I’ve been seeing A. for a couple of weeks now, although it feels like much longer. Maybe that’s because I’ve been seeing her twice weekly, I don’t know. What I do know is that the twice weekly format seems to suit me, as does A. Or, rather, two sessions a week suit me because I think A. suits me.

It all feels very different to what I was doing with B., which was essentially going there each week more or less because I felt I should. With A. I go because it feels like it could lead somewhere. There’s potential. Real potential. Which is good.

But there is a whole range of emotions that have come into play since I started seeing A., not just “feeling good”. One of the most prominent feelings is in fact fear. Because of that potential I spoke of earlier this is much scarier than what my previous experience of therapy has ever been. I mean, with B. I knew that I was never ever going to go deep enough to really touch any nerves, and even with D., as well as we worked together, there was always a part of me that was acutely aware that at some point our sessions would be coming to an end, and so, in many ways that, too, felt relatively risk-free. I am sure I’d have felt differently if at the outset I’d known that I was looking to do long term therapy with D., but as that wasn’t the case, I never really felt particularly scared at the prospect of going down a path that could stir up some really difficult things.

Still, as frightening as it is, setting out on this journey, I think it will be worth it. I think that it’ll be very hard work, and, I’m guessing, at times excruciatingly painful, but I also hold firm that it is essential work; a sense that to go forward from where I’ve been I must accept that the only way out is through.

Ok, so now I’ve established that therapy is damn hard work I can move on to the lighter side of it. Because, contrary to popular belief, therapy is not all about constant hard work. It’s one of the ingredients, one of the main ingredients even, but it would make for a pretty bland soup if it were the only one.

Personally I like to stir in some humour into the concoction. I think that was one of the things that made D. and I work well together, and was also part of the reason why B. and I just never connected. So, needless to say, a sense of humour [preferably good] is something I look for in a therapist. And, thankfully, it appears A. does have that too.

Speaking of ingredients; below is a poem I wrote two weeks ago. The person who runs the creative writing group I’m part of asked us to write a poem in the format of a recipe.
It’s not the type of poetry I normally write, and not one of my favourites, but it’s a challenge to write according to a set standard.

Hope you enjoy it!

xx

Recipe for a good therapy
[Serves 2, best prepared while on the couch]

Honesty.
A big chunk of it, doused in transparency and generously seasoned with genuineness.

Courage.
More than just a little, from the strongest concentrate you’ve got. (Look deep into the cupboard of your soul to get the best you can find).

Trust.
Start with a single pearlescent grain, allow time – years if needed – for it to mature, solidify and grow.

Humour.
A bit of sunshine just around the eyes, a good laugh now and then to refuel your resolve.

And, finally:

A cupful of magic.
Self-made from scratch (not the mass-produced pre-fab supermarket variety!)

Add one by one into a large cauldron, keeping it on a frustratingly low simmer. Stir slowly, observantly, with great love and care.

Watch your life transform before you

In its own good time.