Today’s session was a powerful conversation on the value of ‘unpractising’. I began by apologising for the email, as per usual.
‘I accept your apology, but I don’t know why you are apologising.’
‘It was the sober equivalent of a drunk email. It felt very disjointed.’

‘Was it reflective of how you felt in that moment?’

‘Yes.’

I explained that I wanted to read something I had written and posted in an online grief support group. ‘I have done a couple of online grief writing courses.’

‘Since lockdown?’

‘No, before that. I am in a group where people who’ve done previous courses all connect. So I wrote this and posted it there first, but I wanted to share it with you.’
‘Not everybody goes through what I go through at this time of year, every year. I hear some self-compassion there.’
I explained that I am tired of spending 70% of my time on the verge of tears. ‘I am still irritated that this is forcing me to find new coping strategies at this time.’
R understands that this is usually an intense time for me anyway, but with the pandemic it is worse.
‘Some of my coping strategies at the moment involve weekly check in and write in sessions with the women writers group I am a member of. It’s over Zoom. It’s one of the only things that feel normal at the moment.’
I explained that the facilitator had said she was doing a series of online classes with one of my favourite poets. ‘I looked at it, but didn’t think I could justify it right now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Financially.’ I explained that Dal had pointed out the bursary, and I had gone for it.
‘I was expecting writing exercises. I wasn’t expecting to have a notebook and hang on every word.’
‘Sounds like it surpassed your expectations?’
‘David Whyte is the poet whose work does to me what mine does to other people.’
‘It has meaning, depth and emotion?’

‘Yes.’
‘That’s obviously based on feedback you have received.’

I explained that David Whyte talks for an hour, and then there is a Q+A.
‘I haven’t asked anything yet, I am working up to it, because there are two more opportunities. Somebody asked a question about bringing courage to trauma, which is the most David Whyte thing I want to hear David Whyte talk about, but his response began with ‘When you are sitting with someone who is dying…’ and I had to scarper.’
I noticed that R closed her eyes and a pained expression passed over her face.

‘From your reaction, you know how that hit me.’

‘Yes.’
‘Fortunately I went straight from David Whyte’s session into Dal’s. We talked about it a bit because she knows.’ I explained that I feel there’s a difference between people who know and people who understand.
‘I hear a desperate strength in that. You are reaching out even though it is uncomfortable.’
‘I’ve never heard the words ‘desperate’ and ‘strength’ together in the same sentence.’
For some reason I got it into my head that we were coming to a close.
‘I’ve done that thing again where I have something to ask.’

‘Go for it.’

‘Other than the way in which we are working now, has anything changed between us?’

‘Are you asking in terms of the relationship between you and I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Reading between the lines, what I hear you asking is ‘Is what I am bringing OK?’ And yes, absolutely. Nothing at all has changed.’

‘Next week I want to talk about masks. I am very fortunate to still have support workers coming in. That was part of the difficulty to which I alluded in yesterday’s email. My visit got cancelled with half an hour’s notice. Even though it’s almost a glorified doctor’s appointment, that walk means a lot to me. They ask the question and mean it.’
‘Do they now have to wear masks?’

‘Yes, and I understand the hygiene aspect, but that really hinders my capacity for connection.’

R mentioned that she finds it odd going to the supermarket.

‘Everything you have been working on. Who the **** am I holding it together for? Holding it together has become a habit, and perhaps you need to unpractice that. I’m making up words again.’
‘I like it when you make up words.’

‘It’s a skill not everybody has.’ We both laughed, and that felt so good.
‘Plus, it is medicalised,’ she continued.

‘I hadn’t put that together until now.’ I explained that my brain is like a fireworks display at the moment.
‘My brain isn’t too good either.’
‘There are lots of things I want to say, but can’t. I feel weird for not having the capacity to care about the pandemic. How dare I have this emotional response while something huge is going on?’

‘I hear the harshness in that. We talked a bit about this last week, but I would be more surprised if you didn’t have your normal response to this time of year.’

‘With the anniversary cycle over, usually I would get a reprieve, but this year, that isn’t the case. If the filter has a setting for intensity of experience, it has been turned way up.’
I remarked. ‘I don’t want to be armoured like a medieval knight. I would settle for being armoured like a tortoise is.’

R and I had an interesting conversation about our relationship. She assured me that if there was anything she felt uneasy about she would say.
‘Thank you. I’ve been in situations before where things needed to be said, and weren’t.’

‘Within the form of counselling I am trained in, we are equals. I am a trained therapist, but we are two human beings in a relationship. They call it relational depth, and you and I work at quite a deep level.’

I asked whether we could do some breathing, after telling her about yesterday’s experience of an online Loving Kindness meditation.

‘Somebody from the grief support group mentioned that his local Buddhist centre have moved all of their events online for the time being. That’s how I got through last Wednesday’s anniversary, with a breathing meditation. I didn’t realise that this week’s was a Loving Kindness meditation.’

R asked more about the process, and I explained briefly.
‘We started with a body scan, and that has never made me cry before. The facilitator said ‘Now we’re noticing physical sensations’. I had video and audio off, so I was there but not there. I am noticing that I am crying.’

I refrained from talking about the difficulty of extending loving kindness to oneself.

We shifted into talking briefly about my remark that I have no capacity to deal with the pandemic. R explained that she had a similar conversation with her supervisor. In order to protect herself, she has not looked at the news for two days.
I asked whether we could do some breathing, and R used my firework imagery to create a visualisation of a firework display that decreases in volume, but remains beautiful and safe.
‘How are your shoulders? Concrete? When I’m working with you, I always become aware of my own.’
We finished the exercise with a couple of deep breaths before R asked whether I felt safe to leave it there.