Before deciding to adopt guinea pigs, I thought long and hard about whether I would be able to give them the best life that could possibly be given to animals that have to live in a cage their whole lives. I thought about the time I could give them, the space, money to buy hay, food and treats. They’re not ‘just guinea pigs’, they are living and wholly dependent on me. I want them to be healthy and happy.

One thing I did not consider, however, was whether my back could take it. Seriously, my back is screwed. Need to see a doctor.

I’ve known for a few years that I have idiopathic scoliosis of the mildest sort, plus a compressed lower disc somewhere in my spine. Occasionally it ‘goes’, the muscles seize but, after a few days of treating it with anti-inflammatories and stretches, it recovers.

Not this time. All the bending and reaching to clean out the cage … ouch. I am working to adjust myself to more back-friendly positions, but these things take time to heal I guess. So, to the doctor I go. Please help me!

Apart from that, the guinea pigs are fun. They’re getting used to me. I sing to them – silly songs that i make up, mostly. They come up to me now rather than hide. They stay for long if I have treats; they depart in disgust if I don’t. They are happier being handled if I am covered in part by hay, vegetables, and one of their blankets that smells of them (sexy). So, sometimes I lie there among them looking rather mad. But it’s a happy place to be. They’re SO CUTE.

I’m getting to know their personalities. Rogue is the more submissive one; calmer, happier to sit on you and snooze. Havok is dominant, skittish, likes to be under things – so many funny moments where he pops his head out from his hiding place. Havok wheaks the loudest, likes being handled less. Rogue is more difficult to catch but once on you, seems happier. Havok loves pea flakes, Rogue doesn’t. Both love celery and cucumber so much. I play tug of war with them with celery sticks and various other leafy veg.

Havok’s nickname is ‘funny face’. He reminds me of a clown with his antics as well as the large patch of colour on his nose, like a teardrop. My nickname for Rogue is ‘little lion’ as he has a black and orange face, the orange making him look like …. yes, a cuddly little lion!

Get this: I’ve been buying pak choi from Lidl and they both love it. I bought pak choi from Tesco and they won’t touch it. I didn’t even tell them it was from Tesco, they just knew!

Anyway, consider your back before you adopt guinea pigs, is the message I would like to emphasise in this post (though when they come up to you and take food from your palm, and their whiskers tickle … oh, my heart!)

A dream, on 27^th September 2022. A hotel-based one. Not my usual hotel-based dream, with its long, lonely corridors, unknown faces behind closed doors, the sense of being lost and unable to leave. This dream was very different and vivid. It stayed with me all day so I assumed it was worth paying attention to, especially as it is a variation on a recurring hotel dream theme … What could it mean?!

“[…] it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.” – Virginia Woolf.

In the dream, I was walking towards a hotel, located in the desert. The locale reminded me of Flagstaff, Arizona, where I once stayed and had some of the worst panic attacks (I had arrived at midnight, without my luggage (delayed, on another plane), via a taxi, the driver of which was talking about gun laws, having no sense of what was around me (sand and cacti, mainly)). 

I digress. 

In the dream, I approach the hotel via a paved walkway. I notice the nothingness around the hotel, and the four parking bays outside it; specifically, two for hotel staff, two for guests. This seemed peculiar, though I suppose there was enough desert around to park on, should it be required. 

I enter the hotel atrium – very shiny, spick-and-span. There was a lonely receptionist behind a lonely desk in the middle of this cavernous hall, empty apart from the reception desk and a few other people in business suites milling around, zombie-like. I was disappointed – where is the welcoming bar/restaurant, the comfy armchairs, the murmur of bookings and checkouts and complaints, the ping of the lift?

I headed down a narrow, winding staircase, feeling anxious in the way I do when entering anything tunnel-like with no windows and scary push-button doors (what if the doors stop working and I’m stuck like a spider under a glass, between two push-button doors?!) 

This is where the dream veered. Unlike the usual long, lonely, capillary corridors that typically characterise the hotel dream, instead I came to, beneath the barren reception, I a sprawling entertainment multiplex. An ice rink, cinema, swimming pool, shopping mall, a fairground … bright, busy, bustling, and buoyant, everyone happy there, having a wonderful time. My overwhelming feeling was one of astonishment that all this existed in the desert, below the lonely lobby. 

I knew some of the people there. The only one I remember now is my cousin, our ages the only thing in common. Confident, beautiful, stylish, charming, funny. We aren’t close in life but here in the dream we were arm-in-arm. She was laughing at something I had said, not in an unfriendly way, but in a way that said she was nothing but delighted to be in my company. We seemed to be heading towards the cinema with many others, all of whom seemed to be following me. 

What can I take from this?

Does this represent the discovery of my inner self and source of joy? That part that can always be relied upon, rather than seeking it outside, in a world that can often seem barren of care?

Everyone is busy caring for themselves, and rightly so. Yet without that inner resilience and feeling of being worthy of care, it is hard to care for oneself. Perhaps this dream is reflecting how I’m finding mine. 

“Life […] is arduous, difficult, a perpetual struggle. It calls for gigantic courage and strength. More than anything […] it calls for confidence in oneself. Without self-confidence we are as babes in the cradle.” – Virginia Woolf

I feel so tickled when exploring my dreams, when I manage to connect with those small, at first seemingly insignificant details. They’re such a delightful wink or nod from the unconscious. Like the parking spaces outside the hotel – why am I able to recall this? Two for staff, two for guests. Why so few? Why so precise as to be recalled? Perhaps for how few people I let in, how I control that, monitor it, restrict it like lines on the ground control the traffic. 

I love the sensation of the realisation that comes from examining dreams, like the steps taken down to that wide world below. As I recognised the basement multiplex as perhaps representing my unconscious/repressed/disowned parts, I said to myself, how strange, that I should be thinking of myself as a hotel with limited parking and a hidden funhouse beneath.   

And as I said it, within 2 seconds it transformed from perplexing to painfully obvious. But of course, I think of myself as a hotel! It makes sense, in the context of my interest in theories of psychological parts (trauma parts, Internal Family Systems, archetypes etc.), that I should imagine myself as a hotel containing all of mine; that my exterior should be plain and barren, unassuming, a lobby area where a few people float in formality (my defences), not interacting with anyone, with all the joy and spontaneity and fun hidden beneath that. 

All my parts staying there, guests at the Hotel Fee, are parts of me. The quiet, formal exterior, my facade – all control, compliance, professionalism – with chaos underneath. But fun chaos. The ignoring of the external in favour of introspection, the number of visitors tightly controlled.

The assumption of my dream interpretation is that all aspects of the dream – the environment, layout – represent parts of me. The lonely receptionist and unknowable businesspeople, they make sense to me. So why my cousin? Is this a part that can believe I am beautiful and confident and joyful, capable of unabashed, full-on laughter and gaiety? Or rather, the part that is all those things?

I love this – my conscious self, observing my parts and self-structure through dreams. 

Another dream 29^th September 2022 – I’m in a pub, the one that used to be just around the corner from the family home I lived in from age 11 to 18. 

In the dream, the inside of the pub started off small, constricting. As I was looking for a table – I wanted the right location, to read in comfort and peace, away and out of sight from others – I continued walking around, coming back to the start, in fascination at how much bigger it was that I’d initially thought, seeming to grow the more I explored. I found myself wanting to keep looking around, to make sure it stayed that way, and to get my bearings: if I sit here, I’ll be relative to that, there, and over there, ok I know where I am. 

What can I take from this?

Not sure. Why a pub? Why that pub? I remember going there a few times but only to the separate function room they had around the back (many a family and school friend’s birthday party).

The pub proper was always a mystery. There is something for me about places that are familiar yet unknown. Like a pub around the corner from my house that I’ve never entered. A kind of fascination there, like something so unknown that stepping in would be like stepping into another country. The juxtaposition of the familiar with the unknown. 

So perhaps the dream was about entering the unknown, with a sense of curiosity and wonder, rather than anxiety, supported by the fact that it is at least vaguely familiar.

This dream took place the night after winning an award for work. During the event and following I have observed myself intensely. The event was an overwhelming somatic and emotional experience. Receiving the award, the photos, and the congratulations after – I wasn’t in my body, my body was so tense, I just wanted to escape. And who would suspect? What a pleasant, laid-back evening. It was lovely, but I wasn’t really there.

Now, the attack: people don’t believe you deserved to win. You didn’t deserve to win. They think Debbie should have won instead. 

Exhaustion. 

Withdrawn and feeling bitter at work because no one cares, it’s only you, no one believes you deserve it, would rather it had gone to Debbie (I get it, go away already*). 

Is the pub dream reflecting my recognising the familiar yet somewhat still unknown and mysterious parts of myself?  The descent of this grumpiness that overwhelms me in response to an undeniably positive and affirming situation, leading to suspicion and mistrust of others, followed by shame and guilt as everyone really has been so nice about it all.

Familiar feelings. How much more can I know about them? How much difference will it make?

Perhaps, like in the pub, as I continue to explore, the more I will find that I didn’t even suspect was there, those mysterious, hidden nooks.  Perhaps the act of looking will expand the scene.

Parts work

*We all have parts to our personalities and psyches. Each part has different wants and needs. Some may be stuck at a younger age, with the wants and needs of a child of that age. Becoming aware of them allows compassion for ourselves at that time, context for those wants and needs, observing from an adult place for where those parts can be guided and integrated. So, don’t go away, stay, and talk a while. Just … take it easy, okay?

A last-minute thought: pubs and hotels. I like them, clearly! I like that I can be around people in them, but still enjoy solitude, in a room of my own or at a table in a cosy, cushioned corner somewhere, with a wine and a book.

(Very often I say things in my head, and I think ‘huh, that’s interesting’. I think it’s my most authentic voice in there. Putting it into words feels phoney, stupid – that inner critic thing going on, asking why my opinion matters, who would want to listen? There’s also that element of being uncomfortable with the subjective when struggling with a sense of self-worth. There’s a risk to expressing an opinion based on nothing concrete or objective, so without a sense of self-worth to feel back onto, any view or opinion feels completely without merit, in fact it just feels down-right self-indulgent. I’ve always struggled with this. I could never spontaneously say what I’m about to write, so I am pleased I have this space, as a kind of practise in expressing myself, reminding myself that I am allowed to have a view).

Now to the real purpose of the post!

pic.twitter.com/0Anev9zQvz

— jon klassen (@burstofbeaden) September 22, 2022

Jon Klassen is an author and illustrator I have admired for some time. I love his stories. I’m not ashamed to say that ‘We Found a Hat’ made me cry. ‘I Want My Hat Back’ had my brother and I in gasps and giggles in the book shop (don’t worry, I did buy the book after reading the whole thing twice in the shop).

Klassen recently shared on Twitter the above illustration of a deer in the moonlight.

I find this deer very cute. (This could be a very short blog post if I just left it there, simple as). The simplified form of the deer with the delicate line and shading of the trees around it; the slightly shy and curious sideways look – delightful.

I love this posture of the upright, highly alert deer. When I was designing ‘Oh, Brenda!’ the main pose I opted for was the highly-alert, tall neck, somewhere between surprise and alarm, accompanied by similar wide eyes to accentuate the sense of alert.

The eyes are Klassen’s trademark, seen on all his animals from the deer to the tortoise, from the bear to the rabbit.

pic.twitter.com/4F4bOjDHjR

— jon klassen (@burstofbeaden) September 18, 2022

The look of the rabbit above is eerie to me. Isn’t it wonderful how a seemingly simple illustration can contain so much? The power is definitely in the eyes – the slightest shift in the eye shape or direction of the iris, combined with something like an elongated neck or long, leaning ears, can say so much about what the character is about. Just brilliant.

I imagine some people, especially children, may be more likely to find the rabbit funny – what a grump!, they might think. I guess it comes down to sensibility (perhaps related to age? which is why Klassen’s books are a hit with all ages). By the rabbit, I feel observed and judged. With the deer, I feel I want to throw my arms around that neck and know what it’s thinking about, then join it for a wonder through the woods.

As a fan of dystopian literature, I enjoy the dystopian feel to his illustrations, a bleak colour pallet. The dulled, neutralised world within which the creatures reside, so flat and still – what is the creature looking for? Why such a meaningful look (and how meaningful! Just two ovals with circles in them) in a meaningless world? I find myself imagining these creatures in a post-human world, having evolved some human emotions, expressed through the eyes, and they’re not particularly impressed by this new ability. In fact, they’re probably quite burdened by it, and aren’t we all? The world becoming greyer for them the more they can perceive what’s remaining of it.

Not sure. This could all be a load of rubbish and I should have stopped at ‘so cute!’ But I felt like exercising my self-expression and put words to the feelings I get from his illustrations. They tickle and amuse me greatly, and also seem to pull me into the neutralised world within which the creatures reside, to a place leaving me a little unnerved and sad.

pic.twitter.com/OlixEzZ2KV

— jon klassen (@burstofbeaden) August 17, 2022

As hard as it is to fathom, there are some people that don’t care or worry about the natural world. It seems they haven’t figured out that all we have comes from nature, we depend on it. As they care for the car that they depend on to get from A to B, should they not also care for the earth that sustains them? (An obvious point this should be).

This bear illustration makes me think of footage of polar bears struggling to find food – one of the most distressing scenes recorded in nature. The impact of climate change is stark in the Arctic with the plight of polar bears. It’s stark in towns and cities too, yet some people, if not caring about fellow humans, may need the plight of cuddly polar bears to sway them, otherwise there really is nothing that will.

Perhaps that’s the essence of why these illustrations move me so much. They’re animals, which I adore, in a bleak world, very relatable with the state of things right now. Do they know what’s happening, what has been done to them? They seem to. Do they blame us? They should.

In Jon Klassen’s books exists worlds where the fate of a hat-stealing rabbit is ambiguous and can therefore be a source of amusement for the reader. There’s nothing ambiguous about the state of the planet. The lack of concern and action from those in power is perhaps the most unnerving thing of all.

My brother has released a couple of songs on Spotify and Apple Music, with some more to come around Christmastime.

Check them out! I think they’re great.

I feel like I want to write something but I have no idea what to write. Not that I’m short of ideas, but feeling a little torn.

Do I write about my wonderful camping trip and all the wildlife I witnessed – the bat’s, the swallows, the rabbits, the moths and butterflies? Do I write about the moon rising behind a hill like a pearl unveiled in an oyster shell, the sunsets, the stargazing, the meteors and satellites passing by and the awe they inspired?

Or do I write about how fearful and sad I am at the current state of the world – war, drought; useless politicians that are just people with an inordinate amount of power and seemingly nothing to lose; utter frustration that there are people with plentiful ideas and ingenuity that have very little power at all; the cost of living; the loss of focus on climate change even though our worst fears are staring us right in the face now? Should I write about the joy of being away from the news for a time and pretending it wasn’t happening, or the guilt I feel for burying my head in the sand (almost literally) for a few days? Do I write about the empathy for those less for fortunate and the action I want to take to help, or gush with gratitude for my security, the health of my family and friends? Do I write about how wonderful to go away with friends, yet how much I am yearning for solitude?

I believe it’s better to say ‘I don’t know what to say’ rather than not saying anything when not knowing what to say. So, in the spirit of that, this is what I’m doing.

There’s an awful lot to think about isn’t there?

N.B.

It occurred to me just after publishing this, another reason for sharing this: sometimes, when all these thoughts are stuck in my head, they all seem to cancel each other out so it seems I am thinking and feeling nothing at all. I don’t like that. Surely I am not lacking thoughts, feelings, opinions?

I hear people talk, read their posts, their expressing themselves, and I realise I could never feel so sure about anything, to express it so openly and in such a way, spontaneously, without caveats and parentheses and such.

Also, being so sensitive to the reception I receive when voicing something, combined with the anxiety about doing so, makes me wonder why I’d even bother. Why put the effort in, and why risk it? I used to agonise over my inability or unwillingness to share, pathologised it to some extent I guess, whereas now I feel more protective over it because I understand it better. I understand why I’d want to protect my innermost thoughts, and protect myself from anxiety and stress. Self care, and honouring the self, or something.

Anyway, this is my safe place for sharing.

Hmmm, turns out I had something to say after all. This is reminding me of how the most fruitful counselling sessions are often those that start with ‘I don’t know what to say’.

I do feel a little relief.

I am a big fan of Devin Townsend because of the versatility in his voice, his themes, his music – as well as his inventiveness, and his trueness to himself (hence his versatility- even if that means disappointing some people who might prefer a certain work). He strikes me as someone really in touch with his vision, and with the knowledge, skills and talent to make it happen – so jealous. He is prolific and his output always innovative and exciting. I recently saw him play at the Royal Albert Hall. He has incredible showmanship and presence on stage. I can’t wait to see him again.

Also, he is a fan of soft toy animals (his favourite is an octopus) and at one of his concerts, had a bazooka firing cuddly toys into the crowd. Amazing.

His ‘Empath’ album is, in my opinion, a masterpiece.

This song was the first I heard from the album. I like to imagine the voices representing two parts of the self, having words with each other. I would like to imagine the voices applying between everyone – those who are leading and those who are growing – with these words of hope representing humanity’s ability to overcome anything we need to, for the good of our health and wellbeing, as well as that of the planet’s. That is sometimes difficult these days. There’s nothing more inspiring that when people come together for a common cause, but what should be the common cause seems to be lost within systems that are failing and traumas that are unacknowledged, let along unhealed.

This album is full of hope within an acknowledgement of pain. So I like to listen to it a lot these days. I take comfort in starting with an internal dialogue with the aim of expanding outwards from there – in faith that that will be the natural progression of things.

Lyrics – Spirits Will Collide

Devin Townsend

So they say
You’ll be ok
But words are not enough
Nobody remembered me
The words were not enough

Calm yourself down
Don’t you remember when we were young?
Don’t you remember who I am?
You’re strong enough

Dues to pay
Towards the way
Towards my friend, towards
Two must play
The foolish game
To war my friend, to war

So they rise, the fear and pain, but this isn’t how I am
Don’t you forget that you are loved
Don’t you forget that you are them
It’s hard enough

Remember the flame in your heart burns strong
Remember and the spirit will collide
Remember, together
Remember in the end that death is not the end

So we rise
Receive the pain, but this isn’t where this ends
Don’t you forget that you are perfect
Don’t you forget just who we are
We’re strong enough
Wherever the flame in your heart burns strong
We may not be brave so let’s start
Remember and the spirits will collide

Remember, together
Remember, together

This was going to be a short post, a ‘benefits of counselling’ snippet. However, I have wanted to write about dreams for so long, and the opportunity arose here. So, tuck yourself in and let’s do this.

A particular benefit of engaging in talking therapy occurred to me whilst taking a lunchtime walk with a colleague. We were discussing the counselling process and I can’t remember exactly how we got to it, but I described to my colleague a recurring dream I have. And it was her response that got me thinking about this particular benefit.

Note: I do not prescribe to the notion that dream symbols have objective meanings in any way. Dream interpretation must be highly subjective and personal, always within the context of the person who dreamed it (couldn’t say ‘the dreamer’ as is sounded too cheesy in a Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat kind of way. Not a bad thing, but not here).

Dream analysis

Before getting to the benefit of counselling, a bit about dream analysis: I began taking note of my recurring dreams a couple of years ago after reading Imi Lo’s page about dream analysis on her fantastic website, ‘Eggshell Therapy and Coaching’, during my search for advice on how I might know myself better.  Dream Analysis – Eggshell Therapy and Coaching

After reading this I realised that I had been thinking of ‘recurring dreams’ as meaning the repeat of the exact same dream. Of course, that’s possible. But it’s more likely that it’s particular images, situations, objects, environments, and people the recur, not necessarily the exact same combination of them to make up the dream. Paying attention to this has been entertaining and surprising – I have many recurrences! Recognising them has become comforting, like greeting an old friend. The main reason I’ve wanted to write about dream interpretation is that it feels so good. In the way that the practice of Focusing leads to a sense of comfort, wholeness, and self-advocacy, so too does dream analysis, even if the subject in question is a difficult or distressing one.

Some of my recurring dream symbols:

• Rows of seats – usually a lecture hall, but can be a theatre or cinema, even a court room on one occasion! (I think I was a witness to something … )
• Corridors – usually in hotels, staying as part of a holiday or field trip, or in block of flats including university halls of residence. I am in the corridors, getting lost forgetting which room I’m supposed to be in; wandering and trying to find my room or my way out. 
• Small domestic animals – rabbits, guinea pigs, rats, mice, hamsters. In these dreams I am responsible for these pets and have taken on too many. I find them difficult to manage, I forget about them and feel bad.
• Packing/unpacking things – boxes to move house, suitcases etc. 
• Family home – my ‘dream’ house. It’s big. So big, I barely ever see some of the rooms. Sometimes I forget the rooms are there and when, I’m surprised. There’s a lot of fascination with the size of the house, the CORRIDORS. The focus usually on a bathroom down a long CORRIDOR/forgotten wing of the house.
• Haunted house – usually a visit to an old stately home or castle. Turns out to be a scary, avoid-the-ghost/chase/murder mystery scenario.
• Being in a plane – usually it’s crashing or about to crash.
• Trains/train stations – the feeling associated with this one is a little more vague than the others. Something about not knowing where I am going/how I will get there, getting on a train and hoping for the best.
• Rejection/abandonment dreams – the most painful and most frequently recurring, with the most obvious meaning. In the dream I am rejected and abandoned by people, usually friends and colleagues. I usually don’t remember what I’ve done that’s so awful. What is worse is the feeling that there is nothing I can do about the damage I have caused. In the dream, people look at me with hate, they walk away, and that’s it.

It was a rejection/abandonment dream that I recounted to my colleague while we were out walking.

The dream: I was working with two of my real-life colleagues, but in a book shop rather than hospital. It was a big bookshop. I remember stepping from behind the counter to help a customer. One of the colleagues shouted for me to come back and I tried to signal that I was going to help a customer. When I returned to the counter, I opened one of the cupboards in which I had stored my paperwork (interestingly not my bookshop paperwork, but my real-life, hospital job paperwork). My paperwork was soaked with water because someone had put a bag of ice in the cupboard. It had begun to melt, and the water went everywhere, soaking into my paperwork. I expressed anger at this – why would someone put a bag of ice in the cupboard! – and my colleagues turned against me. They looked at me with hate, giving me that feeling – I am so terrible, they will never like me again, I am bad.

Some of the meaning behind this is glaringly obvious and familiar to me – my two colleagues turning against me reflects my feeling of being inferior, of being the outsider, left out, of feeling guilty about expressing anger. All familiar feelings from a long time ago. 

But the ice? That’s interesting. Why ice? Of all things that could ruin my real-life job paperwork, ice is not the most likely destructor. Soup? Yes. Coffee? Most definitely. Even a leaky ceiling after heavy rain. But ice?!

Coming back to Imi Lo’s writing on dream analysis, I applied her techniques to the dream to know it better. She says that in order to make sense of dreams, you must think of everything significant in the dream (significance meaning there is some emotional charge behind the images and people), consider their features, and apply each to aspects of yourself. The ice in my dream was significant as it caused my anger, which resulted in rejection by my peers and my subsequent shame and remorse. 

I considered the features of ice. Ice changes, from solid to liquid, as it warms. Solid is rigid, structured. Liquid can flow, be absorbed into paper. 

So, I could say that the ice represents the ‘melting’ of my defences, my old ways of being. In particular, keeping my anger internalised for fear of hurting others and losing them as a result; my self-structure, rigid as a way of hiding my true self for fear it will be rejected, now melting, able to flow and ‘absorb’ new experiences, able to percolate into new situations.

In the dream the melting ice caused damage to my paperwork, representing my fear and belief that both ‘being myself’ and psychological change could damage my relationships, my life, everything for myself; my fear of changing – If I loosen up, something horrible inside me will come out, or it will turn out I am inherently bad.

The dream hasn’t revealed anything that I didn’t already know – I’ve applied my understanding to the dream to apply my own meaning. Although it does help to highlight and consolidate aspects that may not be quite as clear or in focus during counselling. But what really made me smile was the following:

This dream occurred at a time when I had been considering the hope and excitement I feel when I think of books – all the wisdom I get to take in, all the learning I can do, and how I think of books when I feel sad or alone or anything upsetting – as well as a quote from Amelia Earhart that I recently came across:

‘If we are in the abyss, there are the wings of new understanding to set us free.’

And where was I in the dream? In a book shop! Filled with books I turn to when I need to increase my understanding and feel understanding. That this horrible ice melting destruction of my very ordered and organised paperwork, of my very rigid and restricted self, should happen while surrounded by books! How amazing! When I realised this, I smiled so much, I was beaming! It felt wonderful, like something (me) was telling me, I see you, and you’re ok.

The original point of this post

Back to the original point of this post: I mentioned this dream to my colleague (not in this much detail, just the recurring fear of rejection/abandonment theme) and she laughed. Then she apologised, explaining she was laughing because, ‘you know’. And I did know. She said I am so loved and that it’s laughably ridiculous that I should be afraid of doing something so bad that my colleagues would turn irrevocably against me; that I could have a bad day, show my irritation, be short with people, and lose them forever.

This was both comforting and annoying. First, she’s lovely, and I see her point. Part of counsellor training has been to hear feedback from others on how we come across – very revealing! But also, this is a genuine fear of mine, one that’s such an ingrained part of me and has had such an influence on my life. I feel so differently about myself compared to what other people see, and for this to be so unseen …

And THAT’S why counselling is important. My colleague highlights the chasm between how I’m perceived and how I feel. She’s one of the warmest, most compassionate, empathic people I know, yet she struggles to understand how I can have such fear of badness and abandonment. 

Counselling is a bridge over the chasm. We can bring the facade and the authentic self into the counselling room and begin to build a bridge. Feels like two parts of self finally meeting in the middle.

Dream analysis is part of reinforcing the bridge. It’s another language to help with making sense of what the hell is going on. It’s addressing the same things from different perspectives, from the top, middle, and bottom, examining the past and present and using different languages to reinforce the learning, be it a dream, a painting, a poem, or other creative practice. Through what we create, we can see different angles. But more than that, we can see ourselves and bring our edge-of-awareness stuff into focus.

This is the main reason I would like to continue my counsellor training in an integrative way. I have found it beneficial to engage in therapy in a holistic way, and would not want to be restricted to offering one mode of being in the therapy, nor pushing my particular preference onto another.

When I’d finished analysing this dream it didn’t matter so much that I might not be fully understood. No one can be completely and fully understood by another of course, and we all have different aspects of ourselves that we reveal at different times to different people. The chasm inside me was a result of not accepting the part I felt, and had no access to the part other people could see. I suppose I felt quite alone. My dream analysis feels like a precious secret, a valued gift, a small achievement that needed no one else’s understanding or approval, a fist bump, a cheer. It’s a bridge of my own making, built to last.

It’s difficult to write about this because all the arguments have been made and there seems little that can be added. I suppose the point now is to be as vocal about it so that voices are heard and the amount of support for abortion rights is known.

Hell, it’s not even support for abortion rights is it? It’s support for women’s rights and bodily autonomy for all. If we don’t have bodily autonomy, we don’t have shit. I think anti vaxxers are among the most deplorable people, up there with climate change deniers, yet I would never support mandatory vaccines. Because YOUR BODY, YOUR CHOICE. Just don’t be an idiot and spread false information or unsubstantiated information, or force your views onto others and decide their fate.

Again, this seems ridiculous to write because obvious, right?

It was so easy to dismiss fears of ‘it could happen here’, yet it’s happening in America!

I know it’s not just a female reproductive rights thing going on but also a reflection of systemic problems that are complex that I don’t fully understand because I just think: your body, your choice. Abortions happen whether illegal or not, so let’s make them safe. To see women celebrating the overturning of Roe v Wade, you would think they were once in danger of being forced to have an abortion against their will and now they’re free. Nope, just celebrating the fact that their rights are less important than the rights of a corpse.

If for just one minute they could just imagine, how it must be to feel your body had been taken over and there’s nothing you can do about it, can’t even have a say. How desperate you’d feel.

I know it’s a handful of people who have ultimately decided this, but the amount of support also… Where is the empathy? Where is the compassion? How about minding your own business about someone’s medical decisions?

I feel so devastated for women everywhere that have their rights restricted, their bodies controlled. Today I will hug my body and treat it to some exercise and remember to feel so very grateful that for now at least, it is my responsibility and my choice what happens to it. Grateful that I have access to the best available medical advice, and the freedom to make informed choices, and the final say over what happens to my body, in life and death.

For now at least.

I thought of a really good answer to this earlier as I was explaining it in my head, but not sure I can remember exactly how it went. This often happens.

Something like …

The toy flamingo is imbued with personality as a bit of fun at home, and from that I had an idea to create a comic strip about her.

I mentioned this plan to C (my counsellor) and explored the energy and excitement I was getting from it. It got into this weird discussion of how Brenda Flamingo might be representing aspects of myself that I’m not quite comfortable owning yet.

I am not sure about this (Brenda talks A LOT). But it’s fun to explore all sorts in psychodynamic counselling.

Following that session I began to think about Winnicott’s theory of transitional objects, of which I had (have) many.

Is Brenda another transitional object?

Dunno. I’m such a child.

Anyway, I embraced that idea for this painting.

I was very excited when I painted this. It is exactly what I was aiming for, and painting fluffy Brenda was a lot of fun.

So it kind of carried on for a while for that reason – she is fun to paint, and the more I paint her the easier it is, so I paint her more. Now I have a few flamingo paintings and people keep saying they think of me whenever they see anything flamingo. You wouldn’t think that would be many occasions, but it has felt like many, in a nice way.

Brenda does represent transition for me in a few ways. For example, her green scarf and boots. Brenda did not arrive in green scarf and boots, but I imagined they would suit her. I asked my mother-in-law (an excellent knitter) if she would knit Brenda this attire and, bless her she obliged. That I could even ask someone to knit an outfit for my cuddly toy flamingo is HUGE.

And the fact Brenda is on display … yeah, a bit uncomfortable. But what transition isn’t?

She’s going to be on display a bit more this summer as one of my paintings has been selected for the MK Open Art Exhibition in July. I feel giddy.

I feel emotional as it occurs to me just how much I enjoy counsellor training and the level 3 class. A big part of this is a result of being less anxious. Anxiety has always made me feel slightly separated from my surroundings and those in it. As level 3 progressed I noticed this anxiety decreased significantly, so that not only do I feel a part of the group and accepted within it, I can also more readily absorb the information begin delivered, AND make a contribution. Where I may have made contributions in the past, they felt forced, staged somehow, not quite connected to me, perhaps what I thought others might want to hear or what might be acceptable. Now they feel much more congruent, and I feel more open with my peers and willing to discuss.

I wonder if this is because I am finally doing something that is truly a good fit and ‘right’ for me, perhaps something I have always wanted to do but was put off by the nature of the training (e.g. speaking a lot in front of groups), and now that my anxiety is no longer holding me back I am able to immerse myself fully and reap the benefits of the training. Or, perhaps whatever I have done before has been ‘right’, only the anxiety has prevented me from enjoying it and taking it in, thereby making it feel ‘not quite me’.

I suspect the former because I always had this niggling feeling that something was off. I always put it down to being someone who wanted to try everything and didn’t want to commit to one thing and so would always feel some discontent with whatever I chose to do. When exploring my past experiences and personality I can understand why the sciences appealed to me in the way that they did, and how anything subjective, like art, would have been terrifying to me and impossible to risk.

Now I seem to have flipped, from someone working with measurement and objectivity and critical thinking, to someone who feels like a sponge that doesn’t want to spend time being objective or critical, just wants to absorb everything, hear every idea and opinion, and find some way of conveying my own in the most creative way possible, or in whatever way comes to mind and feels right – that ‘Christmas eve as a child’ feeling that tells me I am on the right track. This feeling is something I look for in both my writing and painting to know if I am following my intuition.

Admitting all this is alarming to me – surely, I still think reasoning and critical thinking are important, surely I still have that ability and I care enough about fact and reason. I think I do – my employment requires it, I work in clinical research after all! And counsellor training has required this to some extent, but I suppose being applied in a very different way – a looser way, an open way, a less confined and less certain away – essentially, a way that invites and most certainly requires honesty, openness, and a willingness to change. And change accelerates by throwing yourself into the deep end not knowing if you can swim or or someone will fish you out or let you drown. I have seen this with painting – how much better I know myself through the process. Letting go of certainty has been my route to self-discovery.

Perhaps through all my self-preservation, I have been so afraid of being seen as wrong that, now I am no longer afraid, I feel more able to express myself without empirical evidence to back me up. I have been afraid of the wrong step, the wrong move, the risk of exposing myself as a fraud or an idiot that I have not allowed myself to move enough. This became so bottled up to make me feel resentful, envious and empty at every turn, threatened by those around me who seemed to be fully living in their own skin and owning their experience.

Now?

The feedback to my recent presentation was mixed, and not for one second did it bring on thoughts of not being good enough. Listening to other presentations yesterday, I noticed the tiniest glimpse of the inner critic saying, ‘why didn’t you think of that already?’ But then it went away, and I listened, and I was inspired, and I was ok.

This final level 3 journal has been a flow of thoughts occurring to me in the moment, unfiltered, in honour of this new freedom. It probably contains many contradictions and perhaps ironically sounds too certain for its own good! But that’s okay.

I’m like a kid at Christmas.

I don’t want to be afraid of sharing my interests, beliefs and opinions just in case someone should come along and tear it down in front of my eyes. I’ve been afraid of saying, this theory by such and such, I really get it, I believe it, I see value and validity in it. But why should I? If it helps me, if it helps me to create meaning, if it helps me grow …

If you assume you are unworthy and wrong, then you will see no value in what helps you. You will believe the other things must be better and the reason they do not stick with you or help you is because they are brilliant and you are not, so they must be beyond you and you’re not worth sharing anything.

Enough of that. You’ll be dead one day. Embrace what works for you. Critique and questioning is something, but it doesn’t have to be everything.