Today’s session was intense. R came in and sat down, then asked me how I was doing.
“Let’s do this bit first.” I handed her payment.
“Thank you, tea ready – you spoil me.”
“Let me concentrate on this a moment…” I picked up my own drink, shaking slightly, and put it down. “I’ll leave that.”
“…On second thoughts, no.”
“If that doesn’t sum up this week…I’ve felt like a turtle without a shell.”
“Exposed is the word that comes to mind.”
“Exactly. I have written a piece I would like to share which will clarify a few things.” I then read the new poem.
“What stands out to me there is ‘looking for pain relief’, and talking about writing about it directly.”
“I have started trying to write about it.”

“Can I ask what’s brought that on?”

“Whilst doing work on narrative structure with the young people at work, I have begun to see narrative structure in the experience I am living. I think I am writing about it to try and understand it. I don’t want to know why, but I want to know how.”
“So you’re bringing stuff from work over here?” R highlighted the fact that I’ve been writing all the way through, “But this seems like a new way of doing things. When we talk, you have these sessions, but once I’m gone, there’s just your memory of this. It sounds like you’re taking control of the experience by writing about it.”
“Yes. I have a new version of the timeline, and I have reached the part which has always been a sticking point.”

“I knew you were going to say ‘timeline’ then.”
“As I have been writing, I have noticed the anger coming up alongside the experience.”

“Please can you clarify?”

“Point one: I am angry that this happened. Point two: I am angry at myself for allowing this to happen. Point three: I am angry that they did not care.”

“That is some really good awareness. You’re angry and you have listed reasons why.”
R went on to say that she feels as though I am holding onto it tightly, and asked me why.

“Are you holding onto it for fear of what letting it out might do to you, or what it might do to other people?”

I confirmed that it was the latter. “Because of all you’ve been through, we didn’t want to tell you this, but...Because of all you’ve been through, we didn’t want to tell you this, but… Because of all you’ve been through, we didn’t want to tell you this, but…”

“Shall I move?”

“Yes, please. Because of all you’ve been through, we didn’t want to tell you this, but…”

“How do you feel when you recall that? Is that anger, or…?”

“It is the shock of cold water.”

“Indignation. Why the **** would somebody do that?”

“It was barely eighteen months after Chris…” R squeezed my hand. “It was barely eighteen months after Chris’ death. As well as that was handled, it is allowed to be awful?”

“Yes.”
“June 2007, I had just got home from a family funeral, and I received the email that her fiancé had…you know, but not just that. So much detail I did not need.”

“It sounds as though the realisation that they did not care is new to you?”

“Yes.”

“When you gave everything. You were at your limit already, and you gave.”

“I hate making comparisons, but the way in which Chris’ death was handled was so different.”

We talked about how I feel that the whole situation is preventing me from being the person I want to be. “I want to be able to be there for people, and it wasn’t a conscious thought before, but now I find myself thinking “What are they going to need from me?”’
R talked about how self compassion is something I am not alone in struggling with. She also struggles with this.

“And you don’t have that to give. When you talk about this time in your life, I picture you living in survival mode. Just got to get through to the next thing…”

“It’s not supposed to be a way of life,” I replied “And I imagine it is quite difficult to feel fulfilled when you are in survival mode.”

“That depends on your definition of fulfilment. It can be difficult to find love or meaningful relationships.”

“I enjoy work because I don’t have to think about any of this.”

“Do you feel fulfilled at work, Lost?”

“Yes.” We then talked more about Chris.

“This sounds horrible, but you know what I mean. I am glad that Chris did not live to see me like this.”

“Is that a bit of shame there?”

“Yes. I have just had a realisation that may be a starting point for next time rather than right now.”

“Stop there and think a minute about whether you want to go there now, or if you can hold it as we have a break.”

“The phrase that keeps coming up for me is ‘compassionate mirror’ I’ll work on a better way of explaining that for next time.”

“What I understand by that is that she brought out the best in people?”

“And who does that now? This is why I didn’t want to go there now…I don’t know how to do this…” I began to cry before I could finish my sentence.

“Do you want a hug?”

“Yes, please.” R held me as I wept. Once I had finished, she passed me my tissues.

“I don’t want to set you off again, but with a loss like that, it is possibly not just the person. It’s something like a part of you.”

“Something traumatic must have happened – I mean, look at what happened with the cup….Funny how things come full circle, with the way things started today.”

“When you said, I wondered – were you talking about today? I am a bit out of the counsellor role now, but you are doing it.”
“It’s about understanding what has been broken, so I can rebuild. Grief is not just one thing.”

“Be kind to yourself today. Self-compassion and kindness.”

R reiterated that I can email over the break if I need to.