Christine Lister-Ford 3/26/21 Christine Lister-Ford 3/26/21

THE COVID MONTHS | REFLECTIONS ON WORKING IN A COVID VACCINE CENTRE

Joanne Scougall an experienced health care professional and trainee counsellor shares her deeply personal experiences.

On my first day of working at the Covid Vaccine Centre I remember feeling both nervous and excited. I had the opportunity to work there because as well as being a trainee counsellor at Northern Guild, I have worked as a health care professional for just under 20 years. I, like so many during this pandemic, had worked predominately from home and so the opportunity to work with people in person was extremely appealing. Being able to put any previous nursing skills to good use at this time was obviously very helpful for others but I also knew that I would benefit hugely from the real contact with people that has been missing for such a long time even if it was from behind PPE.

Once the initial nervousness of being part of a huge team of professionals from all spectrums began to settle, excitement and hope took hold. I felt that after such a difficult time there was the promise of better times ahead, but patience was still very much needed. Teams of staff from various nursing sectors, medical and pharmaceutical professionals, paramedics and the armed forces, as well as the voluntary sector all came together for the collective effort of rolling out the vaccine programme. It was and is the biggest logistical challenge of the NHS to date, and something that I’m sure the many of those who have planned it, from those behind the scenes, to those who deliver the vaccines and equipment, and those on the frontline can be truly proud of. I will always be grateful to and in awe of the exceptional minds of the scientists, researchers as well as the courage of the volunteers who have who have made this unbelievable roll out possible. Their brilliance has cast a bright light in a dark time.

The people that I have met at the vaccination centre are full of gratitude and feel new hope for the future. In the very early days of the programme, the very elderly and vulnerable were first in line. Many had barely left their homes for months, and at times there was a palpable nervousness and fear of being in a building with so many others, that was noisy and busy, and potentially carried risk of the very thing they were trying to protect themselves against. Some were visibly delighted to be out of the house, and in the company of others for a brief time. What certainly did come across, was how grateful people were to all involved, and how hope and often optimism was expressed. Whist often conversations had to be fairly brief for the benefit of getting as many people as possible vaccinated what struck me was just how connected we can be with one another in such a short space of time. Many people talked as they were getting their arms ready for their injection of how difficult life had been for them. Loneliness, isolation, and uncertainty featured in many people’s experiences. As well as the fear of this cruel disease, there was the sense of loss that so many had either personally encountered or knew somebody who had. Despite these feelings, resolve and determination often shine bright, together with kindness. Nothing beats kindness. Often, even when somebody feels isolated themselves and has suffered the loss of feeling connected it is amazing how they can still see the difficulties for other people whose situations are different to theirs. The old expressing compassion for the young at their freedoms being curtailed at what should be the height of the discovery of life. And the young having compassion for the old, and the fears that they may have.

I have noticed in myself how connected I have felt to many of the people I have met and worked with despite the often fleeting nature of this encounter. I have been wondering whether this is due to the lack of feeling connected, because of the pandemic, or whether I am noticing this change in my feelings due to my Northern Guild training. Maybe it is both. Many things that people have said have stayed with me. There has been one meeting in particular that has resonated with me. A lady who very bravely shared her loss and grief in losing her own mother to Covid, as well as being left with debilitating symptoms herself. Fortunately, on this occasion, I was able to spend a little longer with her. The vaccination process had triggered some very raw emotions quite suddenly for her. I do hope that for this lady I was able to integrate my nursing skills with my counselling skills, and help provide the start of an outlet for her to be able to express her feelings. Encounters with other people, however brief, can resonate and have a lasting impact. From a smile that can express compassion and empathy, to a conversation about fears and anxieties, I know we can be impacted as well as impact others.

This whole experience has been a real privilege for me. It has made me more excited and more determined than ever in my counselling journey. No matter how difficult things are for people, hope and gratitude can and do shine brightly now for so many.

Christine Lister-Ford 3/12/21 Christine Lister-Ford 3/12/21

THE COVID MONTHS | WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON WITH OUR CHILDREN?

A year on, there is much talk about the impact of lockdowns, the effects of school closures and the Covid-19 pandemic on the mental health and wellbeing of our nation’s children and adolescents. But what is really going on right now?

Sue Holdswoth and Joanne Rubbi have been finding out about the issues that children and adolescent have faced. Here is what they discovered.

WITHDRAWAL & DISCONNECTING

For those on-line, a theme which has emerged strongly has been that of young clients gradually withdrawing and disconnecting from relationships and life, and this includes from therapy. Not wanting to attend online lessons or engage in therapy sessions, not wanting to even get out of bed, has been challenging for parents and practitioners, and obviously raises concerns.

WILL I BRING THE VIRUS BACK HOME?

For some, this comes with very serious added concerns and anxieties. “If I return to school, will my parents be ok? What if I bring the virus back to them and they become ill or, worse, will they die? Then that would be my fault and I will be alone in the world. If I am with them I can make sure they are safe and ok. . After prolonged periods of time together, the idea of separating and individuating has no appeal in contrast to the comfort and safety that home and symbiotic relationships bring.

LOCKDOWN HAS HELPED SOME CHILDREN

Some children report that they have definitely benefitted from lockdown. Some have had precious time with parents and carers, forging and fostering secure attachments. Some have even experienced early unmet needs being unexpectedly satisfied. Children who have found school to be a hostile or difficult environment, because, for example, they have been targeted by bullies or struggled with friendships, the learning environment or sensory overload, have welcomed the respite that lockdown has gifted them. Some have benefitted from slowing down, waking up late, not having to face alarm clocks, stressful bus journeys, PE lessons or negotiate busy school corridors, noisy canteens, the politics of playgrounds and crowded assemblies. There have also been those children who have remained in school, due to their vulnerability or family situations, and have really benefitted from smaller class sizes and quieter environments; their “bubbles” have been protective and containing.

HIGH LEVELS OF ANXIETY

However, whilst some have enjoyed staying home or even staying at school, this may have been accompanied by increased performance anxiety relating to their academic work and exams. Therapists have reported seeing an increase in anxiety relating to school achievement and fear of failing. This has often come with a very real lack of motivation and “Zoom fatigue” further exacerbating the performance anxieties. Our young people are also often very concerned about the environment and for some, performance anxiety is morphing into real existential terror about their futures and the plight of the planet. Many practitioners have noted an increase in the phenomena of displaced anxiety. Monsters under the bed and terrifying characters from films stalking up and down hallways have made a resurgence!

Anxiety, and the displacement of such, isn’t, of course, restricted to children and young people. Practitioners have noted that there has been an increase in some parents displacing and projecting their own difficulties onto children and insisting that their children receive help when, in practise, their children are reluctant or unwilling to engage.

Of course, where there is powerlessness, a lack of control, fear and anxiety, there is often an increase in controlling behaviours. Eating distress and obsessive, compulsive behaviours have crept in or returned with a vengeance into some people’s lives.

Some young people have reported really missing their friends and some have worried that their friends may no longer be there for them in the same way after lockdown. Crushing loneliness and boredom has led some to zone out, losing themselves in endless television repeats, which only feeds the cycle of disconnection and isolation. There has been a return to old maladaptive coping strategies for some young people, such as self-harming. For others, this may, however, be a new strategy, and for one lonely, YouTube-immersed client who needed to protect her psyche from an over-bearing mother, self-harm helped her to return to feeling alive following periods of dissociation and “death”.

AUTHORITY FIGURES ARE MEAN

There is also a rise in mistrust in authority figures with some feeling very cynical about whether or not schools will stay open. This mistrust has turned into outright hatred and anger in some cases or has made some children more anxious and scared. Teachers, headteachers, police and others have replicated the past bully or abuser or inconsistent parent in the child’s unconscious mind. One child who was struggling to leave the house, actually managed to take the plunge and go outdoors in the freshly fallen snow with his sledge, only to be caught by the police in the moment that some peers came over to chat to him. His dad was fined and the child withdrew further into his room and his shell, holding more fervently onto his belief that the world was a scary and dangerous place to be. Another, struggling to attend school at all at the end of the first lockdown, could only see the insistent teachers and social workers as forceful and frightening, like the man who originally abused him and was relieved when schools closed for a second time. It may not be transferential responses that are always the problem; for some, the Covid-19 virus itself is triggering historic trauma, panic attacks and Tourette’s. Hand sanitizer has even rubber banded some children back to early childhood trauma with drug and alcohol addicted parents.

Of course, for too many children, home has not always been a safe or secure setting. As child and adolescent practitioners, we are all too aware of the effects upon children of living in turbulent homes, where domestic violence may feature, and where there are levels of neglect or abuse. We do know that school often acts as a protective factor offering children respite and safety, distraction and stimulation. Safeguarding concerns have definitely increased amongst practitioners.

DEATH AND LOSS

Finally, death and loss. How do children and young people process the reality of what the world has been experiencing? Locking down because a silent and deadly virus is circulating within their schools and communities? Processing the fact that a normal and necessary hug or an ordinary after-school visit to a grandparent could endanger their loved one’s life? And then there are those who are grieving and those who have lost not just one family member but multiple family members. There are children who have lost loved ones to cancer or a sudden cardiac arrest. They are struggling with the pain of grief and loss, exacerbated by the fact that they cannot attend important ‘ending’ rituals or hug their extended families. One child has started saying, “Please make sure you stay safe.” at the end of her telephone therapy sessions, following the death of her grandma and the return of cancer to her father. Given her circumstances and with constant TV adverts and news features repeating those same words, is it any wonder?

We are really interested in hearing your thoughts. Write to Joanne and Sue at

truenorththerapy.contact@gmail.com

Christine Lister-Ford 2/26/21 Christine Lister-Ford 2/26/21

THE COVID MONTHS | IN THE DIRECTORS’ CHAIR

EMILY SUGGETT CHAIR of the BOARD OF DIRECTORS

EMILY SUGGETT talks about life in the Hot Seat

To speak about my role as Chair of Directors at Northern Guild it seems right to go back to where it all began. I have a clear memory of leaving the Jesmond Centre for the first time, my family was waiting for me in the then car park of the Swallow Hotel. As I climbed into the car I beamed as I said “This is it! I have found what I have been looking for! It feels right!” It felt like a momentous occasion. At the time I was a qualified Graphic Designer, working as a Graphic Artist. I loved the team I worked with and the relaxed nature of the work, but I could not escape how unfulfilled I had become.

From 15 years old I had been working towards a life in London employed by a glossy magazine, following in my aunt’s footsteps. The life seemed so glamourous and miles away from a small village upbringing. After completing a week’s work experience for a highly successful magazine I had imagined I would return to the glitzy life of photoshoots, designing attractive magazine spreads and buzzing around on the tube.

Not long after my return from London the sudden loss of a childhood friend changed the goals I had set for myself. I found a job locally in a design studio and worked in a supportive team, but I would sit in front of the monitor, using the latest Mac with the newest design software and feel dissatisfied. As beautiful as the Mac computers were there was no communication coming back to me. Friends started to have children and I would find myself sitting with the children, playing, colouring in, and talking whilst the parents would take the opportunity to take care of chores. The plan was never to babysit the children it was just where I always ended up. Afterwards the parents would ask me things like, “how did you find out that had happened at school today? I had no idea she was feeling like that”.

Looking for a new career began, and I spent evenings and weekends trawling through the internet. I met with a kind woman at a university, who was there to offer career advice, I left with a heavy heart as none of the job roles she described spoke to the unfulfilled part of me. Each time I met with another university I would describe how I wanted to help children and they would go on to talk about teaching and social work and I would leave feeling disheartened.

Then one evening as I sat trawling the internet again, I was somehow led to the Northern Guild, I think at the time the website was green. A glimmer of hope returned. What I was reading seemed to be exactly what I had been searching for. Soon enough I was sat in the Guild Hall on the brown velvet sofa listening to Jennie McNamara speak about counselling and psychotherapy, I was mesmerised and that part of me that had felt deadened for so long was beginning to spark. Instead of leaving yet another meeting feeling heavy and disappointed I left knowing I had found the career I had been seeking. Back then I did not really know about intuition, but nevertheless it was leading the way.

Training began and it was terrifying, comforting and fascinating all in one. Christine and Jennie were inspirational, I had never seen people reach out to others like they did, the empathy, care, and strength they displayed was palpable and it moved me to the core of my being. The rest of team displayed the same level of interest and investment and I continued to be transformed every time I witnessed or experienced intimacy. Working therapeutically with children and young people came naturally, I felt privileged to be witness to each story I heard or seen played out in the sand, dolls house or drawings. No longer was I sat staring at a computer screen feeling dissatisfied, I was now part of therapeutic relationships, where communication between both parties is always flowing, I could feel and respond to the other.

Never on that first day of being welcomed into the Northern Guild could I have fully understood the feeling I had of finding my calling. Being a children and young people’s psychotherapist is a hard ongoing personal challenge and the rewards are life changing. Each child and young person I have met has impacted and shaped me. Heavenly window was the room I worked from until earlier this year when Covid meant we had to rethink our ways of working with children. So, there I was sat in front of a screen again, except this time a face looked back at me. Quite quickly we had everything in place that allowed us to be in the room with our clients again and my heart remembered what it was like to be with another when all communication is being channelled.

When I first joined the training team, I would sit there quietly soaking it all in. I was surprised by how much time was spent discussing the students experience, the team would spend the meetings reflecting on the student’s feedback and making decisions based on this. Now my weeks are filled with meetings which are focussed on ensuring we go above and beyond in equipping our students to work with clients. Recently I became Co-Chair of the Training Standards Committee within the UKCP Child College for Children and Young People where we are responsible for holding and ensuring all standards and policies are up to date. These documents range from Training Standards to CPD Policies, the role is crucial for me in that I get a voice in how we think about clients and it ensures that we are always up to date with the relevant guidance.

So here I am in the hot seat Chairing the Directors of Northern Guild, and part of me stills wonders how this happened. It has been a challenge to plan, steer, direct and keep the directors on the agenda in the allocated time, not because they are obstructive quite the opposite conversations are open and honest, but because it means I have had to take the lead. We psychotherapists like to be guided by our clients. The Chair is responsible for communication with the Chair of the Trustees, another responsible role and again I ask myself ‘how did I end up doing this?’ To hold this role I must own my own power.

That is a lot easier to do in other jobs roles but to own my power with those who have guided me, and whom I hold high regard for is quite a feat. It is so much easier to bypass our power, to give it to another, then if all goes wrong, we can claim, well I never really had the power to decide anyway so therefore I cannot be held fully accountable. In gestalt therapy the hot seat is described as a technique which aims to generate new, more vivid awareness, which leads the client to finding his or her own solutions to problems or emotional difficulties. Being the chair of the directors is just like being in the hot seat, my awareness continues to develop as I make more meaning out of the role, own my power and take responsibility for decision making whilst trusting that those who once guided me are now alongside me. My final thought is a reminder to myself that what guided me to Northern Guild was an innate desire to support others and forge real connections and this is what I and the rest of the team continue to offer one another.

Christine Lister-Ford 2/12/21 Christine Lister-Ford 2/12/21

THE COVID MONTHS| CURATOR

Northern Guild Curator, Julie Harding, talks about her new role.

My name is Julie Harding and I am the curator of the Northern Guild. Behind every person there is a story and I marvel sometimes at how I ended up being a curator of an organisation that tends to people’s mental health. How those places, those buildings, the people within became part of my life, feeling like home and my chapel.

Just before lockdown we got instructions to take down all the miniatures from every room that had a sand tray.

For those who do not know me I am a sand tray fanatic. Sand tray work became my obsession during my training. It started at a conference I attended called the emergence of hope which was to celebrate the 25th Anniversary of Northern Guild. I was mesmerised when Jennie Mcnamara stood in front of a very large audience in bare feet and lifted the sand from the sand box and let it run through her fingers. She asked the audience

“Where does sand come from?”

At that moment I needed to find out more. I ended up doing my MSc on sand tray interventions.

I was given permission to fill sunlight with miniatures, and I certainly did that. It gave me great joy searching for pieces in second hand shops, markets, skips, on ebay. Everywhere I went they were on my mind and I brought a little something back and found a space on the shelf in Sunlight. When that got a bit too full I would sneak them into other rooms, lobbying for all rooms to have a sand tray. Shoe boxes were filled for the sand tray workshops and all of this collecting fed my child within and gave her great satisfaction.

I cried when I had to remove the miniatures from Sunlight because of Covid. I did it with great sorrow, emptying the shelves in Sunlight while other therapists went and collected everything from the other rooms. The terrible reality hit me, I cannot work in the sand… I cannot work in the way I am used to.

I believe buildings absorb what happens in them, they somehow take on a presence of their own, they become a part of the whole life that goes on within them. They are the holders, the containers the shelter, and often the secure base from which the people whose inner lives they share return to for comfort, release and sanctuary. The American Indians believe that all things have spirit - earth sand, stones, air, water, fire, animals, trees, plants, so that will of course include buildings. Spirit has to fed and nurtured. We need to bring spirit back into our hallowed buildings.

The Northern Guild has two buildings that hold the history, contain the work, and provide the sanctuary and secure base for all who share them and have trusted them with their deepest feelings and innermost dreams. Being the Northern Guild curator is to keep those buildings alive for the people of the past the present and the future.

Just now those buildings seem dormant quietly waiting for more people to return. This is a good time to start planning and thinking about new ways of being and doing and experiencing.

Some of my ideas are setting art clubs where people create a painting, sculpture, a model that captures what the past few months have been for them. We can put them in the Guild to showcase them. (think Grayson Perry’s Art Club)

Singing together, learning a song or singing songs is fun and inspiring, and if you’re brave enough, dancing either five rhythms or free style or a routine we could learn either via zoom until we can get together. Give me a little of your energy, ideas or inspirations and together we can make something happen. I am sending out a call to my fellow Northern Guilders , harness your creativity and get in touch.

In the meantime, I am joyfully putting all the miniatures back on to the shelves. As I place each piece on the shelves I say mantras to give the rooms spirit, I sing cheerfully to myself imagining the buildings coming back to life and thriving again.

You can contact Julie at julieharding@northernguild.org

Christine Lister-Ford 1/31/21 Christine Lister-Ford 1/31/21

THE COVID MONTHS | THE VELVET HOUR

I walk here most days. I feel at home in the big open skies, the endless rough grass, the ancient sweet chestnuts silhouetted against the late afternoon sky. The cold fresh crisp air fills my lungs. Now I can breathe. And then it comes, the peace comes. The voices in my head stop. Turned off, tuned out, shut down. Now I am on my own. Here there is only silence. I step inside the velvet hour, that magical time when daylight and dusk begin their courtship slipping closer, moving in tandem joining together in a soft tender embrace as dusk caresses and woos the light persuading her to grow softer, darker, until finally she is enveloped.

Timing is everything. It is easy to miss the entrance to the velvet hour. With every passing day it is over two minutes later, over fourteen each week. Sometimes in my eagerness I have arrived too early and had to wait impatiently for its arrival. Sometimes, I have come too late and the darkness has swallowed it. The deer stand together silent, watching, eating. Sometimes they cross in front of me their huge antlers etched against the velvet sky. I stand still like a statue so as not to disturb them.

Then the pheasants begin their roosting dance between the trees, their loud metallic grating calls piercing the silence. Sometimes a single pheasant will sit at the top of a tree like a badly placed Christmas decoration, distracting and disorderly. Owls begin their evening flight swooping low as they hunt silently for dinner. Down by the lake the swans rest, silent and still. This is a magical place, an enchanted kingdom. I have stepped between the breath of time, the peace of solitariness, the beginning of the end and with darkness comes the end of the beginning. For this time this is my place. I am calm, I am at peace, I am still, I am breathing in rhythm with nature’s world.

Christine Lister-Ford 1/15/21 Christine Lister-Ford 1/15/21

THE COVID MONTHS | BE THE LAKE NOT THE GLASS

‘the more spacious and larger our fundamental nature, the more bearable the pains in living’

Wayne Mulller

Georgia Giannopoulou reflects on living away from the land of her birth in these months.

Reflecting on this amorphous journey of the pandemic from March 2020 to ‘…to be continued…’, hard to put into a coherent narrative, I want to share some thoughts, feelings, musings and the meanings I keep seeking, losing and finding to keep the hope, to stay resilient.

First was the shock of the unexpected; when we planned our careers, our holidays, our workloads, our finances, our nights out, our catch-ups. We had no idea we would be going back to the bottom of Maslow’s pyramid, to our basic needs being in question, to uncertainties about our physical, emotional & financial security. To worrying about ourselves and our loved ones’ health and survival and that we couldn’t even count on seeing our family. Like so many European ‘settled’ immigrants, coming to terms with the incomprehensible Brexit has been exacerbated by being deprived of the opportunity to come into contact with my secure base, smell the smells and hear the sounds, walk the paths see the colour of the sky and the feel texture of the soil and hear the loud voices and relate in my mother tongue.

Then we didn’t know we would be glued to a screen like our life depended on it because it really does, in so many ways, it’s our social lifeline, it’s education, it’s livelihood, nothing can destabilise us more than the WIFI being down.

We didn’t know we would become ‘home-educators’; we didn’t know we would be juggling trying to be ‘good enough’ parents and meeting all of our children’s needs in ‘relational poverty’ as Bruce Perry describes it, not how nature intended, whilst at the same time keeping our own sanity and putting food on the table.

As therapists and trainees supporting others in their own wellbeing as a line of work, never has it been more evident that we are indeed wounded healers[1] and that we are truly all ‘different manifestations of a shared life condition’ (Spinelli).

Then there is the triggering of experiences past, in us and our clients, times when we had no control over our movements, times when relationships were a risk to our survival, times of scarcity, times when we felt muffled and unable to breathe or speak, all brought forward by the now indispensable life support that is social distancing and the face covering.

Then there are our familial and cultural injunctions and our drivers and how they plague us and others around us, our Be Strong, our Don’t Feel, our Don’t Be Close, our Be Perfect becoming a noose around our neck keeping us from seeking out, giving and taking the care we need. Are we even allowed to feel desolate or do we have to choose between that and being ostracised by talking about the ‘unspeakable’ because it mirrors in others around us what nobody wants to know and feel?

Do we also keep the pressure on ourselves to not feel and present constantly ‘professional’, ‘resilient’, ‘grateful’ and proud of ‘how well-we-are-doing-all things-considered’? What is the price of this coping and thriving persona and going without real empathic attunement? Perhaps perpetuating withdrawal and aninternal desert.

Then there are the losses, masses of them piling on top of each other, the big and the small, the tangible and the intangible, the shared and the hidden and those we don’t feel entitled to grieve as there is so much more pain around. Like your children moving school without a goodbye or that you missed your hair appointment by a day after lockdown and now you have to live with your unkempt self a few more months.

The very thing that heals us, our basic need, human relatedness, sitting close with another, physical touch and affection has now become our nemesis, coming to fear connection and prize distance. We become resigned and fearful. With physical distance over time comes emotional distance until there comes a point where we are no longer known and every personal and familial drama stays behind closed doors and hearts. The social media are there to dictate the trend now, is it ‘Coronavirus: Only positive stories please’ or the latest statistics, or the photos from the home-schooling adventures, or the new Jacuzzis or children’s zoom birthday parties with tepees and Disney characters coming for a door visit or how well we are doing keeping up with the rules and still smiling?

In the therapy profession our clients exist in the same space, sailing different boats in the same river, facing the big and the little dramas, the disasters of the world, all still happening alongside and with the undercurrent of the pandemic. We carry around our own scars and our own ongoing attempts to contain and to flexibly manage the latest crisis, the school closures, the family member that has to isolate, the funeral we couldn’t attend, the IT failure, our own despair.

What we are faced with now is no more than the concerns that are givens to our human condition, all brought into a dystopic sharp focus. We share with others this life condition and we are also fundamentally alone. Uncertainty is part of our lived experience and that is a certainty. We need to imbue experience with meaning to make it tolerable.

We can’t wipe the pain and make it all ok for anyone. We can enlarge and strengthen the container, which is our self, our body, our breath, our consciousness, our moment-by-moment awareness. We can embrace our vulnerability, our fallibility, our imperfection and our stumbling fumbling falling and somehow miraculously rising[2]on repeat.

‘The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So, when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things…stop being a glass. Become the lake.’ Mark Nepo

At every ominous new uncomfortable sensation, I return to my breathing again and again, it’s constant, it’s there, it’s happening now and it’s happening regardless of me, I am being breathed. And trust that life force will prevail in this moment, and then the next. To keep the hope.

References

Practising Existential Therapy: The Relational World, Ernesto Spinelli, 2014, SAGE

Born for Love: Why Empathy Is Essential--and Endangered , Bruce D Perry / Maia Szalavitz , 2011, WmMorrowPB

The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want By Being Present in the Life You Have, Mark Nepo 2011, Quercus

[1] In Greek mythology, the centaur Chiron was a "Wounded Healer", after being poisoned with an incurable wound by one of Hercules's arrows. For Jung, "a good half of every treatment that probes at all deeply consists in the doctor's examining himself... it is his own hurt that gives a measure of his power to heal. This, and nothing else, is the meaning of the Greek myth of the wounded physician."

[2] Maya Angelou

Christine Lister-Ford 1/3/21 Christine Lister-Ford 1/3/21

THE COVID MONTHS | You can Keep your shoes on

Having passed out stone cold on the clinic floor when eye drops were administered, it was generally agreed that the only way to get me through simultaneous bilateral cataract surgery was a general anaesthetic.

After two weeks of quarantine and a negative Covid test, I finally lay on the hospital trolley in one of those embarrassing medical gowns that only have ties at the back. The nurse looking after me struggled to undo my knots. I was not about to give up my modesty without a fight. Having finally succeeded, she asked me to confirm my full name and date of birth to prove that I was the right patient. In the circumstances, I did not think that this could have been in doubt, but procedure is procedure. As I don’t own any slippers I had walked to the operating theatre in my shoes. They were still on my feet peeping out at the end of the trolley. A medical oversight?

‘What shall I do with my shoes?

‘You can keep them on.’

That couldn't be right! I had just had to isolate for two weeks and then do the test before I had been allowed into the hospital. I’d worn a face mask, sanitised at every gel station and kept my distance. My brain went into turbo charged calibration and came back with three words-‘ That is wrong!’ I had to put this delicately, I didn’t want to provoke any irritation in someone who literally had my life in their hands.

‘Oh! I can keep my shoes?’

‘Coward!’ shouted my inner voice.

‘Ok, ok back off. I’ll give it another go.’ I promised.

I tried again, ‘ That’s ok ... is it? Keeping my shoes on?’

The inner cacophony this feeble second attempt aroused was drowned out by a drug induced loss of consciousness. Blackness descended.

The next light I saw was through closed, sticky eyes that just wouldn’t open. The warm, reassuring voice of Philomena Cunk[1] was asking me how I felt. Did I have any pain. I realised I did and she said she would give me something to help. A few minutes later it hadn’t helped and so she gave me a top up. Then a bit of a row started with a disembodied man’s voice over to my right demanding to know if I was supposed to have morphine. But my protector saw him off with a few sharp staccato sentences from my notes. I lost track of a wispy, uncurling question that was trying to form in my head about the ethics of arguing over the top of the patient about their treatment. Then the pain stopped. Philomena told me I was doing really well which was nice to know. When I got back to the ward someone told me they were going to take my shoes off before helping me into bed. I couldn’t have cared less what they did.

Paradigm shifts are everywhere around us. From face masks to lockdowns everything has morphed into a different iteration of itself. Doing things differently is the new constant in a social landscape that has been ravaged by our love of being close to each other. Now physical closeness is one of the biggest taboos of our time, forbidden in law and punishable by hefty fines.

As psychotherapists we have in a few short months done the impossible, abandoning our consulting rooms, those confidential sequestered spaces where no intrusion is allowed to encroach, for digital spaces in spare rooms, hastily constructed corners of dining rooms and even tents. Family members have been banned from entry with fierce signs on doors warning them to keep out. Some are even vanquished from being in the same building when we talk to our clients. Pets have proven problematic. Cat tails have crossed our screens at unexpected and inopportune moments. Dogs have crashed through reflective silences with frenzied canine barking and the odd personal item has made it into view – an item of underwear on a radiator, the face of the window cleaner, or a scarily titled text book, ‘Normality & Pathology in Childhood’, ‘The Narcissistic And Borderline Disorder’. We have all taken crash courses in working online and schooled ourselves in the etiquette of working digitally - Beware of disinhibition, don’t finish off your morning toast just as you fire up the camera. Don’t consume hot drinks whilst you work. If you need a sip of water make sure you don’t lift the glass so high that your face is hidden by the bottom of it. Dress in a Zoom-appropriate style at least on your top half. Blue shirts are good for the guys and scarves or higher necklines work best for the gals. Then there are the questions. If my lower half remains hidden is it ok to wear slippers, loose lounging pants or shorts? Or does this detract from my inner readiness to assume the healing mantle? Do I unwittingly act in a less professional way if I don’t dress fully in role?

As a profession, historically, our biggest changes have invariably been provoked by external circumstances. Perhaps one of the most notable in the last 45 plus years has been the Vietnam war. PTSD became universally acknowledged as a syndrome due to the high numbers of veterans suffering serious mental health issues. A new psychiatric diagnosis, post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was introduced. The traumatic costs of war were finally no longer attributed to cowardice, shell shock or a weak character.

Covid-19 has opened up the reality of working remotely in ways that previously would have been unthinkable. Client and therapist no longer need to be in the same place, the same continent or even the same time zone. This is more true for work with adults than it is with children and young people. Some therapists rejoice in working from home for a whole range of reasons – it is easier to fit domestic chores in around sessions, there are savings on travel time and travel costs, and sessions can be arranged in a more fluid way including from holiday locations. Others chafe against the lack of separation between work and home. Negative transference is less easy to separate from if you are stepping out of your spare room straight into family life without a location fire break. Bumping into colleagues, sharing a coffee, catching up with each other in the relaxed, flowing way that comes with sharing a work space are all lost. Catching up from the self isolation of a home work space becomes more formal, it has to be intentionally planned, spontaneity is less free flowing.

Sitting with our clients has been different in these months. We are in two separate rooms not a single shared one. In non-Covid times the therapist defines, protects and manages the external boundary. A hugely significant and important transaction of both practical importance and symbolic meaning through which the therapist uses their presence to sculpt and craft the sacred shared space in which the client will make their journey of personal discovery. The client can give up responsibility for anything external and so be more free to enter their inner world unencumbered and free of practical concern for privacy. We all know the importance of entering the right space. Finally sitting in your seat on the plane taking you to the holiday you have battled so hard to reach. Sitting in an outdoor jacuzzi with the warm water enveloping you and the night sky above. And, yes, even lying in the ante room of the operating theatre knowing that others will take over now and your inner dialogue will be silenced. Entering the sequestered space stops the voices that battle against us giving in to letting go. We can finally plunge into the hidden depths of our private inner world. It is nothing short of phenomenological alchemy. For the client this is an ‘unthought known’ .[2] The familiar repetition of a ritual that gives the therapy its ambient temperature, its rhythmic familiarity and anchors it in a space and place that belongs to another time warp.

We lose some of our most valuable channels of communication when we no longer meet together in the same physical space. We are trained to understand and read non verbal communication valuing it as beyond price in our efforts to walk with our client inside their world. When we are no longer in the same room together with those with whom we sit so much is lost. To work wisely and well we need to account fearlessly for what has been lost with the opening of the digitalised Pandora’s box. The therapeutic relationship needs to be given a voice, like a victim in a court room, to speak its truth and share its impact statement and we must listen and plan accordingly.

We have lost the depth and richness of many if not all forms of non verbal talking. Eye contact, facial expression, gesture, posture are all diminished if not extinguished. Obscured and reduced to a bit part, non verbal communication is in danger of becoming a caricature of itself. Body language is limited to the upper body and even then becomes camera enslaved. Under the watchful digital presence time inclines to the monochronic. We look to actively account to the camera for our interest and involvement. Self-conscious demonstration of our interest and connectedness pushes and jostles its way past quiet, reflective presence that is unspoken but deeply felt. Time is more deliberately managed and arranged. Relational psychotherapy and counselling are inherently polychronic. The client and therapist are connected by the unfolding phenomenological rhythm emanating from the client’s inner world. Words are not always necessary or even desirable. Shared silence has its own deep, rhythmic power transcending time and place. Time may hang heavily, it may stand still it may pass in a flash according to the terrain the client is travelling. It has an inherent rhythmic liveliness that is often lost in the digital world. Martin Buber writes,

“The (therapist) must feel the other side, the patient’s side of the relationship, as a bodily touch to know how the (client) feels it.” Merger without merging.

The meaning of space is entirely lost when we cannot sit in the same room together. Proximity and distance are made redundant and cannot take their part in the rhythmic therapeutic dance. People are pinned by the camera and the microphone to an infinitely more static form of expression stripped of shade and tone.

Our client’s body is obscured, embodied dialogue is much harder to see and hear. A tapping foot, a gurgling stomach, the scent of hungry breath are lost to us. Walking into the room and out at the end are in the unilateral control of the therapist. The client has so much less agency.

In 1909 E.M. Forster wrote The Machine Stops a futuristic tale of people living isolated and alone connected to each other by The Machine. In this extract Kuno tries to explain to his mother, Vashti, why he wants to see her in person.

‘She touched the isolation knob, so that no one else could speak to her. Very well. Let us talk, I will isolate myself. I do not expect anything important will happen for the next five minutes – for I can give you fully five minutes, Kuno. Then I must deliver my lecture on ‘Music during the Australian period’. … But it was fully fifteen seconds before the round plate she held in her hands began to glow. A faint blue light shot across it, darkening to purple, and presently she could see the image of her son, who lived on the other side of the earth, and he could see her. …’ I have called you before, mother, but you are always busy or isolated. I have something particular to say.’

‘what is it dearest boy? Be quick. Why could you not send it by pneumatic post?’ ‘Because I prefer saying such a thing. I want –‘ ‘Well?’ ‘I want you to come and see me.’ Vashti watched his face in the blue plate. ‘But I can see you!’ she exclaimed. ‘What more do you want?’ I I want to see you not through the Machine,’ said Kuno. ‘I want to speak to you not through the wearisome Machine.’[3]

The ’wearisome machine’ will be with us for some months yet but it is no substitute for being together in the same room.

[1] Philomena Cunk is a comedic persona of actress Diane Morgan.

[2] Bollas, Christopher, (2018). The Shadow of the Object. Psychoanalysis of the Unthought Known. London: Routledge.

[3] Forster, E.M. (1909) The Machine Stops. Oxford & Cambridge Review.

Christine Lister-Ford 12/18/20 Christine Lister-Ford 12/18/20

THE COVID MONTHS | SHARING CIRCLES

Phil Smith shares his experience of leading a Sharing Circle with school children after the first Lockdown

Somewhere above a bird sang. Most birds that I know had taken their leave of the Northern Hemisphere, migrating in search of warmer climes. Not the one that I could hear, clear in the autumnal sky. It reminded me of spring; that strange time when human life withdrew indoors and wildlife flourished with renewed vigour. While most birds now withdrew from the oncoming British winter, the human cost of lock down was slowly coming out into the open. Faces around me sat before a small camp fire that was keeping each of us warm as we spoke and listened to one another. The smoke from our fire silently rose into the endless sky above us. Occasionally a breeze would blow and for a moment one of the group would be wreathed in this white smoke. A memory from spring was recounted, accompanied by tears of pain and remembering. I watched as the faces of the others listened, hearing the voice of the speaker. One, connecting with the sadness that the story of the speaker had stirred up within, began to interrupt, eager to also be heard; ‘There is no scarcity’, an evoked companion reminded me.

I read a book recently that argued dinosaurs were not actually extinct. Birds, the author argued, are the direct evolutionary descendants of dinosaurs. I think back to the dinosaurs that have appeared in countless sand trays that I have observed. Dinosaurs in one form or another still stalk these lands. I hear about dinosaurs now; the rough edge of a voice; the clumsy put down; the arguments, the shouting, the worry, and worse. Some children did not have gardens to sit in when venturing out of the house was not allowed. Some children did not have a safe person to confide in when going to school was not possible. Isolated, from the supportive adults around them; Isolated from their friends. Perhaps this circle can offer an outlet, a place to share? A wet stick popped and crackled as the moisture within it was heated up and escaped through a small hole in the wood. They wrote down what they felt. They drew and painted what feelings they noticed. They showed these to one another, listening, speaking, sharing. Taking it in turns to move round the circle. We had a break and played a game of ‘blocky’ in the small copse at the bottom of the school field. ‘Men can’t run’, once voice assured me. It turns out this one could as we all raced to get back to the blocky post, smiling and laughing and gasping for breath.

Over ten weeks, this group struggled to sit, to speak and to listen to one another. I use the word ‘struggled’ because I think that to really sit, speak and listen to one another requires work. To find one another and to tune into one another amidst the noise of internal memory, need and concern takes time and commitment. The sharing circle was one such place where children and one man committed themselves to this process.

After the ninth session of the group and full of thought I took my leave of the school and began to walk down the path and out of the school grounds. As I did so then I noticed twelve faces pressed through the gaps in a fence. They were children from reception class. ‘Phil…’ they whispered; I didn’t know how they knew my name. ‘Come here…’. I walked over; ‘What are you looking at’ I asked. ‘Look’, pointed one boy, ‘it’s a cat’. ‘A cat…’ I turned to look and saw a beautiful tortoise shell cat stalking through the undergrowth of the verge. I sat down with my back against the fence and watched. ‘I wonder where its been’ I asked aloud. A story ensued as the faces beside me took it in turns to hypothesise with dexterity the journey that the cat had been on in order to reach this place in time and space before us. The wondering mantle was taken up by another voice; ‘where is he going?’ A second discussion emerged as the children dreamed out loud as to where this cat was heading and what took it there. We discussed what we thought the cat was called; Rodrigo, Boris, Cynthia, Theresa May, Herbert... How old was the cat… and where did it like to go on its holidays? The bell rang summoning the children back into class. I stood up and continued my journey along the path to my car. I drove home wondering about that cat and smiling as I remembered this unlooked for encounter with the children. It had made my day, perhaps my week. It reminded me that while Brexit, Covid and a whole host of other global, national and local news cycle around in our immediate awareness, beneath this surface cat’s are wondering around still, dinosaurs are blundering through the streets, buds are gathering their strength for spring and children are shaping the world around them. As I drove home I was reminded of a poem I have long known which stumbled back into my remembering. It is by the Welsh poet R.S. Thomas and it is called ‘The Bright Field’;

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

Christine Lister-Ford 12/4/20 Christine Lister-Ford 12/4/20

THE COVID MONTHS| SIMULTANEOUs translation by Peter levine C.t.a.

Peter Levine (in Fairisle Jumper) with Jennie McNamra and Russian Colleagues

More than twenty years ago, as a Trainee CTA at The Northern Guild, I was invited by Jennie McNamara to join a small volunteer team to go to Russia twice a year for five years, to provide group therapy to psychotherapy trainees in the TA training programme that Jennie was sponsoring and organising. This was the first such programme to be established, and therefore there were no qualified practitioners to provide trainees with the therapy element they needed. We were to provide it via running groups for four days every six months.

I was drawn to this, not only by the opportunity to be involved on the ground floor in getting TA psychotherapy into a country that desperately needed it, but also because of a strong family connection to Russia.

My father was a Russian Jew, and his parents came originally from St.Petersburg. His father Eugen Leviné was a Communist revolutionary, closely involved in the Russian Revolution and the establishment of the USSR, who was then sent to Germany to organise the spread of Communism there. He was one of the Spartacists along with Rosa Luxemberg, and then became involved with the setting up of the first Soviet Republic in Munich, which he led for a few heady months. The German Government called in mercenary troops to overthrow the Communists, and my grandfather was arrested, tried and shot. Eugen became a hero of the revolution, and his wife and son, (my father who was only three when his father was executed) were feted in Moscow for a number of years, before eventually moving back to Germany.

I was excited to have the opportunity to visit Russia for the first time and make some connections to my own family history that had lain dormant until now, as well as assisting in the development of psychotherapy in Russia. I had no real idea of what to expect and was open to actual experience however it was to unfold!

When we arrived in Moscow for the first time, my first strong impression was of being in a very familiar place which echoed my half-forgotten memories of London in the postwar years : grey monolithic buildings, heavy traffic and pollution, noise, and a sense of hugeness with streets seeming to stretch out for ever. Not surprising really, as it was city of twelve million people and over one hundred miles across - in fact twice as big as London! When we went to our accommodation, we found ourselves in flats vacated for us to use by supporters of the training initiative; this was characteristic of the generosity and hospitality which defined our Russian hosts. We were struck by how everything was clean and tidy, and utilitarian. Nothing was thrown away, and piled up boxes full personal and practical items were stacked up the walls everywhere, in case the contents were needed again at some time, when something broke/wore out and had to be fixed. Here was a culture of make do and mend, with a strong sense of self-reliance.. Following perestroika, the shops had begun to have more food and goods, but of limited range and quantity from which we were able to make a good breakfast each morning!

There was clearly still a lot of poverty and basic living standards, within the growing capitalist economy, evidenced by people standing in the main shopping streets with trays of personal valuables, crockery, metalware etc, which they were trying to sell to passers by ( particularly foreign tourists ). Some of them were doctors/teachers/ scientists who had not been paid for many months in the collapse of the centralised state - quite shocking.

At the interpersonal level people were mostly very warm, direct and contactful, with no fear of voicing their thoughts, questions and concerns - engaging with us without preamble or British politeness, but respectfully nonetheless. This reminded me of my Russian grandmother who would take no prisoners in her quest for information, power and influence, and expected me to stand up to her, which I learnt to do by the age of six years. I felt largely at home with Muscovites, and ready and able to engage. They were in my face but because of my background it felt normal, so I could interact without prevarication and anxiety, which was very useful when it came to the group therapy…………!!

The Russian trainees were divided into two groups of about ten people, and two therapists were assigned to each, so one could transact with group members whilst the other watched over the process. The therapists swapped roles as appropriate, allowing each to undertake both roles, and be experienced as offering therapy by all group members. Jennie gave supervision to both sets of therapists between sessions and at the end of the day, where we were able to reflect on our process, thus learning from our successes and failures/mistakes and to plan interventions, including agreeing on which TA models might be helpful to the group.

I was partnered by fellow therapist Pat Garrett, and we were expecting that the beginning would be slow and difficult from our experience of group work in the UK, where often people do not want to expose themselves in the beginning and getting someone to begin could be like drawing teeth………….well, not here! After introductions and confidentiality contracting, we tentatively asked if anyone wanted to work, and EVERYONE put their hands up and shouted “ Da” - we never had a passive or ‘sleepy’ group session thereafter, as the trainee therapists were so keen to get their therapy while they could. We were able to agree an order of play from the outset of each session.

We were assigned two translators who worked together alternately for fifteen minutes at a time so as not to get too fatigued, so every transaction/intervention/ question/ comment had to be translated, either into English or Russian as appropriate, and this gave us therapists time to think and also the group members similarly. This meant we all learnt not to waste words and to stay focussed in our interactions. The translators were English students from Moscow University, and struggled valiantly to understand the jargon of TA therapy - they were often assisted by other group members, some of whom spoke more colloquial English!! The group members were not afraid of their feelings, and were very ready to express emotional congruence with the content of what they presented or explored. This made the atmosphere in the group very alive and labile at times.

Pat and I were impacted by many of the themes emerging from the work as there was so much historical family trauma being held by most of the group members, and the consequent Script issues interwoven with multiple PTSDs, revealing such a huge previously unmet need for therapy and support. The group setting proved to be a great benefit in that members could witness and respond to each individual piece of work, and of course, form strong bonds as they all learned from each other.

Our supervision with Jennie often focussed on how we could stay authentic and at the same time safely contain the maelstrom of needs, feelings, and memories that were being unleashed. We were very aware that two groups twice a year while clearly better than no therapy, was not enough to open up issues that would need much more input than could be provided within our structure - being open with the group about the limitations of what we could offer, became the way forward.

Another thing I remember vividly is that many of them were professional people: doctors, lawyers, architects, nurses, teachers etc, and as such they were avid students of theory in their training, which led to them asking highly sophisticated questions about some abstruse aspect of TA which Pat and I could not answer! This was humbling and useful; we could truthfully display the limits to our own learning, whilst encouraging the questioner to explore the personal issue behind their enquiry, and gain some insight through this. I am sure I learnt as much as the group did about my process and needs! I was reminded of a joke my father used to tell me about the rabbi who announced “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans”.

Outside of the groupwork, we were able to explore parts of Moscow, and use the Metro, which was extraordinary, as the stations had been built as underground art museums to demonstrate the power of the Soviet Union, and were full of elaborate and ornate pictures, sculptures and architecture in the social realism style so popular after the revolution. It was breathtaking to go into any station and see so much culture around rail tracks, really quite inspiring!

Another of many memories is going to the Arbat - a very old street market in the centre of Moscow, and being recognised as a tourist immediately so the prices were tripled - we had to be very firm and haggle the price down for anything we wanted eg a Matroishka doll, amber necklace, etc - it was a power struggle that I could only manage by remembering my grandmother and becoming her!

We also went on trips to palaces, churches and monasteries that were all stunning in one way or another, and I recall being in one very old church during the service where the Russian Orthodox singing tore at my heart with its’ intensity and passion. Congregants would come into the church and some would fall to their knees with tears streaming down their faces; the open access to feelings reminding me of what I was experiencing in the group therapy sessions, the power of transformational experiences, both within and without the religious paradigm.

Another memory is of being there in the winter when temperatures could be as low as minus 25 degrees, so your breath would freeze as you expelled it, and fall to the ground as ice. Russians are very used to this, but we were not, and could not put on enough clothes to keep warm outside, especially as the buildings we were in were very warm - very exciting nonetheless.

Taxis - there were two kinds: official and far too expensive, and ordinary Ladas driving around looking for people like us, so you would hail one, say where you wanted to go, haggle the price down to half that asked, and then get taken to your destination. Best not to look out as there are eight lane highways right through Moscow, with no rules that I ever observed …..! A traffic jam could be so big that you could sit in it for hours, and it was quicker to walk even if that entailed a walk of several miles.

As you can hear, I loved being in Moscow, with all the chaos and discomfort. It was so enriching being with the people, who are my ancestors and fellow inhabitants of our beloved planet, with so much love and intelligence.

I was delighted to get the chance to work with the trainee therapists and be part of creating the first tranche of TA Therapists in Moscow, which was so needed. My heart and soul were deeply affected by the experience, and much nourished by this reconnection with such big part of my origins.

Christine Lister-Ford 11/6/20 Christine Lister-Ford 11/6/20

THE COVID MONTHS | WHAT ABOUT BOB?

Mark Hammond takes a look at the retro 1991 film, What about Bob? and what it has to say about therapy.

Since reading Lorraine Bracco’s (Dr. Jennifer Melfi in The Sopranos) comment in a recent Men’s Health article that many men accessed therapy because of Tony Soprano, I’ve been thinking about the impact such portrayals have on the wider culture. What men saw in the fictional account of Tony Soprano and Dr. Melfi has had quite the influence and in fact, thinking about it more I realised that in some ways Robin Williams as counsellor Sean Maguire in the movie Good Will Hunting shaped a lot of my own perceptions some 20 years ago. Right now we not only have film and television to look to for representations of mental health, but also the Internet and social media. Instagram accounts such as Marcela Sabia promote a more positive relationship with mental health; Twitter accounts such as The Mental Elf shares various resources and information from conferences. There are countless mental health podcasts too, from Metro’s Mentally Yours to celebrity-hosted shows such as Frankie Bridge’s Open Mind,

In this article I will be looking at a film from 1991 called What About Bob? The movie is about a careerist Psychoanalyst who inherits a client called Bob from another practice. Across 90 minutes the movie shows the relationship between an aloof professional with no empathy for his multi-phobic client and hints at some deep-seated cynicism about the world of Psychoanalysis.

Following this I will be reflecting upon a podcast called The Naked Professors, a show hosted by two men who claim to ‘represent the new breed of masculinity.’ Each will hopefully prove fecund ground for this contemplation of mental health presentations in the media landscape and how they affect the broader culture.

What About Bob?

The Frank Oz-directed What About Bob? starring Bill Murray as Bob and Richard Dreyfus as his reluctant therapist, Dr Leo Marvin presents as a comedy on the surface but as it develops we see that its writers may or may not have a lot of negative things to say about Psychotherapy.

In the opening scene Dr Marvin receives a call from a jittery colleague who informs him that he is ‘passing on’ a client named Bob. Marvin’s initial misgivings are assuaged when he learns that this client ‘shows up on time and pays early’. The caller then fawns over Dr Marvin’s recently published book and, appealing to a fragile ego, succeeds in passing Bob on. And that’s all it takes to refer a client in this fictional world; The referring Psychotherapist is so selfish that he can pinball a client around when it suits and the Psychotherapist answering is so self-obsessed that a little flattery (and the promise of prompt payment and punctuality) is all it takes for him to agree. Message one in this portrayal, Psychotherapists are self-absorbed and egotistical and care not a jot for their clients.

Bob, who has germaphobia, arrives at Dr Marvin’s office having negotiated his way through the building’s door handles and elevator buttons. With one therapist abandoning him, the viewer is now shown something of his disposition with a typical Hollywood trope of germaphobia as Bob swaddles the door handles in a handkerchief so that he can touch them.

Tropes and clichés abound in Dr Marvin’s depiction. Dr Marvin has a bronze bust of Freud. As Bob scans the Dr Marvin’s family photos we learn that his children are named Sigmund and Anna. Do therapist display their family photos in their office and then immediately reveals personal details? And what therapist receives a patient with zero referral information and zero preparation and then informs said patient. The black comedy continues as Dr Marvin tells Bob that he is leaving on holiday. The viewer is invited to feel sorry for Bob and disgust at Dr Marvin who gives him a copy of his own book as a transitional object. He promptly instructs his secretary to bill Bob not only for the session but for the book, too.

The screenwriters are making some powerful points about their perceived negative underbelly of the profession. Presented as a comedy What About Bob? plays like a revenge film showcasing a pompous, Narcissistic therapist. Dr Marvin is interested only in himself, his book and an appearance he goes on to make on national television. As a therapist he grudgingly offers glib advice to Bob which Bob then takes to heart - and he starts to enjoy much success from these reductive instructions. One is for Bob to take ‘baby steps’. Bob’s agoraphobia (this is Hollywood; he is a package of every phobia) dissolves into playfulness and he begins to try new things and open to the world. His amazement at the efficacy of this ‘technique’ translates to the viewer as sarcasm from the pen of the writers. It also shows that the film believes therapy primarily involves the giving of advice, which is a perception that I think has sustained in many regards.

Whilst Dr Marvin sinks into febrile frustration with Bob when he shows up at his holiday home, Bob flourishes with every bit of ‘wisdom’ that Marvin offers him at him. In one scene Bob teaches young Siggy Marvin to dive simply showing how its done - an empowerment technique at odds with Dr. Marvin’s tack of bullying approach to his son’s diving lessons. The message seems to be that Bob, the regular guy is more relatable and down to earth. Dr Marvin can’t teach his own son because he is unempathic, self- involved and not able to relate, even to his own child.

Bob is used as a mirror for Dr Marvin’s rigidity and arrogance. Bob starts out as a scared baby. By taking Dr. Marvin’s book ‘Baby Steps’ literally, he learns toto explore and separate from his apparent ‘caregiver’, attracting the admiration of Dr Marvin’s family. Conversely, Dr Marvin slides into abject opprobrium with everyone except Bob himself. Here, the therapist is only ever viewed through a glass, darkly. The message of the film is loud and clear ‘Therapist, heal thyself!’

Christine Lister-Ford 10/19/20 Christine Lister-Ford 10/19/20

THE COVID MONTHS | PAW PRINTS

For a month now I’ve been avoiding writing anything personal.

Our pack leader, the hugely dominant and determined head of our family, Maisie, left our lives four Sundays ago. Suddenly, shockingly and forever she was gone. She died quietly in the night when we were asleep. Bertie, her brother was with her. We have buried her in the garden wrapped in a piece of fine muslin that is years old and full of happy memories. We covered her in flowers and placed her in a little homemade cardboard coffin. Bertie very gently sniffed her and then lay down beside her. Mike and Craig who epitomise everything that is open-hearted, warm and generous about the people of Teesside offered to come straight over to dig her grave. They brought us a bunch of peach gladioli. We made her grave deep so that she was well protected and have sown it with wild flowers and spring bulbs. I stood inside and lifted her in; the last love I could give her. We have placed a bird bath nearby and planted a huge, exquisitely perfumed rambling rose to grow through the trees.

Bertie and I have developed new routines that have helped us both. He is allowed to sleep on the bed now, although I did draw the line the other morning when he jumped on me at 4.30 wagging his tail and barking loudly to let me know he wanted to play. He goes to StarPaws two days a week to play with his buddies and have his head turned by his girlfriends. He and Maisie have gone there for years, it’s their home from home. A rambling Victorian vicarage, it is full of comfy sofas with a large garden right next to the woods that they love to meander in.

Bertie is now allowed to sit on the adjoining sofa with me when Zoom is on. He is also getting a few too many treats which I have reluctantly begun to cut back on. It takes away our satisfaction, an annoying necessity that only I understand.

Bertie’s early story wasn’t easy.

I was born on a farm, my mother had eight of us.

I was the smallest and I got pushed around a lot.

The milk always seemed to run out by the time it was my turn. I felt hungry a lot of the time.

I've got a hump on my back from being squashed by my brothers & sisters before I was born.

One day I heard them talking about me. The farmer said that if nobody chose me I'd have to hunt for my own food

or starve.

When people started to turn up to choose one of us to take home with them nobody picked me.

Someone called me a skinny little runt. I got really worried. I wished I could ask my mum what to do.

She always knows what's best. But they took her away from us. I'm not allowed to see her anymore.

I know she's around. But I don't know if she still remembers me now.

One day these 2 people turned up. They wanted a girl.

They picked up my sister Maisie and started cuddling her. Everybody loves Maisie.

I felt cold and prickly all over. There was only Maisie and me left now. Everyone else had gone. I was going to be

left behind all alone. Then I got an idea. I've got big brown, velvety eyes. So I stared really hard at the lady holding

Maisie. She spoke to the other lady with her,

’It seems a shame to leave him behind. Shall we take both of them?’

‘Oh! I'm not sure. You're not supposed to have brother & sister.’

I just kept staring hard. And then I wagged my tail.

Maisie has always bossed me around all my life. She says she’s allowed because I owe our lovely new family to her.

I don't mind I know she loves me. And I love her.

Now that she’s not here I’m a bit lonely sometimes. We always did everything together, we were never apart.

But I’m getting used to it bit by bit. Maisie was a much better hunter than me. I’ve always seen my job as keeping

other dogs, cats and horses in their place. She preferred hunting rabbits and moles. I found that a bit

overrated.

If I had a nice spot on the sofa that she fancied, Maisie could make me move. Just by staring she could wake me

from the deepest of sleeps. Even just passing her in the kitchen could be a bit hairy if she felt like

showing off. I’ve had my ears bitten a lot in those moments and my nose is permanently scarred from one of her

nips. So it’s probably true to say that I am more relaxed now. And I’m definitely getting my humans round my

little paw. They will do anything for me which is long overdue.

I have started playing with my toys again this week, it makes me happy to give ratty a good biffing or make

Gruffalo squeak and squirm.

The last seven months have turned all of our lives upside down in ways we could never have imagined. Over the last few weeks I have had several meetings with tutors and supervisors. Many of them have voiced their distress that a new academic year has had to begin online. They look back to this time last year and remember meeting their groups in Harewood, The Guild Hall and Opal. Trying to make sure students got to the right rooms so that nobody was left behind in Freudz. Some of them are nervous about first meetings online. Some are cross about this unwanted blow from the fates. But they are all full of passion, determination and resolve. I am in awe of their endlessly creative ideas about how to ensure students experience the richness, depth and vibrancy of learning that they intend to ensure for them. They are resilient, extraordinarily co-operative and disarmingly humorous about their learning strategies and lesson plans. One tutor came to a meeting feeling a bit under the weather and wearinga glamorous fluffy dressing gowns. I tried to suppress the feeling that I was under dressed and grungy by comparison. How could anyone be so glamourous and yet feel so unwell?

Teaching through Zoom requires all sorts of add -ons for tutors – back up platforms at the ready in case, as it did on one eventful day last term, Zoom goes down. Re-writing courses to tailor their delivery to the digital environment. Questions about what are reasonable ground rules. Staying on-camera during the training? No eating toast even if students’ breakfasts have been delayed? Is the family cat allowed to sit with its tail online for as long as it likes? These nervous ponderings are helped by a few perks. ‘I can get groups back from break out rooms when I WANT with the click of a button!’ ‘When I meet my group for the first time I will be able to see everyone’s name. I don’t feel worried I will forget them.’

The personal lives of tutors run the gamut of the nation’s. Living alone with additional lockdown restrictions. Juggling the responsibilities of lone parenting. Supporting elderly family members who live far away. Waiting for overdue routine medical treatment. Against a backdrop of ever more complicated tiered restrictions we all come together with the shared aspiration of promoting mental health and emotional well being. The next few months will rattle and bang at our shutters. The Covidian winds will do their best to wreak havoc with individual well being, daring and double daring resilience to hold out in the face of their relentless demands. However tempting it may be we cannot give in to those sirens trying to lure us to the rocks of despair, apathy, indolence and defeatism. By working together we can help children who are experiencing anxiety, stress and depression, We can help adults juggling with too many impossible demands. We can help those isolated by age, loss of role and societal devaluing. When our own storms blow us off course we must find a way to dive beneath the waves to the peace of the ocean below so that we can replenish ourselves.

For myself, I have challenged myself for months now to be more positive and to find something I enjoy and value about these times. I have finally found it! I can indulge my love of garlic as much as I want whenever I want without checking which day of the week it is or thinking about who I may be seeing tomorrow. I can tell my trainer she was wrong. You can have your garlic and see your clients. Long live that Stinking Rose![i]

[i] Henri Leclerc named garlic Rose Puante in 1918

Christine Lister-Ford 10/11/20 Christine Lister-Ford 10/11/20

THE COVID MONTHS | TO RUSSIA WITH LOVE | NOW AND THEN

Jennie with Dima, who has just passed his Certified Transactional Analyst Exam

A letter from Dmitri Shustov, M.D., Ph.D., Professor of Psychiatry, TSTA (P)                               RYAZAN, September 2020

Dear Christina!

Tatiana Sizikova introduced me to Jenny in Budapest in 1996. And from that time to the present day Jenny is present in my life. I think my breakfast in Utrecht before the СTA exam, cooked by Jenny (honey, nuts and bananas), is the most vivid memory to date. Memories take me to England and I remember alternately at home (your villa in Saltburn, your centre in Stockton and the NGP office in Newcastle, where pink lilies smelled strongly). then landscapes - the fields of North Yorkshire and the gray North Sea with magnificent white sandy beaches, green cliffs. Then I remember the people Jenny introduced me to. Peter Levine  and Yvon Lawrence. I lived with them in Whitby and had never seen such a lovely little town full of old people with white hair and crying white seagulls. I remember Paul whistling, who took Olga and me to the fantastic city of York ... I remember Pat and Chris having dinner in their house. They gave us a painting depicting Newcastle's Black Gate, which still adorns my house ...

What did Jenny give me as a psychotherapist? It would be correct to say that she filled my soul with light. She showed me the relationships that I absorbed and transformed into my psychotherapeutic inner space. The relationship that Jenny kindly invited me to have involved her family, her colleagues, and her students. I was even involved in a relationship with her two Scottish Terriers ... !

When Jenny came to Russia, and she was in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Ryazan, Kislovodsk, Rostov, our relationship was determined by business. We gave lectures and trainings together, supported various Anglo-Russian programs and brought together many people around TA and large professional psychotherapy. But another, non-working part of our Russian meetings was devoted to music and visits to Orthodox Churches and monasteries. Meanwhile, the Russian TA-community was expanding, the method became more and more popular, and the leading scientific psychiatric and psychological Russian journals were happy to publish our articles. The impetuswe got from Jenny has recently become part of psychotherapy legislation. The TA method has been officially recognized by the Russian Ministry of Health as a treatment for alcohol and opioid dependent patients.

A new stage in our relationship began when the whole world was immersed in COVID-19 mourning. We decided to do a series of collaborative online workshops to explore our roots as psychotherapists and to appreciate the rational and irrational contributions of Teachers to the advancement of the community and Students. The first workshop was held in September, the second on October 11th. A large number of students, who knew and did not know Jenny before, There was a striking emotional atmosphere that allowed the unconscious aspects of our past traumatic experiences to emerge ...

I'm looking forward to meeting Jenny again!

From the Northern Guild Newsletter of June 2004 Edited by Lynne Farr & Marianne Downie Dima writes ….

Today, Russian psychotherapists of the Northern Guild create the new Russian Branch in the centre of Moscow. Saint Petersburg (Tatiana Sizikova) and Ryazan (Dmitri Schustov) have started their teamwork in Moscow and think of this new centre as the Russian ‘nest’ for trainee counsellors and psychotherapists as we have experienced the Northern Guild as our own nest from which they have now flown, returning from time to time to reconnect. We expect that soon people, who study and apply Transactional Analysis, will group at the Moscow branch of the Guild. The most important thing for us now is to create a professional membership and development-bringing relationships, the wider perspective will be to unite more people around Moscow and organise the Moscow Institute for Transactional Analysis.

We welcome everybody who is ready and willing to take part in this process and membership of this Russian site. And we are interested in trainers of the Guild to participate in our training programmes.

In April Jennie McNamara supervised my first ‘TA 101’ in Moscow. She inspired the participants through her energy and passion. During the 101 I was challenged very strongly by some of the students and Jennie helped me to cope with this directly in the style of Classical TA. My daughter Olga was the interpreter and she had to cope with watching her father being ‘stormed’ by the group and contain her difficult feelings around this process. It was very interesting and personally demanding.

This was not the first test for Jennie during her visit. The first great test took place the day before…… 2000 kilometres away from Newcastle at a distant and ancient Russian monastery Jennie entered ice-cold water (4 degrees below zero) in the font of the Saint Spring. Mystic religious spirit has always accompanied Russian psychotherapy, Jennie is in tune with this and we always take her to visit a holy place when she visits. This time the challenge was strong as she particularly wanted to perform a healing ritual for Tessie the Scottie dog. To do this she had to immerse herself completely and without clothes in the freezing water of the spring. We did not believe she would do this and tried to dissuade her because of the cold but she insisted. All our students were glad for this fact. The first Russian contracts were made between the church and the people about proper behaviour and prohibited the drinking of vodka in the temple! Entire villages gave undertakings in the face of God not to drink vodka and permanently desisted from taking it. Traditionally in Russia people with altered states of mind, including insane people, were perceived to be specially loved by God and people believed they could predict the future or give the best advice. So they were in Old Russia considered a Saint and performed the duties of a psychotherapist. In the past lunatic ‘prophets’ hypnotised all the population of small Russian towns.

I do not want to say that each psychotherapist, newly arrived in Russia must be ‘christened’ by cold water, According to the Psychotherapy act in Russia, every psychotherapist must pass their ‘christening’ through working in an asylum, i.e. to get a Psychotherapist’s certificate.

However I believe that everybody can have his peak experience here, possibly because the distance from God to Russia is shorter than anywhere else in the world!

Nevertheless, Jennie has supervised my TA 101 and 40 people newly joined Transactional Analysis. Welcome!

Dima, Gold Medal Winner 2018, European Association foir Transactional Analysis

Christine Lister-Ford 9/23/20 Christine Lister-Ford 9/23/20

THE COVID MONTHS | A CROW IN A PEAR TREE

Trees and bushes are laden with the fruits of autumn. Apples, quince, figs, tomatoes and pears weigh down branches, tempting us to savour their deep, rich flavours. For many years the only fruit tree I had was a badly pruned throwback to the Victorian era when the garden was first made. It listed badly to the left and clung precariously to a small part of a former rockery. It’s pears were small and as hard as bullets. The first year I dismissed them as not worth bothering with and initiated a prolonged family debate about whether or not we should simply cut it down.

The next year someone brought a few of these hard, green bullets into the kitchen and stuck them in the fruit bowl where they stayed for a couple of weeks. The skins slowly changed from green to a deep golden yellow. One day I idly picked one up and bit into it. It was delicious! Syrupy sweet with a powerful aromatic after taste. After that the whole family dived on the pears. We had pears with Roquefort, pears in Red Wine with dark chocolate sauce, pears in white wine with Star Anise, Upside down Pear Cake, Pickled Pears and just plain pears.

The squirrels had always been fond of the pears, Cyril the Squirrel would scamper down the Scots Pine, fly through the Horse Chestnut and land precariously on one of the branches of the pear tree. He selected his fruit carefully, if it wasn’t ripe enough he would let it fall onto the grass below. Cyraleena, his daughter, was a delicate, pretty eater. She seemed to find it easy to select the best fruit, very little fell to the floor when she ate. Then came the new generation, a generation of uncouth hooligans headed up by Randal The Vandal. A big bruiser of a chap, he saw no need for finesse and would grab at the fruit, bite it, and hurl it to the ground if he didn’t like it. Randall turned the garden into a shooting range of hard green fruit. He took and spoiled most of the crop before we humans could get near it.

Just over a year ago I left my Victorian garden and moved to an arid plot which had once been farmland. It had none of the woodland charms I had been used to, although the previous occupiers had planted a few young fruit trees. I spent a lot of time yearning for my seaside woodland garden. I missed all the small birds – the robins, the bluetits eating the bugs in the window putty, the wrens flying low into the bushes, the gold crests eating the seeds of the wild flowers, the pigeons with their endless nursery of blinking babies sitting docilely on the nest inside the portico of the front door. The pigeon fledglings always had to be protected from the wily and skilful hunting of Maisie my little Scottie. Then there were the jackdaws endlessly outwitting any human plans to evict them from the tall chimney pots, as well as the occasional baby jackdaw that would fall down the chimney and land in my study sending all of us into a frenzy of ‘Jackdaw down the chimney! Quick get a towel.’

This new arable desert had a few magpies, crows and starlings and a couple of red kites, as well as some geese that flew to the nearby lake. Not my kind of birds. Big, noisy, feathered flying machines! The fruit the trees bore was dull, too - apples that were tasteless and lacked any crispness, and overly large woolly pears.

One day when I was walking round the field trying my best to bond with this large expanse of over-farmed eco desert I noticed something rubbery looking on the floor, it looked like the inside of a tennis ball that had split and perished. It had serrated striations all the way along the inside. I picked it up to find it was quite soft and not at all rubbery. It was a pear skin and the fruit had obviously been removed with delicacy and skill. I was intrigued. What diner had gone to such great lengths to remove the soft, fleshy fruit? I discovered the answer the next day. The Crows were raiding the tree and enjoying an autumnal feast. They squabbled a lot amongst themselves about who was able to land and stay on the tree long enough to harvest a pear. Sometimes in an effort to be top of the tree they toppled and had to fly off and come in for another attempted landing. Now, I saw their charm, their skill, their intelligence. They made me laugh. I even excavated the kitchen drawers to find the ancient fruit knife in its little blue leather case that had belonged to my grandfather. It was time to hone new human pear - eating skills.

Squirrels are still my favourites, I prefer their fluffy tails and wide eyes, but I can see that the well trained beak is a superior instrument for refined and civilised pear eating.

Since September I have been working from our lovely Teesside Centre. The garden is a magical, semi-wild confusion of trees and bushes, many self-seeded, full of little birds, butterflies and moths. The wildlife pond designed by David Green (he illustrated David Bellamy’s work) has long since gone but the newts still flourish. The grape house is out of bounds and fenced off because it’s floorboards are rickety. The grape house vine is as old as the house and bears tiny grapes many of which ripen to a delicate sweetness. Gardeners have come and gone over the years demonstrating varying degrees of skill and expertise. Most have had a prosaic, no nonsense style and have tried to cut everything back in the belief that a neat short back and sides passes for a well kept garden. They don’t realise that this kind of pruning strengthens the roots and promotes even more vigorous growth. One even took a machete to the vine itself. It looked like it was lost forever. But a wonderfully knowledgeable member of the centre was a very gifted arborist and horticulturist and he showed us how to tend the wounds and bring the vine back to vigour. There is a beautiful photograph hanging on the wall of the centre of a wood he photographed just before ‘progress’ razed it.

The grape house has been home to many generations of kittens all, as far as I know, going back to Fluffy the beautiful cat who was abandoned by her owner when they left next door and took refuge in the gardens. We all fed Fluffy but she would never come in and so we could never save her from the continuing admiration of the neighbourhood Toms. We always found her kittens by chance. A plaintive mewling from the garden next door (now a concreted patio) led us to find tiny ginger and white Lucy and little tabby Amy Tocket. Amy Tocket had a bad bite on her neck. She was very poorly. We took her to the vet who dressed her wound and gave her antibiotics. He didn’t put her chances as higher than 50 / 50. For the next five days I carried Amy Tocket everywhere with me inside my shirt, next to my heart.

Within a year Amy Tocket had taught herself the art of opening any carelessly placed student bag smelling of a tasty lunch time bite. Many times over the years the downstairs hallway echoed to the lament of hungry students forced to try and rescue the remnants of their lunch. Amy Tocket was nowhere to be seen.

In these Covid times only 2 people work from Teesside at any one time. That first morning I was the only one in until 4 in the afternoon. I walked into Harewood, opened the veranda doors and drank in the garden. It took my breath away. Then I walked through all the rooms, newly decorated and furnished by Annee, her artistic flair vibrantly on display everywhere. How many years ago was it when she had so daringly painted Roseberry in Francesca Pink, deep blue, gold and yellow, transforming the church pillars from dull neutral white to their exotic Egyptian phase? Or painted the most amazing baby pink ceiling in Mandale to hide the impossible – to – remove artex, covering it with Peacock Feather Eyes and thereby bringing terror to those inclined to feel watched by so many eyes? The deep work that those ‘eyes’ provoked was more powerful than any Rorschach Test.

Moving from room to room I started to feel sad. So many rooms, so much beauty offering sanctuary from the challenges of the day to day. But all empty! People came tumbling through the time warp at me, docking in my heart, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I relived an eternity of precious moments, the sharing that comes from just sitting together without words, those times of heightened empathy when brain rhythms reach a collective synchronous beat. I am a healer! I FEEL the pulse of the work through my whole body! I want that connection. I am hard wired to communicate through, it energises me, it helps me experience within me the winding path of the other’s journey. I can only know another’s impasse when it sits in me, too, when it is IN PERSON.

Working with Children in Person Again – Sue Holdsworth

Back in March, the instruction came “stay home!”. It was both a lifetime ago, and a moment ago. I spoke to the parents of my clients one by one and we discussed the options. Could we work online, on the telephone? Despite our best efforts, in every case the answer was no. Either privacy, connectivity, technology or outright refusal brought my therapeutic work with children to an abrupt, unsettling end. At first I imagined that it wouldn’t go on for long, a few weeks perhaps, and we could pick up where we left off. A few weeks, became months, almost half a year, two changes in the seasons.

When the offer came to trial working in person with clients in the building, I dived in. I felt excited and hopeful. A few hours later I was overwhelmed by procedures and paperwork, struggling to make sense of the information and keep it all in my mind. Do I wear a mask? Does my client? What if I have a virus and no symptoms and make someone ill? How will I “do” therapy with children when we need to stay apart from each other? How will we play?

I looked up from my desk and caught sight of my paperweight. It has the word “courage” carved into it and I was reminded why I bought it. It is there to serve as a reminder of the words of a supervisor: “Courage mon ami!” for those moments when I’m on the edge of the pool, ready to dive, and I have last minute doubts. I remind myself: you can do it, remember your training and all you have done before. Whatever comes you can handle it.

Grounded, I make my list. What do I need to do? What do I need clients and parents to do? What do I need others to do? Slowly, it began to make sense. Before long, I had a handful of items that I needed to do and to tell others. Talk to my supervisor, insurance, risk assessment, explain the procedures to reduce risk.

I decided on keeping an individual bag of kit for each client. The amount in each bag is smaller than it might have been before but there is enough. If I sanitise my hands at the start of the session and leave the bag open and accessible on the floor, I can leave it to my client to choose what they want to use, in the same way they would always do. I avoid handling items as much as I can, and invite the client to put the things back into the bag when we’re finished. It is important to me to keep the risk mitigation out of the session as much as possible, so that I can be present in the room with clients in the way they need me to be.

When the time comes when I’m due to meet my client, I have a flutter of nerves and remind myself: I’ve made my checklist, ticked everything off, I’ve done what I can to keep my client, and me, safe. Breath, remember my training, my skills, my experience. When they come through the door, we have a shared moment of awkwardness, neither of us anticipated greeting each other with most of our faces covered. And then we are in the room, the session begins and “muscle memory” takes over. It felt natural, normal, and very much needed.

My client was able to find an outlet to share all the difficulties that the last few months had brought. Isolation from friends, worries about relatives, fears of falling behind at school and what this might mean for their future. It was a relief to be able to see the whole person while they talked, to be able to see those minute movements that revealed so much of their feelings that could so easily be hidden away had we worked together online. The part of me that had spent all those months while working online, wondering what that noise was, either in my home, or theirs, could relax and switch off. I had wondered if I would have to relearn my skill of knowing when we’re nearing our 50 minutes when there is no time displayed just above the client’s face, and I’m happy to find that it comes back with ease. I bring the session to a close by checking how my client is, and feel a rush of warmth when they tell me they feel lighter than they have in a while, what a relief it has been to have their space to share again. When we share a smile and I feel attached and bonded to my client again, their expression tells me they feel the same.

In the days that follow, I see more clients in person, adults and young people. One tells me that they felt unable to “let go” to do therapy in their own home, worried about who might hear them, and although we sit wearing an extra layer while we have the window open for ventilation, they’re just as keen as I am to keep working this way again.

Risk and the Return to Face to Face Working - Sarah Clarke

Risk assessment is an important part of our everyday lives – Where shall I go on holiday? Is it safe for my children to walk to school unaccompanied? How many glasses of wine can I drink in a week? As therapists we regularly manage and minimise risks, both to ourselves as professionals and to our clients; working ethically whilst alone with children in therapy rooms, liaising with placements on their individual Safeguarding and Child Protection Policies, carefully considering which toys and resources we will use with each client.

The Covid-19 Pandemic has created a whole new element of risk in our working lives and many of us are now wrestling with the decision about when and how to return to work with our clients. For me, the key phrase is “informed consent” and an in-depth understanding of our own fears and those of our colleagues and clients.

As part of my work on the radio I have been asked a lot, over the summer, how best we can manage the anxieties of children around going back to school and I have found the analogy of car journeys to be a helpful one with children and young people of all ages. I ask them if they are scared of getting in a car, most children will say that they are not. I explain that even those we know cars can be dangerous and thousands of people are killed or injured in road traffic accidents every year (27,820 in 2019) most of us do not worry about the risks when we get a lift to school or go to the supermarket. We know that the government, the local councils and parents have put many, many measures into place to keep us as safe as possible – speed limits, children not being allowed to sit in the front seats, drink driving campaigns, car seats and seat belts are all the ways that other people do their best to keep us safe in cars. I then tell them of all the things these same people are doing to keep us safe from Covid – the guidance on physical distancing, hand washing and face masks is all there to help us to feel safer when we leave our homes.

Just as I know there is nothing reassuring about telling somebody not to be scared of spiders, I know that telling people not to be scared of the virus will not work. But I do know that talking about our fears, informing ourselves of the guidance and the rationale behind it, discussing this with friends and colleagues will help.

The key for me is open and honest debate and informed consent. Each of us has our own unique set of circumstances that influences the decisions we make. The key is not to see Covid as being any different from the personal assessments we make for holidays, childcare and the alcohol or the professional risk assessment we make for placements.

A Foot Note from Christine

As I finish writing the new restrictions are being announced and shaping the next six months. Where we can we will continue, with limitations, to see some of our clients in person.

Overriding everything, I hold at the front of my mind the vision, principles, values and beliefs on which the Northern Guild was founded almost 40 years ago. These place at the centre of our work the importance of the vitality of human contact and our engagement within a relationship whose meeting takes place in person.

Christine Lister-Ford 9/12/20 Christine Lister-Ford 9/12/20

THE COVID MONTHS | DEBRA JOHNSON

Debra Johnson, a Graduate of Northern Guild, has unexpectedly died of a non Covid related condition. Her friend Kerry Rundle shares her experience of knowing Debra and her deep sadness at losing a much loved friend.

About Debra

Debra started her training at Northern Guild in 2013 and qualified in 2015 as a Counsellor, becoming a registered member of the BACP. She had a background in the Health Care sector as a Registered General Nurse and Social Worker. She was as a mental health mentor and couple’s therapist. At Grace House, Debra provided counselling for parents whose children were disabled. Debra also created a wellbeing project at Hope and Hospitality. She worked in an occupational health setting at a local council providing counselling. Debra maintained a private practice, adopting an holistic, caring and compassionate approach. She was born in South Shields and worked in the area, as well as in Sunderland and Washington. She believed passionately in the healing power of animals and she offered ‘Walk and Talk therapy with her beloved Golden Retriever, Angel.

To you Debra, I say … you were such a beautiful person inside and out. I remember the first day I met you, it was our first training night together at Northern Guild and you came over and introduced yourself. You were such a big character in our group, such an important part of all our journey. You touched the hearts of those you met with your kindness, your caring nature, and the compassion you showed to everyone around you. You were respected and appreciated for your strength of character and the way you used your determination to help others.

You loved animals, you were always so passionate about being the voice they didn’t have and I admired you for that. You had a social conscience and raised money for many charities, especially the homeless, often volunteering at the soup kitchen. You were opinionated, you stood up for what you thought was right and I loved that about you. You were kind, considerate, resilient and strong… I could use many words to describe you. Those who really got the chance to know you, will know just how special you were.

Debra was a loving and devoted mother and wife. She touched the lives and hearts of all those who were fortunate enough to know her. She will live on in our memories and through the things we do that have been influenced by knowing and loving her.

Christine Lister-Ford 8/30/20 Christine Lister-Ford 8/30/20

THE COVID MONTHS | STEPtember 2020 challenge

KEEP ACTIVE STAY FIT MAKE A DIFFERENCE

Walk or Run 202,020 Steps in September and donate £20 to your chosen charity.

Sherry Ford has come up with a fun way to kick start Autumn and make a difference.

In 2018 I retired from my career as a doctor. I wondered how I would fill my days with so much time on my hands. Our children had long since flown the nest, no grandchildren on the horizon and all the years of juggling work, home and family no longer an issue. All those activities I had never quite found time for were now just waiting for me to get involved.

You will have gathered I’m no spring chicken but I like to think I am reasonably fit, even though the last time I was serious about sport or regular exercise was when I was at school. A couple of years before I retired, I had persuaded my sister and son to do the Shine Night Walk Charity Half-Marathon in London and achieving that felt good. I had no interest in running and was happy to accept that activity was for me to marvel at and others to enjoy.

The problem with doing a half-marathon is that you start to think “Why not the full 26.2 miles?” After all it’s only putting one foot in front of the other again and again and again……. So I started to contemplate whether this would be a step too far and had a while to think about it as I needed a hip replacement and that curtailed activities for a while.

In 2019 I entered the Shine Night Full Marathon with the thought that if I wasn’t really up to it when the event came round, I could always dip out. Not so, my son and his girlfriend signed up to walk with me and told me not to be a wimp – just do it. And really that’s a good motto for life – just do it! The training was really important for me and as I had the time to follow a programme, I felt prepared and a great sense of achievement when I completed the distance in the early hours of a Sunday morning.

For me, regular exercise has yielded many benefits: quietness with time to think; exploring new places; improving my map reading skills; listening to music, podcasts and audible books, and generally adding to my sense of well-being.

But what challenge for 2020? There was a marathon walk round Lake Myvatn in northern Iceland, organised by the Walk the Walk charity, and that sounded too exciting and beautiful to miss, not least because it was during their period of 24-hour daylight. But why just that, there was the 3 Land Challenge, adding a London and an Edinburgh marathon to the Iceland experience, all over a period of five weeks and all overnight. What could possibly go wrong?

I started to walk regularly, met up with others who had signed up for this and all was going well until COVID-19 put paid to travel and charity events and the 3 Land Challenge was postponed to 2021.

Then I started to think of a new goal for 2020 that would encourage me to keep up regular exercise. I also wanted to support some of the charities I care about that were struggling with the increased demand for their services when their income has been catastrophically reduced. For me, this was all about self-sponsorship – I didn’t want to ask others to support me in a challenge I had chosen to take on.

I liked the idea of linking the challenge to the year 2020 and as it was early in the year, my commitment to walk 2020 miles in 2020 didn’t seem totally unreasonable. Still a few months to go and my goal is in sight.

The next step was to see if others liked the idea of a challenge and if I could do a little bit to encourage support for the many charities that have been starved of funds. Importantly, I wanted participants to be able to choose which charity they wanted to support and make their donation directly. And the STEPtember 2020 Challenge was born.

And that’s it really! If you’re up for a challenge and want to support a charity that you care about, then Join . It’s only about three miles or 6,500 steps a day throughout September.

Everything about this is voluntary – the only money that changes hands is directly from you to your chosen charity.

Visit www.steptember2020.org to find out more and register. And don’t forget to spread the word to your friends and family so they can join us too. Every step will help!

Christine Lister-Ford 8/21/20 Christine Lister-Ford 8/21/20

THE COVID MONTHS | MOPPING THE FLOOR

Mopping the floor has become my new domestic imperative. For years I haven’t bothered to do more than hoover once a week and maybe show the floor a mop every month. I justified this domestic slovenliness as a sensible way to strengthen my immune system the natural way. Building a tolerance to dirt and germs being infinitely superior to an over reliance on all those sprays that threaten to obliterate any know germs and have been implicated in things like a rise in childhood asthma. No! I embraced bacteria on my kitchen floor. I always followed the five second rule if I dropped a morsel on the floor, even when the count didn’t begin until a few moments after the collision between food and floor.

Now I’ve had a Covid epiphany! I’m a new born mopper. I have to thank my Scottish terriers for pointing me in the direction of this new self. Like many canines they have settled into the new lockdown regime of the pack always being together with gusto. Now they expect what they want when they want it, this includes being constantly let out into the field. When the gate opens they run through the long grass taking the neighbourhood from silence to an ear piercing duet of barking in the 3 seconds it takes them to reach the other side. The neighbours don’t appreciate their melodic offering, one even installed 2 decibel counters that blinked through the leaves of the hedge at them to garner evidence of just how loud they are. So I am keen to stop their vocal vigour before they start a neighbourhood war. But they are wilful, intelligent and cunning and not easily caught. I am usually out smarted and find I have been chasing them the wrong way round the tall patches of wild flowers and thistles. If I can get close enough I swoosh them with my water spray which does the trick straightaway – they hate water. But it can take anything from five to ten minutes for me to be in firing range and I’m rather afraid that they have simply come to think of this as a marvellous new game the pack play. When finally corralled and suitably admonished they sulk. I try to ignore this strategy, I know it’s a racket and I’m not giving in to manipulation. But I’m an easy canine target, I feel guilt easily where they are concerned. So I compromise and let them into the bit of the garden where they like to try and dig up the moles under the hedge. It’s become a sort of open cast mole mining area, treacherous for human ankles but perfect for terrier tendencies.

When they eventually return to the kitchen after their mole hunting (they never catch anything) they drop a tilth of fine dirt, grass and leaves across the whole floor. The pale kitchen tiles turn a soft browny - grey which is not unattractive but feels horribly gritty underfoot. If I’m in a good mood I feel a glow of pride that my beloved twosome have had a great time. But if it’s a bad day (too many emails, too much Zooming) I feel irritable and tell them they need to consider that I don’t have all the time in the world to run after them mopping floors.

I mop with a splendid red and grey bucket that comes with its own pedal powered spinner for taking out excess water from the mop head. You fill the bucket to the line that says ‘MAX’ then you plunge the mop’s long, straggly tufts into the warm soapy water and thoroughly soak it. Next you pull it dripping and steaming from the bucket and put it in the spinner. With the right foot you pedal up and down as the tails of the mop spin in a swirling kaleidoscope of fluffy whiteness. The spinner sings her own tinkling aria - light, quick, enchanting- Papagena to Papageno. I am transported into another world mopping up the carpet of dusty soil in time to the witty, coquettish song of the spinner who laughs at my slowness and mocks my earnest attempts to repel the dirt and return the tiles to their earlier pristine pale grey. She teases and cajoles as I move up and down trying to match her speed and grace.

As I mop I see blue all around, an ocean of endless blue Marley tiles. The tiles of my mother’s kitchen. I have been transported to a much cleaner kitchen. The clock on the wall tells me it is 11.00 in the morning. This is a floor infinitely cleaner than anything I have ever achieved. No canine capers are allowed to get in the way here. This is an endless expanse of sparkling blue, winking and shining from every corner. My mother owns the most modern of mops. It has an oblong sponge head and on the handle is a separate lever for squeezing. She plunges her mop into the bucket and then as she lifts it back out she pushes the lever squeezing out the excess water. My mother loves cowboy programmes – Rawhide, Ponderosa, Wagon Train – she watches them all. She mops her floor singing one of her favourite Doris Day songs

‘Oh the Dead Wood stage is a-rollin’ on over the plains

With the curtains flappin’ and the driver slappin’ the reins

A beautiful sky, a wonderful day

Whip crack-away, whip crack-away, whip crack-away’

She is Doris day in her cowgirl skirt a-crackin’ her mop all over that floor. A modern woman freed from the drudge of housework by this cleverest of new gadgets, a modern whip-crackin’ mop. No mangles, no twin tubs, no metal buckets for her. She is not chained to domesticity like her mother was. No! Her cleaning is easy, powered by labour saving gadgetry, she is taming new frontiers. She is a pioneer, a housewife of the 60’s, a freewoman! No hard, difficult-to-clean lino to scrub and mop, no siree! Her life is all Marley tiles, G-Plan furniture (the bedroom suite is lilac and dove grey) and lunch every Tuesday at Kendal Milne’s watching the mannequin parade.

My grandmother’s mopping is hard, sober & intense, full of anxiety and pain. Her floor is hard to clean. Edwardian flag stones that are pitted and uneven, creating endless hiding places for dirt and germs. Hers is a terraced house in a street with a lime slag at the end. Here the neighbours watch from behind their curtains, passing judgement and ruining reputations. No clothes washing on Sundays. No milk left on the doorstep after half past seven in the morning. The front step sparkling, whitened to gleaming by elbow grease and French Chalk on a daily basis. Left motherless at 7, she was expected to cook, clean and mend clothes for her father and her three brothers. Her husband was a fine figure of a man when she first met him. The war changed him. He came back from the trenches minus a leg, in constant pain and with shell shock. A stern, unyielding disciplinarian, ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ was how he fashioned his parenting.

Her name is Florence but people call her Flo. Her bucket is metal. It is a heavy, durable, sensible bucket that will last a lifetime if it is looked after properly. She always scrubs her floor first on her hands and knees. Using the scrubbing brush is how you get the floor really clean; elbow grease is the only way to get rid of the dirt. Only for the final rinse does the mop come out, providing clean, soap-free water. She takes pride but no pleasure in her cleaning. Dour, she rarely laughs. She allows herself half a pound of aniseed drops each week. They come in a white paper bag which she gets from the sweet shop on the main road. By the end of the week they are starting to stick together. After tea on the night she has scrubbed the floor she permits herself to take the bag out of the top cupboard and reach inside for one which she makes last for 20 minutes. Her music is strong, heavy, upright; proof of a life sacrificed on the altar of duty and hard work amidst the dark satanic mills.

I will not cease my mental fight

Nor shall my mop sleep in my hand

Til we have built Jerusalem

In England’s green and pleasant land

Christine Lister-Ford 8/9/20 Christine Lister-Ford 8/9/20

THE COVID MONTHS | SOMEWHERE, OVER THE RAINBOW

Drawing byMargaret Shields

Northern Guild has always worked closely with the local community, it’s the reason we came into existence and our driving passion.

When, in 1983, we first established Rainbow House, later Northern Guild, as a Psychotherapy Training and Counselling Centre, Jennie and I had turned down a tempting offer to join colleagues in a thriving practice in a leafy West London suburb. We would have worked alongside our very dear friends with whom we had trained and would have practiced in an affluent area where people already knew about psychotherapy and saw it as an important part of life in challenging times. It was a golden opportunity.

But we had a vision, a vision that made no sense to anyone else. We wanted to stay in the North East and help to support, develop and resource local mental health services. We knew we would be up against it. There was little awareness of psychotherapy and therapeutic counselling and the whole area was desperately under resourced in so many ways - in the whole of Teesside only one GP surgery had a counsellor in 1983. It wasn’t a sensible choice. A lot of loving friends tried to talk us out of it, and what they said made good sense. Jennie and I are very different people, the classic chalk and cheese, but we share two common characteristics, persistence and an unquenchable belief in our own intuition. We chose to follow them rather than common sense.

Rainbow House was born and grew, bit by bit, from our unshakeable belief that we could help make a difference and our intuitive sense that what we were choosing was the right path for us to take. In the intervening years there have been many challenges most memorably the ‘Cleveland Affair’ in 1987 when a 121 children in Teesside were diagnosed within a few months as having been sexually abused. We worked with many children, young adults and social workers, many of whom just turned up at our centre.

Our history has shaped our identity as an organisation. Today our core values remain, they include respect for each person, immediate responsiveness, no waiting lists, flexible appointments and high quality, low cost therapy for those needing it. We believe people should only make the personal changes that are necessary to achieve their goals and not go beyond this unless they wish to do so.

Our good friend, and well known artist, Margaret Shields drew our first logo as a gift with which to wish us well. She blessed us! Slowly over the next 37 years our vision has transmuted and transformed many lives, most notably our own, as well as those of the clients and students who have shared their vision of a different future, a future rooted in physis. Physis is the inherent human capacity for growth and change and the belief that, given the right conditions we are capable of fulfilling our potential. Rainbow House has now grown into Northern Guild and this vision has grown with us. We began as two psychotherapists now we are more than forty.

A New Service – March 2020

When the scale of the Covid crisis began to overtake the country we wanted to step up to the plate and offer a counselling service for those working at the interface between people and the virus. A personal space for debriefing from the extraordinary challenges and demands of the pandemic. The service was and is completely unfunded and has relied entirely on the energy, goodwill, and commitment of the staff and students of Northern Guild who work in it. It is free to all.

These are some reflections from the staff and students who provide this service.

Kerry Rundle – Service Co-Ordinator

When everything first shut down there was relief, disbelief and a sense of not knowing quite what was to be done. Our students, many of whom were already qualified counsellors, or very close to qualification had to temporarily stop sessions with their clients; they were distraught, worried about the impact of abrupt and unplanned endings.

When I decided to become part of the group creating the new online service for NHS and other key workers the feelings of helplessness that Covid-19 had generated in me disappeared. I felt that I could be part of something and that I could give something. What I will never forget is the coming together of our core group. Everyone was so enthusiastic, committed and hard working. There were seven of us in the group - Laura, Emily, Sue, Glenda, Phil, myself & Christine - we felt like a team, we were pushing back against what was happening.

I worked every minute I had to get the service up and running, networking with organisations, getting protocols ready, putting rotas together - it was energising and exhausting.

When we launched I remember the countdown, seeing the announcement on social media, feeling nervous but also very excited. I was to be the first one to cover the bank holiday weekend. Would people want what we had established? Then our first referral came through, we were launched! Some weeks we had lots of referrals others not so many. I worried about this at first. But then I reminded myself that in this kind of crisis people get on with what they have to do and it is only much later when things are getting better that support and debriefing is essential to help stem anxiety, depression and the impact of trauma,

When we had first set up I had contacted some of the students who I knew had the right experience to work in the service to see if they were interested in being a part of it. Many were initially shocked to be asked, ‘What me?’ was a common first reaction. They all undertook considerable additional training in online working to prepare. Once they began practice any nerves soon disappeared as they became engrossed in their clients’ worlds. One later told me that she felt that she had done her best work ever with one client. She was so thrilled. It was amazing to see her confidence growing and share her sense of pride in what she was doing. Her clients had given her so much.

Sarah Woodroff - Student Counsellor

Lockdown happened for me in stages. First, my partner started to work from home. Then, my clients started to disappear. One by one, they sent a text or called, they didn’t want to come into the surgery anymore; they were scared. Schools shut. Face to face therapy and supervision stopped. Training was moved onto Zoom.

I spent the first training weekend on Zoom sitting in my study, fighting back the tears. I felt cheated. This was meant to be my time, away from being mother, partner, “domestic servant”. This was where I came to rediscover my identity, connect with new people, a new way of thinking and learning. I missed meeting everyone in the café. I missed sitting together in Guild Hall, sharing our experiences and our learning. I missed the post training, Sunday evening drinks at the Holiday Inn with my peers, my friends. I felt totally disconnected from everyone.

It was all feeling pretty grim. Then I got a call from my supervisor; the Guild were offering a support service to NHS workers, would I like to work with it – YES! I used to be a nurse. I had worried about my former colleagues. I knew the pressures, work-load and stress that Covid-19 was having on them. I was thrilled to be able to do something to offer support. Now came new challenges; I had to find a confidential space to work in. I threw my partner out of the study where he was working. I confined him and the children into the kitchen with strict instructions not to open the doorThankfully, my family are understanding and supportive. The children paint or bake, while my partner tries to work. I come downstairs after a meeting to a beautiful picture or freshly baked cake. Our cat is covered in paint splatters and icing sugar; he has been helping too!

Working on the NHS scheme has been challenging and enjoyable. As well as adapting to holding sessions over Zoom and via telephone, I have learnt a new way of working; in this scheme, there are up to 6 sessions and the contract is made during the initial session. I have learnt to focus on the here and now and directly on the contract.

Clients have come with huge fears, fears that the majority of the world is experiencing; are we going to lose someone we love, are we going to be ok, what happens if we get sick, who is going to look after our children? Emotions are high; anger, fear, resentment towards the government “I didn’t sign up to be a hero” is a repeated phrase. “stop clapping for me, give me PPE” is another. It is hard to bracket; I feel their anxieties and anger, it ties in with some of my own feelings and raises fears I hadn’t considered. I can’t use reality testing as an intervention; these fears are real. We all share them. What I can do is bracket my own feelings, empathise with my client, listen harder, sit with their feelings, give permission and space for them to be seen, heard and felt. Working has involved giving clients psycho-education and permissions, mainly for self-care and being important. It has shown me the immense value of short-term, focused therapy. I have seen clients make huge changes to their lives after a couple of sessions. I have experienced a deep connection with clients, despite the lack of face to face contact, and had some of the most beautiful and connected endings of my practice so far. I have learnt that this new way of working isn’t “less than”, it is different, it is hugely valuable.

Student Counsellor – Toni Kurdi

One of our students, Toni Kurdi, new to online working reported that feedback from her clients has been very positive. They were especially grateful for the opportunity to be supported as “essential workers” and found it helpful that all Carers and NHS staff were recognised and included, not just the frontline staff. Many of the staff who worked from home were juggling full time work and childcare, as well as having to educate their children. Taking on these added responsibilities increased their levels of stress and distress, yet managing their roles keeps the system operating and ensures that vulnerable people stay connected. Toni noticed that the counselling led to the clients developing a greater compassion for themselves and an increased acceptance of the complicated feelings that the situation generated in them. They became more aware of their resilience recognising their inherent strengths, personal qualities and ability to “cope.” Although the work was shorter term - six weeks - it does seem to have increased awareness which all clients found helpfu.l Some felt that they might want to have more counselling in the future.

Toni says she is “… grateful for the opportunity to have been involved, in my own way, to help those helping us. It is easy, I believe, for all of us to feel disconnected and helpless at times during this pandemic. To stay connected to existing clients and new ones, especially those who may be alone and/or isolating I felt was particularly important and gave me a sense of being part of the solution, and not part of the problem. As a student I had never, ever imagined that I would consider working online before. The current crisis put me in a position to reconsider my feelings about it if I wanted to continue training, learning and working. Having completed short courses, and with the help of supervision, I feel more confident and competent and am grateful that we can continue to support clients. I am planning to make online therapy a part of my counselling portfolio as I can see the benefits, to my career and my clients, which I had not considered before. I am proud that the Northern Guild has all done the hard work needed to transfer all work online so we could offer the NHS/Carers Program. My gratitude extends to the tutors and supervisors of the course, who under difficult circumstances and with personal challenges of their own, have had to quickly adapt their way of working and go online, without which, any further learning, training, working or supporting of ourselves or clients would have ceased…so thank you. “

The Next Rainbow ….

We intend to maintain our new service for the foreseeable future. We are painfully aware that the last few months have wrought havoc for so many from all walks of life in countless ways. We are planning to extend this new service so that those who have faced deeply painful and dispiriting times can also reach out and be met by someone who will walk alongside, following in their steps with them as they try to make sense of what is happening in their life. We all face an uncertain future. With such unprecedented challenges, there is ever more need to reflect and to let go of old ways of being, thinking and doing in order to find a new way forward. Pyschotherapy and counselling provide this reflective space without judgement or pressure.

Christine Lister-Ford 7/25/20 Christine Lister-Ford 7/25/20

THE covid Months | TEENAGE LOCKDOWN

Anon. age 21

Gone are the days

But not for long

These are the days

These days are gone

Anon. age 18

Sometimes I crave silence. Sometimes I crave peace and quiet and being away from everything and everyone. Sometimes all I want is the white noise inside my head. Sometimes the silence I crave turns out to be too loud; deafening. It screams in my ears, is the voice of all my anxiety and all of my fears. I can stand the screaming. I’ve had screaming all my life.

My eyes are heavy and itching and yet I refuse to sleep. 2:20 am and I refuse to sleep. Why? What horrors does the day bring that make the night so welcoming? When I was depressed, I used to fear the night because that was when I would feel the worst. But it never mattered because the following morning I would curse the sun rising. Those were dark times I don’t miss at all.

My existence is a confused jumble of moments in which I feel safe and certain or scared and indecisive. Every single instant feels like a life-changing moment - for better or worse. Press a button, choose your action, accept the bad or good ending knowing there’s no replaying the game. There’s no erasing the save file, no renaming the character, no taking the SideQuest you never did. Play it right or it’s over. It’s not a comfortable console at home, it’s a arcade game in the early 80’s. One coin, one game, one chance. Jump over the barrel or you’re done. Did I screw it up? Am I going to?

I hate college for stalling my life and I feel like everything is a dead end. Then the two commissions that validate me as an artist, as someone noteworthy for my craft. It’s all up and downs and I’m tired and excited and I can’t unclench my jaw or let the tension off my shoulders. I’m so lonely and yet so sure of myself, pushing others away, playing the soft smirk charming girl too good for you, too smart for you. I used to wear my heart on my sleeve but now I hide it in a pocket that I’ve hand-sewn shut so that no one can see it and It’s safe and sound. I want cuddles and kind whispered words of love and worship but I also want careless intimacy and pressed bodies against the wall. “All” or “none”? Can I only have “some”? Are all Geminis indecisive? Are all bisexuals afraid of commitment? Do abusive relationships make it impossible to make connections? Is there something wrong with me or is it all a sum of what my life has led me to?

There’s no longer security in tomorrow, who I’ll be or who those outside will pretend to be. The laws are a shambles, respect forgotten. How long will I be trapped inside, in my mind? I want it to go back, it was bad, but at least you didn’t see how ugly humanity was.

Christine Lister-Ford 7/14/20 Christine Lister-Ford 7/14/20

The Covid MonTHS | BAd SAD MAd GLAD | HELEN’S STORY

I think I am still trying to make sense of the pandemic and how it has impacted me personally and professionally. The opportunity to share my experience prompted some deep reflection which was rather meandering, contradictory and confusing. It left me a little flummoxed as to how to structure my writing, but then I remembered my very first remote teaching session that I had way back in March.

The Northern Guild responded really quickly to the challenges Covid 19 introduced, almost seamlessly moving to online provision. I remember in that first lesson my tutor, faced with a barrage of emotion, uncertainty and distress from her students, calmly suggested a framework for check in;

“ Let’s talk Mad, Bad, Sad and Glad”

I have used this structure as a way to describe my experience of lockdown and to acknowledge how, often I find myself returning to the experiential learning of class, supervision and therapy and how valuable those recollected nuggets of wisdom are. Helping to guide me in the here and now whether with clients, personal dilemmas or professional demands.

BAD

I think in those initial weeks everything felt really frightening, this wasn’t helped by having a husband who works in the NHS. I was worried for him, each day he’d come home looking harrowed, heavy with the weight of information about the pending atrocities that were to come, as the pandemic swept through the NHS. We talked of the risk he might pose to us due to high exposure and how we might manage that. They were dark days littered with really horrible discussions about really difficult decisions, which in that moment felt imminent.

I went into survival mode, focussing on protecting my family. I was scared for my children, for my husband, my wider family, my elderly parents. What would the impact be on them? Physically and psychologically? So many questions unanswered. If I’m honest in those first couple of weeks that’s all my head was full of, ensuring my families needs were met. Whether that was how do I get food to my shielding parents to how do I help my nine year old son to feel socially connected?

I felt guilty, I hadn’t had the opportunity to offer any kind of ending to many of my clients. Some I was able to make contact with, signpost local telephone and online support services but not all. I worried about my most vulnerable clients and how the pandemic would be impacting them?

SAD

There were so many losses to be mourned; the predictable, the familiar, the known. Loss of all the usual activities, rituals, pastimes that structured my time . The familiar rhythm that marked out my daily dance of life.

Strangely I think what I missed most was best described by Winnicott as the “in- between”.

Those spaces between the pastimes, the pauses, the silences that are just as much part of the rhythm as the beat. Those moments where my mind would have the freedom to wonder, to imagine, to create. Perhaps inspired by an audiobook or podcast whilst driving up to Newcastle, grabbing a coffee break on placement and sharing an impromptu anecdote with colleagues, a look exchanged with a classmate in a shared moment of understanding or that sudden eureka moment of attunement, a realisation of what a client is really trying to tell me, whilst thinking of them on a dog walk!

In those first months despite all the lost routine, rituals and activity I felt busier than ever, my head full to bursting. Juggling home schooling, studying, working, I craved those moments of silent spontaneity, time to think!

I wondered for my clients, how was it for them? Knowing for some, the only structure, routine, space to think was represented by school, which had been so abruptly taken away. Did they have an escape from their chaos?

MAD

I raged against the losses, not loudly, not externally but fierce in my passivity. My DiPC 5 research assignment was painful in its writing as I became increasingly frustrated with my brains stuckness!

It just wouldn’t work, everything seemed sluggish. The things that usually came so easily felt arduous, as I wrote, rewrote, rewrote again then restarted, my cognitive brain totally offline!

I was reticent about my clinical practice too, partly acknowledging my own limitations. How could I provide a safe secure space with my own three children at home? But mainly fuelled by uncertainty and fear of the unknown.

How lucky I was to have personal therapy, supervision and the support of my tutors through this time who gradually helped me to work through these stages of grief, recognising the impact of the collective trauma of COVID.

I remember my tutor saying one night “this is a opportunity, to find new ways, different ways to reach out, to connect” and in that moment I felt my spark reignite.

My therapist a stabilising constant throughout, has helped rebuild my presence, my potency, my physis! We’ve talked, used clay, done guided imagery all remotely and its worked. That experiential learning again, shoring my belief that it can be done and is effective.

GLAD

So I end in gratitude.

I am grateful that the extent of the pandemic and associated NHS overwhelm was less than first expected.

I am grateful for my own and my families health, I know there are many who are not as fortunate, where Covid leaves behind an indelible loss.

Although I miss many of the past familiars, some things I joyfully renounced and hope never to return to. I enjoy the slower pace, I haven’t dashed or rushed anywhere in months.

There have been many firsts, my first online lesson, baby observation, therapy session, group supervision all of which have allowed the return of some structure, some normality.

I am back working with clients remotely, and we are finding our way, together discovering new ways of communicating, being creative, connecting and it feels good.

Interestingly a couple of my clients have also welcomed certain aspects of lockdown, suffering from paralysing social anxiety, lockdown has been a way to press pause, to re-evaluate, find new ways of connecting with peers, composing their own new rhythm of being in relationship which we hope to carry forward as they return to school and college

To end, last week I had another first, my first job interview on Zoom! There were 53 applicants for one counselling post and I was one of 8 shortlisted and although I wasn’t offered the job, the feedback was immensely positive. It reaffirmed my belief that we are lucky, our training sets us apart. As we recover from the impact of the pandemic and find new ways to live with it and learn from it, I’ve no doubt the demand for our services will increase and I will be waiting ready to step up and I hope to see you there too.

Helen Pentelow-Boyle

Christine Lister-Ford 7/2/20 Christine Lister-Ford 7/2/20

Stay Alert – Control The Virus – Save Lives

There comes an indeterminant point in life when, without due care and attention, you can slide from being a competent adult in charge of your own life, a valuable citizen, someone to be spoken to directly into somebody else. Somebody who is not quite the sum of their own parts. The triggers are numerous – an incapacitating illness that effects movement making it slower, more awkward, less appealing. Voicing an opinion that is somehow out of kilter with the correct modern thinking and so attracts labels like dinosaur or grumpy, old ‘man’/’woman’. Struggling with digital living which, interestingly, is decried in both the young and the old alike but for obverse reasons. Either way it locks you firmly into a stereotype.

We have struggled and, I think, largely failed at Northern Guild, to develop therapy placements where those in their later years have parity of access to counselling and psychotherapy with adults in other age groups. Lots of reasons are given to explain the disparity – not as many older clients want therapy, older clients are hard to reach because they are often in care homes or sheltered accommodation, ill health prevents them from engaging. It’s a bit of a nuisance having to find clients like this, they are just not as interesting. Paying attention to diverse needs is something we take very seriously at the Guild This is a group for whom we must rethink what we are doing and find ways to do much, much better. We cannot go on letting this be a marginalised group with poor access to our therapists

Here are some lockdown snapshots from three people who have all passed three score years and ten. These are the stories of their Covid months. Names have been changed.

Dido

Born 1934

Formerly the Bursar of a Training Centre for a firm of City Accountants

Widowed 8 years ago, now lives alone

Drives a red compact crossover Suv

Lives with a serious underlying health condition

For years I have been the “paper girl” for three of us in the lane where I live. Despite the lockdown, I have still gone at 7am every morning to the paper shop by car, it takes me less than five minutes. When lockdown happened my neighbours, both in their 80’s too, would only accept the papers if, when I collected them, I wore gloves and posted them wrapped in polythene bags through their doors. One didn’t want to pay me with cash and has kept a tally to pay me monthly by BACS. Those who have relied upon friends to shop for them in lockdown are full of guilt, they feel they are putting on people and are now a nuisance or don’t know when they can repay kindnesses they have received.

I know of seven people who have had no physical contact with anyone for over 12 weeks, and some are now fraying at the edges, I phone all of them every other day and you can hear desperation and depression in their voices. They live in hope that the television will tell them nobody else has died that day. They are very frightened.

Some of my couples friends are also feeling the strain. One of my friends said that her husband complains every mealtime that the food is boring and repetitive - she is shopping on line at the only supermarket where she can get a slot. She is desperate to go out shopping but frightened she will take the virus home and kill him. Many of my friends are grandparents and desperate to see their grandchildren, but two of them won’t because they are so scared that now they are back to school they will give her the virus.

Some of my friends are much younger than me, 20 years in some cases. I find that they are often the most scared of all of us They won’t see friends because they can’t overcome the FEAR factor, fear that they will be infected by the virus. They just can’t work out a way to handle it and so they stay at home feeling really miserable.

Euthanasia is defined as ‘intentionally ending life to relieve pain’. The impact of lockdown on my age group, the elderly, has caused enormous suffering and irreparable damage to the mental health of people who were once normal, functioning adults. Law abiding, caring people have been turned into zombies, disturbed and destroyed by isolation, lack of proper social support, abandoned to make the best of it without the resources to help. Scared out of living life by endless briefings, statistics and graphs of mortality, lockdown has become a agonising living death for a lot of my friends.

I am an optimist. Life has taught me how to survive, often not kindly but certainly very effectively. I won’t give in to fear, FOGO – Fear Of Going Out – won’t kill me off, I won’t let it. Anyway, someone asked me if I was on Tinder last week!

Beatrice

Born 1946

Married to Henry for 53 years

Formerly a Head Teacher

Drives an Estate Car

Henry and I arrived in Bazoches on the evening of Sunday March for a 2 week break in our holiday home, we had little warning of what was about to happen in France. Perhaps we should have been more worried, the Hull - Zeebrugge ferry was practically deserted. But we assumed that it was because there were no passengers for Bruges as the bars there were closed.

The next day we said ‘Bonjour’ to our French neighbours. They were very surprised to see us as they were expecting an announcement that evening from the government about the Covid pandemic. When it came it was a big shock to the whole country. France would be in lockdown for 3 weeks from the following day at noon.

We were thrown. What should we do? Should we repack the car and return to England? As we were still very tired from the previous day’s drive through France this wasn’t very appealing.. We decided that three weeks isolation in Bazoches sounded ok, we had come for a rest and to open up the house for Easter for our grandchildren coming to stay. We would just have to go shopping very early the next morning and buy enough to last us 3 weeks.

The following morning we got up very early and drove to the nearest Lidl, about 20 mins away. It surprised us to see people queuing, everyone was wearing masks and gloves. We'd only taken some wipes for the trolley, Our lack of the right protective clothing meant we got some strange looks and the odd ‘ les Anglais!’ which we pretended not to notice. The shelves were full, there was plenty of everything to buy. The only thing in short supply was toilet paper but we had plenty at the house already.

At noon that day everything changed as Lockdown began. The rules of French Lockdown were strict:

*Everyone must stay at home, in isolation, for 3 weeks
* It is permitted to leave home for exercise but only within a 1km radius
*No unnecessary journeys can be made; travel within a distance of 10 km can be made for specific

permitted reasons – food shopping, medical appointments and so forth

*Only one person can travel in a car at any one time
*Every time anyone leaves home they must take a signed and dated attestation with them, detailing who they were, where they were from and where they were going to
Gendarmes were on the roads to check papers and issue on the spot finds it you didn't have correct paperwork

Those first few days were very stressful with a lot of ‘what ifs‘ in my head, especially at night. I slept badly and worried endlessly. What if one of us became ill and had to go to hospital? What if I never get home to my family? What if it went on longer than 3 weeks?

Fortunately we had plenty of jobs in the house to keep us busy. And at 6.00 pm every night we met with our neighbours for a chat, talking across the road to one another. After a while this developed into a social, twice weekly, aperitif time. We took it in turns to share a bottle of wine but using our own glasses and with everyone standing away from the person pouring the wine! These early aperitif meetings were chilly, so coats and sometimes hats had to be worn. As the weather improved and the lockdown eased our aperitif sessions have started to become more normal, although social distancing was still the norm.

We also had a visit from the gendarmes. They were checking on every occupied home to answer questions and make sure we had no problems. Somewhat reassuring and totally unexpectedly
we were also provided with 2 medical grade masks each entirely free of charge.

Three weeks became three months. Henry and I developed a new rhythm to our lives. Over that time we relaxed more and learned to truly appreciate our beautiful surroundings. We consider ourselves both privileged and very fortunate. Lockdown restrictions have been eased progressively over the three months and there is now freedom of travel. Although we have had occasional panics about our family and about getting back home we made the decision to stay in France as we thought it was much safer than England.

The restrictions put in place in France took us completely by surprise. They were not suggestions, they were instructions, they had to be obeyed and they were enforceable by law. They have however been very successful and the country now appears to have the virus under control. France has returned to a new normal - shops, bars, restaurants are all open, though masks are still worn by most people in shops and bars and social distancing is still the norm everywhere.

We are now reluctantly planning to return to England at the weekend as I have a hospital appointment which I have already cancelled twice. I’m not sure how it will feel to be back. If it weren’t for me medical needs I would definitely stay until the autumn. I have found a new sense of me and cast off the mantle of some of the many roles I have in normal life. Henry and I are more relaxed together. I feel freer than I have in years, carefree, able to please myself. I have found a me that I lost many years ago when easy going youth gave way to mature adult hood. This time in France has given me the space to be carefree again in a way I never dreamed of. I don’t want to let go of it. I am afraid to return but not because of the virus. I don’t want my new life to end – I love it!

Kay

Born 1934

Widowed 6 years

Formerly a Wren

No longer drives

Poor mobility due to a failed spinal procedure

I moved out of my flat 10 months ago. I went there when my husband Colin died. It had amazing views of the town and the municipal flower beds. If I felt lonely I just had to look out to feel part of life. I made a good friend, Annie, she was my kind of person and we ended up doing lots of social things together. We even went on group coach holidays together. Things changed when I started to get pain in my back which eventually became unbearable. The specialist told me that there was an operation I could have but the success rate was about 60% and it could leave me paralysed if I was really unlucky. I put it off for as long as I could. But the pain worsened and I just couldn’t go on so I went under the knife.

The operation failed, I can still move around but I’m very unstable and need a walking frame. I take a lot of painkillers. It wasn’t safe to continue living on my own so I moved here, to Bradgate Towers. I have a lovely room on the ground floor withs its own external door onto a small private patio with outdor table and chairs and a small garden. It’s perfect, more like a 5 star hotel. The facilities are beautiful and all is very clean and well maintained. And the staff are lovely, they pop into my room for chats and give me support and we have quite a bit of fun together. Bradgate had a lively social programme when I moved in. You can’t get on with everybody in a place like this but I had my own small circle of friends. The food was never especially good. But my sister, who is younger, would would take me out shopping or pop into M&S for me and I could put ready meals in the kitchen freezer. Family would take me out for meals, we were planning trips to the cinema, life was looking good. In the home itself I emerged as a leader and campaigner to improve the social programme. I gained respect from management and staff alike and residents would come to me with requests to put forward. Staff and management sought my views. Just before lockdown I organised a minibus to take us all out for trips and this was going to improve my life in a very real way. I had self respect and a sense of being a valued member of this community.

Covid changed everything. People on the top floor, which is reserved for those suffering from dementia, were the first to get the virus. It was all hushed up in the beginning but I have my ways of finding out what is going on and staff, who were anxious, began to confide in me. Then the people on the first floor got it. They have rooms like mine but they don’t have outside doors. They were stuck up there and the windows were only allowed to be opened slightly and sometimes not at all. It must have been hell up there in all of this hot weather. Bit by bit everything stopped – no more social activities, hardly anyone walking out in the gardens. Then the food hit rock bottom. The chef left and they brought some cocky 18 year old lad in who didn’t care tuppence. The menus would always sound amazing but the reality is very different. Ham salad was a small piece of wafer thin ham, a few lettuce leaves and a mound of mashed potato. I’m a good cook and I know what nice food is. One day I didn’t get breakfast. It was past 10 o’clock and I was hungry. Everyone else’s breakfast trays had long since been cleared away. When I rang my buzzer to find out why I hadn’t had mine I was told they were still trying to find some brown bread for my toast. I pay £900 a week to be here – money my grandchildren won’t get – and there is never any brown bread.

I have had the chef brought to my room on three separate occasions to complain. The rest of the staff know its bad. You can tell he doesn’t care. He always says the same thing – tell me what you want and I’ll make it for you. I always ask for two things, brown bread and fresh vegetables. The only time there are fresh vegetables is at Sunday lunch. It’s the only meal I look forward to. I’ve started keeping a diary about the food and when the time is right I’ll make a complaint. But I daren’t right now. I’m too scared. My friend is moving to a new home, it’s just being completed and will open in a month. She says this place has gone to the dogs. I thought about moving, too but I’m worried that I wouldn’t get as nice a room again and I like most of the staff here.

We are now on complete lockdown No visitors at all, not even outside. Its awful. I am so bored and there is nothing to stimulate my mind or body. All I can do is read and watch TV and tend my little garden.

I’m getting really down and can’t eat the food. Food is the only thing to look forward to and it is so very bad now.

Right now we don’t have a manager, she left as many of the staff did, as they are afraid of Covid being present in here. This means we are often reliant on agency staff, especially at weekends, and junior staff are having to take on roles that they have not been properly trained to do. At least twice now I have been offered the wrong medication and it is only because I have all my faculties that I refused it and reported the matter but it still happened again.

Many of the residents have been taken to hospital and some have died. This is very upsetting. The whole place feels very sad. We are experiencing grief and loss week by week. The people in rooms either side of me have both died and yesterday the funeral people came 3 times to take bodies away. Sadness is the thing I feel most. I am beginning to feel desparate. Things are not good.

Some residents are going off it. Screaming and crying. Many cannot take it without visits from loving family. I haven’t been able to sleep for the past few nights because of the noise and distress from other residents. The homes answer is to sedate them when they become too much for the staff or other residents. This means that once fairly lively people are becoming what the world calls “gaga”. I feel afraid that I will become like this.

My sister is concerned and wants to make a report to the head office but I won’t let her. I am a competent, clear headed, independent woman and I will make complaints myself when I have gathered enough evidence. I am keeping a diary. However, she says I am becoming obsessed but I am not I can tell you that! I am angry, bored, sad and distressed.

I try to talk to some of the other residents but a lot of them aren’t what they used to be, this virus has got them so scared they’ve just shut down. It’s too scarey here. I’m trying to keep myself going, I weed my little garden with a spoon and I talk to my family every week. But I miss their visits, I miss being taken out, I miss all the social activities. I’ve had a good life and if and when I die I want to go out laughing and happy. Not like this.

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CHAZ age 17

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