The Guardian | 30.04.22 | SATURDAY | 43should be instinctual, clear cut – yet I have always
struggled to articulate and trust mine. We realise they
weren’t discussed, taken seriously or explored, growing
up. It’s ha rd work c ha l leng i ng t h is deeply held bel ief.... BUT DON’T BLAME YOUR PARENTS
I mean, absolutely do, at fi rst – Philip Larkin was right,
they fuck you up. So every frustration at my behaviour,
every fl aw in my character, every life skill I feel I lack, I
lay the blame at my parents’ door. It feels good at fi rst, as
i t l e t s m e o ff the hook; I don’t have to take responsibility
for my failings. But after a while it starts to feel a bit
pointless, a bit immature. It’s a therapeutic dead end.
As time goes on, I realise something blindingly
obvious: my parents had to make do with their parents.
Perhaps I should have recalled Larkin’s second verse:
“ But they were fucked up in their turn/By fools in old-
style hats and coats .” I loved my grandparents, but they
didn’t arm their children with the skills and language
to navigate the world of emotions.
Once this truth is established, it leads to more
interesting conversations. Under standing that I’m
not fl awed – or, more accurately, that we all are, so
get over it – and that I must dictate what shape my life
takes gives me the freedom to think about the choices I
could make in future. I’m lucky to have the parents I do.
But they are too emotionally involved to be objective
about me. A neutral, professional therapist is a great
counterpart. I hope to arm my daughter with as many
life skills as I can, but I’ll no doubt screw her up in my
own special way.SELF-ACCEPTANCE IS ACTUALLY A THING
This phrase is bandied about so freely in self-help
articles and on fridge magnets, it has almost lost its
m e a n i n g. B u t f o r m e , i t i s c o r e t o i t a l l. I h a v e a l w a y s f e l t
unfi nished, not-yet-perfect, and that if I could become
a bit more confi dent, a bit less self-conscious, then I
would be ready to launch into the world, fully formed –
and then I would fi nd contentment, fulfi lment and love.
As I half-suspect before I start therapy, it turns outI’m spectacularly misguided about this desire for a
wholesale personality transplant. At the end of our fi rst
s e s s i o n , m y t h e r a p i s t a s k s m e i f I ’d e v e r c o n s i d e r e d t h a t
someone – a partner, a parent, a friend, a boss – might
accept me exactly as I am, fl aws, insecurities and all (I
call this the Bridget Jones school of therapy). I never
have. It is a revelation.ASK YOURSELF THE RIGHT QUESTIONS
The cliche goes that therapists nod their heads wisely
and say: “And how did that make you feel?” They do say
this sometimes; and in fact, when no one has ever asked
you this question before, it’s extremely powerful when
they do, repeatedly. This repetition, in my case, starts
to have a n eff ec t: it ma kes me see t hat my feel i ngs a re
valid; they aren’t right or wrong – they just are.
But my therapist rarely asks that question, mostly
because it is implicit in everything we talk about.
Instead, she regularly asks a more powerful one:
“What’s that good for?”
At fi rst, I don’t understand what she means. What is
choosing an unavailable man good for? Well, nothing,
obviously. But what she actually means is, what purpose
does it serve? He’ll never commit to a relationship with
me, I venture. And what’s that good for, she asks, half-
smiling. It keeps me from having an intimate, grown up
relationship, I say. Which keeps me from risking being
hurt by someone I actually care about. And so on.
Today, I ask myself this question all the time. What
is keeping quiet about a work frustration good for? It
stops me having to push myself, and potentially make
higher-profi l e m i s t a k e s. W h a t i s m y i n s i s t e n c e t h a t m y
daughter clear her plate good for? It makes me feel I can
control her – and therefore feel in control as a parent.
There’s always an explanation.DON’T BE AFRAID OF SILENCE
If a therapy session is a mirror of the outside world and
how we exist in it, then I clearly don’t know when to shut
up. A therapeutic silence is worse than a real-life silence- it is unnaturally awkward sitting opposite someone
while they stare at you, waiting for you to speak – so I
fi ll all of them.
Of course, this is a trick I know from my own world:
silences are often when the juiciest things come out, as
any journalist who regularly does interviews will tell
you. But it takes courage to sit with it. If you are constantly
fi lling silences to avoid their awkwardness, you are,
I’ve learned, avoiding something else – an intimacy, a
genuine thought, an ability to feel a little exposed.
The hardest silences in therapy are those at the
start of each session. It’s an unspoken rule that you,
rather than your therapist, start off. Often what you
fi rst say is revealing – and can dictate that entire week’s
conversation. For me, this pressure feels unbearable.
So I mitigate it by trying to turn up “prepared” – with
a good yarn, or running through our last session in my
head, planning what to say when I arrive.
My therapist challenges me on it: what might happen
if I don’t prepare and instead just see what happens?
What’s my biggest fear? That I will say something trite
or embarrassing, I say. That I’ll be “found out” for being
stupid, or for not having done my homework. Do you
often feel like this, she asks – needing to be the good girl,
for fear of what people might think of you? You bet I do.CHECK IN WITH YOURSELF (EVERY NOW AND THEN)
Sometimes, of course, I am just stumped for words. I
stare out of the window; I fi dget; I smile apologetically;
I talk about the weather, or I compliment my therapist
on something she’s wearing. It is agonising. She nods
politely, quietly scrutinising me.
After a while, she puts me out of my misery and says:
“What’s happening for you right now?” It’s a question
we don’t often ask ourselves, checking in with the
present moment, and it’s surprisingly helpful. The
fi rst few times she says it, I talk about something that
happened in the week, or a future plan. When I do,
she stops me gently and says, “No, right now. What’s
happening for you right now?”
The truth is, I often don’t know, because I don’t think
about it. But when I do speak honestly, what I say usually
surprises me. “I am really, really pissed off ,” I say. I am
shocked. Once it has been voiced, we work backwards
to fi gure out what I’m so pissed off about.YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHEN TO STOP
It’s been 10 years since that warm June afternoon.
A f t e r a d e c a d e o f t a l k i n g w i t h m y t h e r a p i s t , m y l i f e h a s
changed immeasurably for the better. I’m a mother,
I’m more confi dent and fulfi l l e d at wo rk t h a n I ’ ve e ve r
been, and I’m more than 18 months into a stable, loving
relationship with an exceptionally good man. A lack of
self-worth, a fear of taking up too much space, a fear
of expressing how I feel, that have all accompanied me
since girlhood, have lifted. Some of this is the simple
fact of ageing. But mostly it is thanks to the power of
my weekly conversations.
But I am stopping. Therapy is a powerful means to
an end, and it has armed me with the skills, in eff ect,
to be my ow n t herapist.
As we wind down, I am curious to see how I feel,
and what I will miss about it. My relationship with my
therapist is a strange, one-sided one: I know almost
nothing about her, yet she knows everything about me,
f rom my d a rke s t fe a r s to my mo s t sh a me f u l t houg ht s.
I am forever amazed at how much she remembers – stories
I’ve told her, the names of obscure family members.
We are close, in some ways, but it’s not a friend ship. I
wonder aloud if she will miss me; she volunteers that
she will. We are human beings, too, she says.
Therapy hasn’t “fi xed” me, because I wasn’t broken.
I t h a s h e l p e d m e a c c e s s a n d m a k e s e n s e o f m y t h o u g h t s ,
feelings and actions. Now the end is approaching,
have I run out of problems? Will I never again suff er
moments of self-doubt, or get tongue-tied in intimate
conversations? Of course not. But my therapy has
helped me confront and understand them – and given
HAIR AND MAKEUP: ALICE THEOBALD AT ARLINGTON ARTISTS USING ALBIVA SKINCARE, GUERLAIN COSMETICS, BUMBLE AND BUMBLE, MAVALA NAILS me the tools to tackle them •