked late Autumn. We talked about my childhood. From a very young age I played the role of peace-maker at home. The third of four girls, I was sensible beyond my years and responsible from the off. I saw it as my job to try and ensure that there was peace and harmony in our house – where there was too often an undercurrent of tension and discord. For reasons I won’t go into here – for it is not my story – I have felt the need to be both physically and metaphorically sandwiched between my parents. I didn’t leave home until almost my mid twenties – I was the last of the four of us girls at home and I didn’t want to leave mum – but eventually I knew that I couldn’t stay forever and that I had to make my own choices – so I left, but the guilt of leaving her has never left me. Strangely, she never asked me to stay. She never asked anything of any of us, but it made me want to protect her all the more. If my childhood left me with any overriding ambition – it was to be totally self-sufficient as soon as I could be, and ensure that I would be able to rely on nobody, ever, for anything. I have spent most of my adult life thinking it was a good principle to hold close, but now I’m not so sure.
That November day, with a gentle ferocity, she asked “Who looks after you?”. It was delivered with such kindness but devastating precision that it literally stopped my breath. She didn’t drop her gaze but I did, and quickly. I did not want to meet her eye – she had got me. I found I simply could not answer – because I did not have an answer. I realised that the rain had come and watched it as it traced its way down the window, at first big soft droplets, silent and wet, and then the heavens opened. It felt like I watched it for some time. I didn’t answer. We sat in (I think) companionable silence, and eventually she said “You’ve been looking after others for your entire life” and I realised that is true. It suddenly felt like a very heavy burden and in that moment I was overwhelmed with tiredness. More silence.
She asked “What would it feel like to let somebody care for you?” and I realised I was and had been crying, silent, slow tears slowly tracing their way down my cheeks. I was suddenly surprised – it was the first time I had cried in all the sessions I had been to. I felt very, very vulnerable. Again, I didn’t answer, I truthfully didn’t know what to say. Then eventually, “I can’t let anyone care for me, it’s what I do. I do the caring. I’m the responsible one. It’s what I know”. It is a very lonely place, to have put up so many walls. What is safe is also desperately lonely. A fortress of my own making.
You must be tired, she said. And I realised just how tired I was. “What would it feel like” she asked “to offer yourself grace? Not always be the strong one? Be vulnerable and let someone else care for you? You are not easy to look after. You must seem intimidating at times, to those around you. The wall you have put up is so high. Offer yourself grace. You have earned it”.
I think she broke me that day. Or I broke myself, I’m not sure which. It was probably needed. Her words followed me around for weeks, and still haunt me now, a year later. What an incredible woman. We have finished our sessions for now – but I will go back at some stage. Such skill, such insight and precision. I am incredibly grateful to have had that time with her, and whilst it was one of the most exhausting, and painful to the point of being excruciating experiences of my life, it has also been life-changing.
Offer yourself grace, she said. I am not very good at that, because I don’t think I deserve it. But I am trying, and I would urge you to do the same.
I was a counsellor (as well as a teacher) Lisa. I now know I should have been one of the other, they are both such important jobs. And to be fair to myself, most of the counselling was done after I had resigned from teaching. I have always said ‘it is the relationship that heals’ and I think your counselling proves that point.
How wonderful that you found her. My fourth counsellor (during my extreme illness) was a Clinical Psychologist. She put me right in the patient’s chair. She had no messing with me who had already run rings around the previous 3.
She held up to me that I had been striving all my life to be the very best I could be, to be superwoman. She helped me let go of that need and in the same way as you, offer myself grace. A shame it took both of us so long to learn to let go. It is the key to happiness.
I don’t strive much now – I stitch. Keep giving yourself grace Lisa.
You too Linda. And ah, the healing power of stitching. More of that to come!
It was like reading about myself. Exactly the same experience. But easier said than done after a lifetime of not loving yourself enough or not taking care of yourself. I’ve had it all chucked at me. Disassociation. Triangulation. Narcissism. Estrangement. Abandonment. Yet we survive. I think not learning to put rules in place early on and not having boundaries is a huge problem. But us free spirits aren’t good at that as we don’t like being hemmed in or having boundaries ourselves. You live your life forward and reflect backwards. I only wish I had have known in my 20’s what it has taken a lifetime to learn. And I’m glad you ditched Mrs Glade plug in. I spent 6 months visiting a counsellor who used to let me sleep on her sofa for an hour each week. What was I thinking. It cost thousands 😂
Lord! I’m sure you could have slept on mine for half the price. I love that phrase you used – live your life forwards and reflect backwards – how true that is! And as for a lack of boundaries, I am 50 next birthday and only just beginning to understand the effects of that! Take care x
I found this definition of “grace”
When you feel like your day is unraveling or you’ve been hard on yourself for whatever reason, “giving yourself grace” is about giving yourself that kindness you often deserve. Sounds awesome. The type of thing you’d want your best friend to do for herself because you don’t want to see her breakdown.
I think I may look at why counselling hasn’t worked for me. Maybe I didn’t need it in the first place.
Thank you again for your openness Lisa. You make me think xx
I think you have to be in the right space Lynn and I also think that you have to find the right person. Sometimes it works, I suspect often it doesn’t. So much easier isn’t it – to look into someone else’s life and be able to diagnose what is going on, rather than your own? Take care, my friend .
I’m so glad you found her Lisa, or that she found you. When I was struggling some years ago a friend asked me to draw a train with carriages. Someone had asked her to do the same in the past. When I’d done that I had to draw in the people who I felt were the most important in my life. I did it. She looked at me quizzically and said “that’s all very good … but who is driving the train?” A lesson leant. We need to give ourselves as much care as we give to those around us, and accept that we, too, sometimes need to be cared for … however hard that is for us to accept xxx
And isn’t it just Sue? And funny how we frame it as a failure. Tiring too. The irony of figuring this stuff out so much later than when you really need it!
You have made such headway by recognising how you allow others to impact on you. I carried family burdens most of my life and in the end I ran away which of course separates you physically but you take the feelings with you.
I have a family of my own, all grown now, but I am a workaholic, unable to trust anyone or accept help. I really have not moved on from the feelings of guilt, not being good enough and being manipulated by others.
It frightens people when the ones that cope need support but dont ever give up now you’ve started, I just never knew how to begin.
Hello Jane. Well, I hope you do find a way to begin, and it might sneak up on you when you are least expecting it. It’s hard to carry all of that stuff around with you, even if you look like being very adept at shouldering that burden. I think somehow it creeps up on you in the end. Take care and thankyou for taking the time to get in touch.
I’m so glad you eventually found someone to help you.
I went to a few counselling sessions after one of my sisters died suddenly and unexpectedly. I was amazed that when I began talking, none of my words were actually about the loss of my sister. She had been the trigger, but not the cause, of my dark moment. The brain, it seems, stores so much without us knowing 😊
I shall be 62 this month and have only recently offered myself grace. I hope you can do so NOW xx
I hope so too Pam. I think you almost need to learn how, I think lots of our conditioning is to do the opposite. I’m sorry for your loss. I do so hope you find a way through, take care.
You’ve done it again, Lisa, reflecting my own experience back at me. And the third of four girls… This parallel lives thing is just a little odd.
Gosh, it really is. Thankyou for hanging in there with me, it must feel quite strange.
After many different counselling sessions over the years in my most recent batch I had an experience along these lines, so as someone who only feels I have any worth when helping someone – physically or emotionally – and what better to take your mind off yourself than with trying to help someone (anyone) else!! She told me that I must remind myself that I too am important and that I matter… A tough concept after nearly 50 years of thinking otherwise but, occasionally I do tell myself these things and now every once in a while I believe it xxx
Well, that sounds like progress to me. I think we spend most of our lives being conditioned not to think that, or to say it. So it takes practice to unlearn it! And once again, easier to dish it out to someone else rather than take it yourself. Ah, we know all about avoidance!
Hello Lisa. I’m glad to hear you’ve found someone whose focus is on YOU. I really believe that we need to heal and strengthen ourselves first before we can be of help to others.
Yes, I think you are absolutely right. It is however, far easier said than done. It almost takes practice!
This is an amazing piece of journalism. I wanted it to be the beginning of a long, thick books full of family stories. I wanted to read a few chapters each even before falling asleep. I hope this is taken as a compliment. Your story and writing are captivating and poignant. Wishing you all the grace in the world right now and going forward.
Be well, be tender, be vulnerable and allow others to help carry the load.
Hello Jane
You have no idea. Your message is exactly what I needed to hear when I read it last night. On a whole host of levels, not feeling well, being over-tired and full of self-doubt, I wondered about continuing with this painful yet cathartic telling of our story. And so I shall, so thankyou, you have helped me enormously.
I read this a couple of days ago Lisa but wasn’t in the right place to reply. It is so well written – so poignant, so relevant, so many words resonating – thank you. I may take it up again. I didn’t get on with my last one, worked initially but not long term. Having a few days to reflect on what you wrote has made me realise I’ve had four episodes in my life that needed attention, with only two times when I actually did something…keep going please
Hi Jason. I’m aiming to keep going. It seems to get harder the longer I’m going, I’m not entirely sure why! With regard to counselling, you so have to be in the right place to engage with it. It feels like chance really – that you are ready to give it a go and you find the right person to work with. And it’s such hard work, you need to come away from it too. I can’t think how some people go for years and years without a break – I’m sure time out lets things settle. Take care, my friend.
Oh, Lisa – I am in hibernation (Uk) I think this is what I should have done years ago. I guess it’s not too late, it’s never too late! At 54 I have read read something that has made me think about myself. All the professionals I have seen it’s all been about my daughter. I am so pleased that you had found this experience and have had a breakthrough.
I am a week behind with your blog, but putting my Uk life back together after hitting a wall last week!
Hey Chrissie. I have been thinking about you – I saw your note saying you were taking a break and thought I’d wait for you to come back. And welcome back, go gently.
I have been thinking I need a counsellor but I have no clue where to start. I can’t afford private so I guess my GP is the starting point…but then I think do I need to dredge up everything. Arrgghhhh I just don’t know. Something needs doing though as I can’t carry on much longer. I’m so sad, so tired and absolutely done with life 😔
Go see your GP and see what they say. My guess is that there might be a bit of a waiting list right now but you never know. Do you work? If so, might your employer have an Employee Assistance Programme? Most large ish employers do. If so you should be able to access some counselling through them, for free. It’s a really difficult time of year I think, I find it like a long dark tunnel. I have to make a real effort to try and stay well, and when you’re not feeling it, that’s even harder. Time outside. Small things. Much love x
Unfortunately I lost my job last year due to a decline in my health and not recovering as good as hoped from surgery to my foot. That itself is a huge part of my feeling so low. I will definitely definitely ask my GP about counseling and get the ball rolling!
Reading your blog really does help too. Much love back to you xx
Great looking website. Assume you did a great deal of your very own coding.|
Thankyou! I’m just using a template – I literally don’t even know how to turn my own TV on !!!