What’s the etiquette if you use the last of your therapist’s tissues?

Everyone I know seems to be a little tired at the moment. Flaking on plans is the new normal; requests to postpone are met with welcome relief. Is it the change of seasons? Perhaps we are mentally setting out on a new year and a new beginning, a remnant from our childhood routines (or less of a remnant if you still work in education).

I am tired for more obvious reasons. We moved to London six weeks ago, and are still working things out. The admin of bills and old and new deposits is almost done- although we are still waiting for our old letting agent to give us back the scraps of our deposit left after their ludicrous demands (first time I’ve been charged for putting in picture hooks- £10 each, if you please). Everything is unpacked (although things are still missing) and we’re settling into our new routines. My new commute is only 15 minutes each way instead of over an hour and a half – everyone exclaims about how much my life must have changed, but so far all I’ve done with the extra time is sleep a little more, go to work early and watch more television in the evenings.

This move has been strange for me – it’s a moving forwards and a moving backwards at the same time. People ask how I’ve enjoyed exploring my new area, but I used to live twenty minutes from here and I’ve worked here for five years. I had a lot of plans for all the things I would start/finish/complete once we’d moved: start a new exercise regime, reconnect with dancing, see friends much more often, explore all London’s opportunities… the list was endless.

Of course, we’re only six weeks in so I shouldn’t really expect myself to have accomplished all those things at once. But as always I’ve been hard on myself and am disappointed in how little I’ve done- I haven’t joined a new gym, partly because of a prohibitively high joining fee; I haven’t gone back to dancing, because I’m scared I’ll be crap and that people will think I’ve put on lots of weight; and for the first five weeks I saw only one of my friends – all other plans were postponed by one or other of us because life kept getting in the way.

However, because of things falling in my lap or because I had priorities I didn’t realise were there, I have made a few changes. I get into work by half eight, which I like because it’s nice and quiet. I’ve become a regular attendee of a yoga class organised by a colleague. And I’ve started seeing a new therapist.

The decision to go back to therapy came about through lots of tiny steps. This therapist was recommended to me about a year ago by a friend – she urged me to look for someone who was trained in body psychotherapy after my car accident, as body psychotherapists are trained to notice how we hold tension in the body and help us to release it. I couldn’t find such a therapist in Canterbury, but I kept the idea in my mind, and was reminded of it often by my habits of tensing muscles in response to anxiety or frustration. I’ve clenched my jaw for about ten years, not grinding my teeth (thankfully), but tensing my jaw for so long I get headaches and my jaw clicks whenever I open my mouth fully. That tension has spread down the right side of my body, particularly since the car accident. I tense my right ankle as if my foot is on an accelerator, which tenses my hamstring and my hip, and you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to get hip muscles to relax – especially when the tension is often unconscious.

I started seeing this therapist partly for those reasons but also because I am very tired of constantly doubting myself, putting myself down and not feeling good enough. Something my therapist has said more than once – in only two sessions so far – is that I’m very hard on myself, I don’t give myself much of a break. For the last ten months, since buying a full-length mirror for the first time in three years, I’ve felt deeply unhappy about the weight I’ve gained and consistently either feel disappointed when I see myself, or avoid looking at myself altogether. A friend finally suggested I speak to somebody about it, because while everyone has some worries about their appearance, mine have affected me very strongly and to the point where I’m using up far too much mental energy on what to eat and what to wear. Although my diet hasn’t changed very much – it’s pretty healthy in general – the amount of time I spend trying to decide if I should eat that Kit Kat or have cheese on my spaghetti Bolognese is simply exhausting. It has got too much for me and I can’t deal with it by myself. So for all those reasons together, I got the name of the therapist, and set up an appointment.

It’s an odd feeling, starting therapy. In many ways it’s so much easier not to go. Unlike many physical illnesses, when starting medication seems like an obvious choice, with mental health, you can always convince yourself you can beat it on your own. What good will just talking about it do? I can do that by myself. I can talk to my friends, or my partner, or my children. I can fix it, I don’t need to pay to go and sit with somebody for an hour. What a waste of money!

I understand that point of view. I’ve thought it myself, many times. I still think it to some degree. And seeing a therapist is tough – you are so vulnerable, and you have to be totally honest with yourself and them, and thoughts will come to mind that you’ve buried for years – and you have to express them to someone you hardly know. I have been very tired since I started, and have cried pretty much every day about something. I feel like a glass of liquid with some sediment at the bottom, and someone’s stirred the liquid very fast so all the sediment has flown up and is swimming round and round and round. A line from a book summed it up perfectly – “her mind plunged desperately for some hold upon slippery banks.” My first session with my therapist I started crying about two minutes in and barely stopped for an hour – for one horrible moment I thought I was going to finish his box of tissues.

At the same time as it’s difficult and tiring and I feel as if I’m three steps behind on life and running to catch up, everything is so unsettled and I’m so tired and I just want to sleep in a cave for a month, the therapy is worth it. It’s giving me some space to look some emotions in the face and square up to them. I’ve been more honest with my bosses at work about some things that aren’t going well for me, and received support in return. I’ve had wonderful conversations with friends, some of whom are also in therapy, and our bond has deepened through our shared experiences. I’m taking steps towards more self-care, making some plans for more exercise, and doing some yoga in the mornings to help stretch out all those muscles that get so tensed and strained from holding my anxiety and that of others.

Most of all, I feel like I’m helping myself. It’s a great (and expensive) gift I’m giving myself. It’s difficult not to feel sometimes that I’m a failure for doing it, especially as I’ve had some counselling before. But I remind myself that it’s because I’ve learned more about myself, and seen how much more I could be. And asking for some help to get there doesn’t feel like failure – it feels like strength.

Advertisements

Relaxation

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about relaxation. I’ve realised that I’ve slipped into a place where I find it very difficult to fully relax in my own flat. I always feel like I should be doing something, should be cleaning or should be putting things away. I can’t quite remember what I used to do all the time when I lived in a flatshare and had a space only for me. In this flat, the spare bedroom is my partner’s office, and my space is in the living room. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to be swallowed up by the half of the sofa I always sit on, I spend so much time there!

In the last couple of months I’ve started taking myself out to the café in Waterstone’s at the weekend, sitting with a book and a cup of tea (sometimes cake too if they have a good one) and relaxing there. My mum wouldn’t understand going out and spending a fiver on tea and a biscuit when I could have them at home, but at least when I’m out, I don’t feel like there’s something I need to be doing. It doesn’t last long, though – I start feeling like I’ve stayed too long, even if I don’t have to get back for anything in particular. I read an article a while ago about women often being the manager of household chores. My partner and I do about equal amounts of stuff round the house, but it’s usually me who’s the organiser, the decision maker, and the instigator of getting things done. Maybe that’s my natural role, or maybe I jump in too often, or maybe I’m too critical when he tries, so me organising everything becomes the status quo. But it is exhausting.

Yesterday I woke up with a horrendous sore throat. I’ve had sniffles and a neverending almost-cold for months and months, but this was the first proper cold I’ve had for a long time. Finally, I had to stop and do nothing. I barely even checked in with work. Many of us who have the means to work from home find it truly difficult to switch off when we’re ill or on holiday – for me it’s the trade off I’m happy to live with for the flexibility of working from home one day a week, and occasionally other times if I need to. The only issue is it can mean your brain never quite knows how to switch off. It’s turning into a cliché now to say we’re always working or always on call, thanks to smartphones, but I’m starting to realise how true it really is. If we don’t set up our own boundaries, we can’t complain when work seeps into home life. And it’s easy to feel like you’re missing something or messing something up if you don’t keep checking in.

For me this inability to fully relax is combined with a shyness around my favourite things to do to unwind – mostly watching Friends, Sex and the City, or The Good Life. I’ve seen them all many times, and there are no surprises anywhere anymore. With Friends, I could recite the dialogue from beginning to end of most of the episodes in my head if I wanted to. Sex and the City I know less well but it’s equally brainless. Sometimes I’ll watch while doing something else, fixing something or browsing for things on the internet, but the best times are when I just watch it and relax completely. However, I feel silly watching the same thing over and over again, and worry that my boyfriend thinks it’s stupid. He has tried a few times to get me into his hobby of choice, playing computer games. It doesn’t work for me, however: not having grown up with them I feel lost and like I’m making a mess of it, and no matter how many times someone tells me that doesn’t matter, I don’t find it that enjoyable and don’t have the urge to keep going until I get better. My brain doesn’t get involved or particularly care about the outcome, which makes it difficult.

One of the other things I used to do to relax was write blogs. I would get a topic in my head and turn it over for a few days or a few weeks and eventually sit down to write and it would all pour out. Lately the pouring out hasn’t happened, for reasons I’m not quite clear on. I’ve been struggling to find that relaxed state of mind where I can turn off the cynical, judgemental switch until I’ve got to the end or at least got something written down. There hasn’t been any particular reason for this that I know of, although some people have suggested that being on anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medication can cause blockages in the creative flow. Maybe I’ve got too tired of staring at a screen all day. Maybe I’ve got too used to jumping up to tidy my flat. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to get my brain to really relax.

I’ve thought a few times of writing more about the car crash I was in in the summer, but I was worried people would be bored of that and not want to hear any more about it. But I write this blog for me, so it doesn’t really make sense not to write about that if I want to. My anxiety around driving has got worse again the last few months, and I’m now trying to decide which form of help would be most useful for me. I’m considering ordinary counselling, hypnotherapy, and standard driving lessons. The hypnotherapy is pretty expensive – £370 for six sessions, and the lady assured me I would need that many. Her whole tone was somewhat mercenary and not particularly encouraging. A counsellor I got in touch with had no space and was hardly any cheaper. A driving instructor replied to my email saying ‘Yes I can help you’ which is what I needed to hear, but I haven’t had the guts to call and arrange a lesson yet. I’m hiding behind excuses. This cold this weekend is very convenient.

The only positive and concrete step I have taken is to have a biodynamic massage – a friend has recently qualified as a masseuse and I was eager to give it a try. Biodynamic massage is psychotherapeutic massage, investigating the energy in the body and releasing it from places it has got stuck (apologies Anita if this is a shocking description!). I had my first session this week. Since the crash the issues I’ve had for a long time with muscle tension in my right jaw and shoulder have spread down into my hip and into my foot – I’ll find my right foot is tensed upwards, as if it’s resting on an invisible accelerator. One thing Anita suggested at the start was that my body might be trying to relive the accident to get a different result. I realised that that’s what I’ve been doing psychologically too: I haven’t let it go because I keep thinking I should have done something different, but without being able to go back in time and change anything, that sense of guilt and unease has stayed with me.

During the session the tension in my right arm started to improve, although it’s always difficult for me to relax it after years of computer and mouse work. After massaging my legs, Anita held both my feet calmly in both hands. I can’t explain it, but I started to feel a twitching and a shuddering in my right foot. Odd as it sounds, I felt the guilt and self-blame I’ve had since the accident rise up and find a measure of release. I started to cry. After the session was over I felt calm and light-headed but immensely tired, and a couple of days later I got this cold. Perhaps this is my body’s way of taking control and forcing me to get some real, proper rest, without the shoulds and shouldn’ts that so frequently consume my thoughts.

Today I’m trying very hard to relax, which is a contradiction in itself. Perhaps it’s better to say I’m not trying to tick off a to do list, or find something to do that other people would think was a good use of time. (It helps that the flat is already clean and tidy so looking around, there aren’t many tasks that jump out for me to do!) It’s still difficult, but I don’t want to have to get ill to start feeling like I’m allowed to sit down and do what I want – even if other people would think watching fictional people make the same stupid decisions over and over again is a pointless thing to do. It’s only for me.

You should’ve asked