There's no order in these ME tales - I'm actually writing about the counselling and therapists I visited over an 8 year time slot - what's coming out is what's near the surface. Who knows what will be next but for now - we're still in the counselling/therapist mode. I did see quite a number of counsellors over these 8 years - all helping to understand and deal with this health problem that I was learning about on a daily basis. Was this 'all in the mind'? No it wasn't. Absolutely not. Was I depressed? Well as a 21 year old young woman, I wasn't dancing from the roof tops about it - hell, I could not clamber up to those roof tops anyway. No I wasn't depressed, I was doing my upmost to stay positive and find my way out of it. I was seeking support. It was something intuitively I knew I needed to do. I never went on anti-depressants even though I knew that this was the only thing left the GP could prescribe and that was really the only thing he could give me. I didn't need them though. So here continues the story of counsellor number 2.
About a year later things were no better, in fact they were much worse. Through a year of inactivity and barely enough energy to have a shower and dry my hair, I had begun to pile on the pounds. I had struggled with fluctuating weight throughout my teens and had finally felt at a stable weight before I became ill. By the time I was first struck with flu at the start, I was in fact feeling pretty good about my self and my size – result!
So here I was being faced with an additional challenge of weight creeping on. No more dance classes; no more gym visits, or even a simple walk with the dog – nada! Nothing! And so little by little the size of me got to be a real problem. As I couldn’t shop for clothes, I had to order them via catalogues. That good old faithful Next Catalogue came in handy, but as time progressed and before size 18 became de rigeur, Next became too small. Then I’d have to look elsewhere for clothes.
I was having difficulty coping with this weight gain, so I decided to seek out a counsellor, someone who could help me come through this as I really didn’t want it to detract from the matter at hand – finding my way back to health. Having visited a local holistic centre, I noticed a business card for a therapist who specialised in body image.
“That’s her”, I thought.
My first appointment was ok. Good in fact. First appointments are all about introducing yourself and getting to know one another. It’s a time to explore whether you can work well together in therapy. I knew this not by any great massive educational discovery, but that’s how it felt and I have always known and trusted my intuition.
I explained my problem and gave her a brief run down on how I was feeling. “OK”, she explained, “next week, we will concentrate on your perceptions of how you see yourself and how that may differ from the way others see you”.
“Great” I thought, “sounds like a plan”.
The following week I arrived – again these outings for me were big business. I couldn’t drive due to lack of coordination and vision, plus sudden fatigue or migraine, so my mum once again dropped me off and either waited for me or went to shop. I must ask her about that – what did she do when she waited for me during an appointment?
Getting ready, what to wear, this all became a bit of an ordeal. I always tried to make the most of myself. I put some make up on so not to look too pasty and had my hair in a nice enough style. Looking back at photographs, I can tell I looked ill. Though, the amount of people that used to say to me “oh don’t you look well” would make me want to burst out crying. It made me feel like a fraud. Little did they know the heartache I felt when they said that to me.
Back to the session and I’ll never forget it. She made me lie down on the floor on a large piece of rolled out paper – wallpaper-lining paper, I think. She had stuck two pieces together. She then began to draw around me. Here I was, feeling so terribly bad about my size and she’s drawing round me. When we had finished she asked me to get up, sit down in the chair opposite and talk about how it felt to see this ‘representation’.
I was mortified. Staring back at me was this humungous 'interpretation'. How could I begin to see what was real when I’m looking at a shaky outline of a figure or should I say what looked like a sweet potato. Had I been naked, yes, I get that, bra and knickers. I’ve seen Gok do it on ‘how to look good naked’ and it worked because the client was in bra and knickers and he was showing the benefit of his ‘sucked in under garments' and how they can take so many inches off you. But this was a sweet potato in a long Next cardigan and black bulky jeans.
I knew at that moment that there would be no more sessions. Oh I cried when I left, I was so upset at this ‘representation’. I was also upset at how the counsellor had thought this a ‘good thing’ to do in week 2. Even then I realised this was not what I wanted. I know now that in order to gain trust in a therapeutic relationship, those early sessions are crucial.
Mum and I still talk of this effigy today. We laugh now, but mum had to help me through that ridiculousness and clever woman as she was, she made me burn it, which we did together, holding one another, crying and laughing, realising that a new day was dawning.
Some people are so vulnerable when going through long-term health problems and it made me aware of just how you can get caught up in something or someone and not able to say no. Lucky for me, I was able to say ‘no thanks, not for me’ after week 2, but that’s because I had the support behind me and I was also getting used to saying no by now.
In hindsight, looking back, with experience, I realise what her intention was albeit a feeble intention - she was probably a very good therapist but it just didn’t work for me. I was paying for this privately and the majority for health and healing work back then was private (now there is more availability on the NHS or via GP centres).
I felt it best to nip it in the bud, putting it down to an AFLO,
“What’s an AFLO” I hear you say to yourself?
It’s ‘another f*&^%g learning opportunity - thanks to Andrew for that acronym!
Am waiting for the next Blog xx
ReplyDelete