It was my favourite poem
I am safe
Calm, familiar
knowledgeable
. . . . . . . . . . . .
A while ago my therapist sent me a poem she had found, or seen, somewhere. Maybe it was shared online.
Who knows?!
They are so illusive and mysterious in many ways!! (love this and find it amusing*)
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Don’t know what she’s into (hobbies, interests) or anything about her history really. But, I get a sense of what sort of person my soul feels comfortable with.. even if it is some sort of bizarre, one-way, relationship.
. . .
(*love, respect and learn from her boundaries, although the theraputic relationship can feel like a strange and, at times beautiful, conundrum. Painful as I feel my need).
. . . . . . . . . .
Either way, the poem..
I loved this!
Felt seen, remembered – and heard.
She had a fitting sense of me. Who I am.
.
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(We all evolve and change.
This felt lovely).
I feel heard overall with her, even though younger parts of me feel fearful and nervous.
Not with the therapist. But, with the vulnerability.
The open wound part of me, that I can also adore – and cherish.
In this instance, I felt connection over something that is real and meaningful to my insides.
It felt healing.
.
.
I was
‘thought of’.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Outside
My therapist knows that I’m a poet.
That I love trees.
Find those environments peaceful.
That they help me connect to myself profoundly.
The therapeutic relationship is the thing..
I’m not a runner (aside from emotionally, obvs).
Am not sporty, or outdoorsy when it comes to mud and getting out amongst it. Unless, in the exact way that I want..(precisely) with my ADHD energy.
I’d have to be in the mood for some sort of outdoor pursuit.. climbing etc.
Certain things I’d enjoy..
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But,
BEING INSPIRED CREATIVELY..
. . . . .
Having something pulled, screeching (or blissfully), out of me. .
Stroked out, on a dog walk.
Loved, in and out. Raising my chest, but not my walls.
..
Pulled through throat and stomach.
Tugging at the heart of me on the way up.
Gently. With a sense of inner calm, harnessed fury, or peace..
. . .
Love.
..
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Generally, outside helps me get out of my head and inside what’s going on for me.
I reflect and vocalise.
Express.
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See a wider and more profound, picture (even if I do say so myself)
.. or, at least, profound within my inner world!
My therapist would feel my feminist energy. Passion on speaking about the patriarchy.
On what misogyny means, and has meant to me too (as well as feeling deeply disturbed, and uneasy in my skin*, around all of it)
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*I do try to be inside my body and in my power around the whole experience when I can.
…….. …… …….. ….. …… ……. ……. ……
The conversations with friends, the level of awareness around personal space that girls and women might feel they have to consider all the time.. how I internalised my experiences..
So much . .
. .
It got me.
. . . . . . . . . . .
My therapist sent me what was already my favourite poem.
I loved it before.
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Becky Hemsley’s Breathe, which is stunning.
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The forest said nothing
It just let her breathe.
Becky Hemsley – Breathe
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A smile spread all over my face when I saw it.
What gorgeous, beautiful synchronicity.
A brand of feeling understood, that I revel in.
I talk about loving willow trees.. romanticising forests.
What was already my favourite (even though that’s hard to quantify)
They know ‘everything’.
You know ‘nothing’.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(You, are the road map to you)
. . . .
I think it can feel like there’s inequality in therapy. Maybe there isn’t really, or shouldn’t be (should be respect and I’ve valued the validation).
They have knowledge and expertise. Experience.
……………..
With an interesting dynamic that us (non-counselling) humans might not be as familiar with.. that we haven’t rehearsed* really..
There could be uncertainty.
An unknown.
.
We hope for safety, even if we aren’t used to that.
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How do we perceive the unique dynamic? Could we feel threatened?
As though, they have some sort of upper hand?
..
Does the therapist make it ok, and safe, to voice what worries us about the relationship?
. . . . . . . . . .
(*apart from in my own head!)
The words that go in – SELF TALK
internal dialogue
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Kindness.
I don’t feel threatened.
Or feel an uneven dynamic really.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I’m aware of, and over-analyse everything unspoken and spoken in rooms.
Are these shapes that I made dominate, when they’re background?
Curves and decorations that can be viewed from another angle?
It’s what I see that tells a story.
I feel fragile at times which hurts and reminds me of why.
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I wonder too much about it all.
Curiosity is great. I roll in and regurgitate the curiosity
(and cruelty to self, at times).
My therapist makes it feel like a partnership, even though she has the knowledge, science, information.. experience, has studied and is doing this..
A team sport.
. . . . . . . . . .
I’ve felt ashamed and needy.
Gross.
She’s never acted repulsed by me.
They can do this wonderful neutral, (human) thing!
When I’ve felt something about the sessions, I’ve expressed it (it can take a while) and my feelings were normalised – that felt OK.
I’ve wondered if I’m ‘doing it right’.
Avoid feeling. Struggle to be present in my body.
All the lovely, yucky trauma stuff.
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Am I doing enough?
There’s so much shame.
I feel messy.. avoidant.. and like scuffed, damaged tissue, that needs improving on, just to live.
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Where are my ‘basics’?
The life skills. Emotional regulation, which is difficult.
(I’m being too harsh on myself here).
Some of this is ADHD and growing up being made to feel I was ‘difficult’ or inconvenient, by society.
Missing, invisible (it felt, unspoken) training stages that others met.
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Of course, there’s trauma too.
I blame myself . .
……………………
Why can I see, and not touch, where I need to be.. or how connected.
Be intuitive. .
Can’t I let go..
. . . . . . . . . .
(Not care what anyone thinks, including my therapist..)
Does she feel she’s wasting her time on me?
The painful stuff took a long time going in.
I hate myself.
Why can’t I do this?
I need to FEEL / where we sit
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Because of the power dynamics at play, my therapist tries to even it out.
I try to give back and re-distribute, to even!
As a people pleaser who is sensitive to dynamics and tone, I attempt to re-balance all the uneven and ownership of the space (she’s smart and doesn’t let me!)
I don’t want the therapist to absolve all sense of her existing too.
.
She’s there.
I want to make her important.
(This is clearly very healthy: sarcasm)
Her important, my sessions
That awful, cringy, raw thing..
The relationship is different. Separate, unique.
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I know nothing about my therapist’s family.
Not my business, really.
But, the connection, and all that she knows and holds (which I feel guilt around at times) is sacred to me.
A way that wouldn’t work with anyone in any other area of life.
It’s totally separate from her own private, personal life – and her own ‘stuff’.
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Weird, because I care about her wellbeing. Feel myself wanting (non-specific) good things -and happiness for the therapist.
Someone I value.
. .
If I feel she’s settled, as content as you can be (with life’s ups and downs), this makes me happy.
I’m a people pleaser and achieve (perceived) safety when others are fulfilled.
In the past, even when it means minimising my own needs and desires.
Love feeling that there’s joy in HER life.
Clearly, I need to look at this ..
Feel energy and can’t even explain how or why in this instance, but when I sense her settled, calm state,
it’s like breathing out.
(Hope for all the wonderful things for her. Grateful for therapy).
The awkward, but natural, bit..
………………..
An exhale..
Part of me, if I knew that my therapist had a daughter, would feel a pang of jealousy on first knowing.
Not the adult me, necessarily. The littlest versions that can feel trapped and need to be held and cared for – by me.
I like seeing her as a maternal-type figure and guess I imagine her being lovely with children.
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The instant feeling, that my guts would twist over, wouldn’t be real, perhaps.
A jealousy.
Transference.
I hate even thinking that.
And, feel unreasonable.
But, this is so understandable.
My Stuff
. . . . . . . . . .
Me projecting onto her.
Something natural that humans can do.
(Trying to work a situation out in our minds, maybe. Play something out.
With different outcomes).
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Me wanting to protect her.
It’s what I’ve known.
Wanting to protect everybody, historically,
except myself.
This very significant somebody who’s day to day I know nothing about!
Fragile because I want, need, this closeness
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It feels like grief
(I don’t want to seem as though I’m minimising grief, because I haven’t experienced profound physical loss and I worry that it could offend, or seem to be any sort of comparison).
It’s not.
I mean grieving for younger me.
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I want, need and crave love and acceptance.
Feel this like a wave of shame – and a greed.
It knocks me – realising how small, and little, I can feel in session. Shakes me, with longing and sadness.
child parts, younger me
Sometimes I feel my therapist watches my breathing, my body, eyes . .
How I move, where I look..
for dissociation, deep shame..
(I find eye contact hard).
When she needs to be gentler..
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There’s a moment when I notice her being attuned – But, not letting me give myself s..t!
Not sure how much I imagine (focusing on the therapist’s patterns probably says a lot! )
Therapy has felt like stability, for me.
It doesn’t want to be too comfortable.
My insides try to leave.
Shaking and turning me upside down, within consistent, familiar ground..
in a positive, scary way
Softness / awareness Watching my breath
. .
I can’t think of the phrase Catching my breath* without singing in my head
How very ADHD of me!
(*Taylor Swift, evermore)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I lean forward,
hunch over.
My posture isn’t fantastic, but it’s making me small.
Shame.
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I’ll notice my therapist stretching her back out.
She may have hurt her back, may be uncomfortable.. In pain.
Completely unrelated.
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I wonder,
do you feel what I do?
Or have a sense of it..
I can be ‘random’ in therapy as an avoidance technique
Trying to ‘impress’
(Scrap that: you don’t need to)
. . . . . . . .
I’ll talk about things that aren’t relevant.
My mind switches furiously, beautifully (often) from one topic to another..
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In therapy, I’ll change the subject.
Any way I can.
When feeling unregulated.
The worry is then that I’d say something embarrassing, or funny – and would forget!
I try to communicate where I am.
But, like to empty my head of the irrelevant (semi-relevant) busy buzzing beforehand. Which goes on too long!
.
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Get to the core stuff
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Something about a scrunchie.
Very neurodivergent.
How clothes and fabrics feel against me.
What are you feeling right now?
Often, I don’t know..
I’ve built on this a bit..
Where do you feel it in your body?
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I need to stay with it all..
She went still
Nobody listened that intently
The first time I disclosed something significant, the other person went so still.
There was a focus..
Was listened to
Had never felt that before..
Not every response was incredible, but that moment I will remember but for the rest of my life
Therapy feels sacred, private
As if I want to be respectful and ask permission
Sharing non-specifically
Grateful..
Building trust: Slow and safe.. steady wins the (no) race
Wait for it
Taking time, feeling safe
‘You don’t need to say Sorry here’
One of the therapy phrases that means so much
Making myself my chosen one
Not just for 50 minutes
Marble
……………
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Marble veins of intolerance
Arteries of persistence
To grow, create
and become even more
fragmentarily, beautiful
Colourful and glorious
…
It has to feel like a fight
Roaming, cracking, through
If you don’t see me
You lose into hateful cavernous
spaces
Disguised as resistance
…
My pathways of unity won’t
fly on your stone walls
Hard rock division
You Light us up
to discolour
Question who I am
Cracked, shaped
Cold, with judgement
Dull power of
assumption
growing, your persistence
…
Is my seal over my own soul
a threat to
What living is for you?
What you are ‘owed’?
As if togetherness and community
Means sucking the portals
of your right to flow -
You prefer timid and not living
Anger, the fuel
No celebration for open
portal paths of love
that joins each and every
all
-What’s wrong with voices that care?
You split up the rock face
Made it painful
Didn’t want to redress
More than, even out
It isn’t cake
In no instance, do you want
to share
.
You make fire into flame for your
causes
Conveniently obscured
Truths in which you never had
interest
Taken, re-framed
and paired
…
There’s no drinking and tasting
the metal filtering
Warping what you believe in
Equality doesn’t mean taking
Believing that you should shut off
life bloods
To keep it all
-you’ve got it twisted
…
The lime, the pavements
Marble tremendous in it’s dancing
magnificence
You want to frisk, shut down
All you see
That doesn’t match your rule
Do you see what this is?
Bolder block, the true
..
.
Creating patterns of flourishing bounces
as marble creates waves
and veins stick
Challenges, to all we’ve lived
.
I’m nothing to you
Not a winner
Whatever that, even, means
You don’t want me free
Yet, want to take
For you -
You name it stains and dirty grout
The arms open
Slapped
in cold slab
With veins of blue
…
What has been, with screws
Your kick
Tightened, destructive
Your goal for what is
Gets worse
No, forwards motion
You refer, as if herds
Want them never heard
And, intricate scattered weavings
bleeding through despite
The vise
of those who cage
Be more human. Not less.
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