The price of becoming a parent

A few years ago, I became a parent, and whilst I would consider my life pretty thoroughly examined through many rounds of my own personal counselling and psychotherapy, I have been incredibly surprised by just how much material has resurfaced now that I am responsible for the well-being of another human.

Recently, my son has started to go through a period of anxiety about the world - he is understanding that he and I can physically be separated (typical separation anxiety for his developmental age), and he is also becoming very aware of the world around him. He hears noises and asks me urgently what they are. “What’s that noise, Mummy?” is a very common phrase in my life at the moment.

On top of this, he is beginning to have nightmares and even night terrors when overtired. It’s horrible to witness, and I can relate very strongly to my own memories of being a fearful and anxious child. These present-day struggles led me to question my own mother as to whether she remembered me being an anxious or frightened child, to which she replied simply “no”.

This was not my experience.

Parental misattunement

I remember numerous moments where I felt real fear and terror as a child. I was terrified of the dark. I was frightened of something grabbing my feet if I let them stick out from under the duvet cover on my bed. I was scared of the parts of our house that were in poor repair and feared they might collapse. I was absolutely terrorised by the idea that burglars would break into our home, surely in part due to the popular crime programmes that my parents would watch in the evening.

I therefore find it hard to reconcile my mother’s response to my question with my still very palpable memories of those fears, and whilst I no longer fear any of those things, I can empathise with my son’s worries, and I’m mindful to take them seriously in a way that I was not.

I was not provided with a nightlight. My worries about burglars were - perhaps understandably - given little consideration, but I have to wonder - particularly when I now see how distressed my son is when his imagination gets the better of him - what might my own experience of anxiety as an adult have been like if I had been offered more security and safety early in life?

Reexamining our childhoods in light of those of our own children

These reexaminations of what appear to be the more benign aspects of our childhoods surface when we are confronted by the real-time experiences of our children. It is almost impossible not to recall or feel some of our childhood memories, triggers, traumas, or processes when our small people present their needs to us, particularly if those same needs were not met in our childhoods.

These questions pop up for many of the other parents that I know, and whole swathes of online groups and forums exist where people try to process their reemerging emotional pain as they try to manage the issues of their child.  If this is something that you can relate to, then I would encourage you to consider looking deeper at these recurring questions, dreams, feelings, or thoughts.

Whilst accessing counselling whilst parenting might not seem like ideal timing, I believe that the moment where our own thoughts and feelings are being stirred is a great time to reconsider our old wounds and establish whether the way that we have healed (or not!) allows us to be the kind of parent that we can be proud of offering our children, and I for one am deep diving back into some early work to answer some pertinent questions.
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It’s an opportunity for growth that is too good to miss, and I hope that you will have the space to take care of yourself in the same way.

A happy problem

Last month marked the end of some years of psychotherapy for two of my longest-standing clients. We celebrated the end of this part of their process and parted company for now, knowing that they were leaving this period of sessions as quite different people from those that I had met several years ago.
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It is a bittersweet moment for the therapist, as we counsellors know that our own redundancy is the ultimate goal we are working towards with some of our clients. It is, however, enormously positive to see these individuals doing with ease some of the things that they had struggled to verbalise even twelve months ago, and what a privilege it has been for me to witness.

And so, these celebrations leave me with my own problem to solve: two free spaces in my diary.
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Back to advertising

To remedy the situation, I took myself to one of the advertising platforms that I have previously used in my career as a private therapist, and reactivated my profile on Counselling Directory. And whilst browsing some of the functionality that I have not been privy to in my long absence as their customer, I happened upon some profiles of old colleagues and acquaintances with whom I have not spoken for years.

I was delighted to see that they were still practicing, as with some it has been more than a decade since we’d had cause to speak, but interestingly I noticed that my professional interest went further than simply noticing what modalities they were working in now (it is usual for therapists to evolve with their training over the years and sometimes they can change they way that they work quite markedly). But I also noticed that some individuals had participated in some trainings that I myself would like to explore further, and I noticed how much clinical availability some of them were offering - for example, twelve-hour clinic days, five days per week (!!).

Jealousy strikes

I have to admit there was a little part of me that felt simultaneously envious - jealous even - of the amount of time that they were able to devote to their practice, and in a couple of instances, a little intimidated by just how much training some of them had done over the last decade.

By contrast, some of my personal experiences of the last eight years have greatly impacted my ability to do many of the things that I would like to do with my career. There are numerous trainings that impress and interest me that I have not yet been able to plan into my diary. There are books unread on both my Kindle and my Audible accounts, and honestly, I am sometimes lucky to get to a couple of podcasts and articles over the course of a week, around the edges of client sessions, business admin, writing, and, of course, my personal life.

So when I had my moment of professional insecurity, dare I say even professional jealousy, I had to take a moment to breathe.

Reflecting on my why

I needed a moment to think about the reasons why those things haven’t all yet been possible for me, and to alleviate any self-blame or guilt that I might put upon myself for this momentary sense of lack. I had to remind myself of all that I have achieved over these eight years: moving to a new country, surviving bouts of serious illness, becoming a parent, and managing my own matrescence. Thankfully, this is a much more forgiving lens through which to see myself when I reflect on why I might not yet have those extra letters next to my name, or be able to open my clinic as much as a version of me from the past might have liked to.

There is a great lesson in all of this about acceptance.

Comparison is normal

Sometimes it is uncomfortable to see and hear how our peers and colleagues are doing, and it is natural to compare ourselves. But it is not necessary to use this information to punish or blame ourselves for our differences. As I so often hear in the parenting podcasts that I listen to these days:

All feelings are welcome, all behaviour is not.

And I think aptly, this applies not just to my toddler tantruming over me giving them the wrong colour cup, but also to our own thought behaviours. It is so important that we might catch our thoughts being unkind to ourselves. To acknowledge this, and instead offer ourselves the compassion and understanding that we would so quickly give to a loved one.

Life skills to carry forward

It’s important that we all learn to put in place thought behaviours that support, encourage, and reassure those insecure parts of self that surface from time to time. We all need skills that allow us to take care of those parts that still need soothing occasionally. Those parts that counsellors and therapists still have too.

Just like a toddler.
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Why do people become therapists?

Many therapists come to this work through their own experience of therapy. They have been so transformed, moved, or altered by the process of their own psychological journey that they have decided to continue practicing the same work, utilising the same learning, and bringing to it a flavor of their own challenges and perhaps even suffering.

What a gift.

Many people who are not therapists, but who work with them, might not - at first -appreciate that there is no such thing as “done” when it comes to therapy. No matter how much we might revere our own educators and role models, we can confidently say that none of them will ever have it all figured out forever, or even be able to say that they will never have poor mental health. That is not how it works. The experience of being a human is not a linear one, and I believe that we are so much better off for that fact - though I know that this can be an unwelcome realisation for some.
We can know all of this intellectually. We can also agree that therapists, trained listeners, counsellors, and psychotherapists are simply humans moving through the world and doing what everyone else does. And simultaneously, we can hold a false expectation that these people don’t ever need support, help, or healing. If they know how to help others, they should just do it for themselves, right?

Therapist, therapise thyself!

But, we can’t.  It doesn’t work like that.

Counsellors need support too

One of the great problems of any profession of service providers, carers or “givers” is that sometimes they need to take, access services, or be, themselves, cared for. Sometimes accessing that care can be difficult. Along with the societal and cultural expectation that these individuals do not need these kinds of help, the individual too can internalise a sense of it being a sign of them not “performing” as a professional, and that they “should” be able to take care of it themselves (I am always wary when the “shoulds” come out in my own thoughts). For these reasons, it can be hard for psychotherapists to find another professional to work with.

Sometimes therapists who don’t want to work with other therapists

It is also unfortunately not uncommon for some therapists and counsellors to shy away from working with other trained listeners. This is an experience that I have had as a client, and that others have reported to me as their therapist. I have even had clients who are professional therapists who have hidden their livelihood from our work until much further into the therapeutic relationship, explaining that they did so due to the difficulty of finding counsellors who take on other therapists as clients. The reason for this is sometimes cited by these people as this treatment of the professional client being more in-depth or complex than they like to go, or more often, I suspect, it is down to the therapist themselves feeling insecure about working with someone else who has more than a passing awareness of the potential psychological theories, counselling models and other suggestions or tools of the trade.

My work with other psychotherapists and counsellors

I am very pleased to say that I welcome this often complex and highly rewarding work in my private practice. My broad experience has given me the confidence and capability to work at a deep level. I have worked with individuals who began in one career and ended their sessions as qualified therapists. I have therapists who have come to me after feeling they could not be honest about themselves with others, and who found great relief at being welcomed into therapy, which in this career is often much needed and dearly overdue. I have worked with people at the end of their careers as therapists and those who work in therapy-adjacent positions, such as social workers, medical and care staff, and mental health practitioners.

This work is deep, layered, and vital, and I love it.

How to access support with me

So if you are one of those people who spend their days supporting others and recognise the need or wish to work on an issue in therapy, or to simply spend some time in a space that is for you rather than your clients, then do get in touch.

My diary is and always will be open to you.

Click here to make a booking for a free 30-minute introduction session.

Click here to read more about my work with other psychotherapists and counsellors.

I had an interesting conversation with someone this week about the support needs of those who work in service to others. For those who are - like me - a counselllor, or like you, perhaps a social worker or a public servant. We noticed that for those of us who are trauma-adjacent and work with those in great distress, the silent toll on the helper can particularly become evident when the helper goes through a life change or difficulty themselves.

My own experiences

When I think of my own experience, two recent sets of circumstances have had a profound impact on how my work goes on to take a toll on me.  The first was having a child, and so the impact of sleep deprivation and the enormous changes in priorities that happen to a person when we begin caring for an infant impacted me greatly.

Another event was developing sepsis as a consequence of a routine surgery. Whilst I have been fortunate to recover from this illness, some effects have not gone away even now, a year later, and my physical recovery has been frustratingly slow.

I silently carry these circumstances in every connection or communication that I make, and as a consequence, also bring them into my therapy. On one hand, I believe that this is no bad thing - I have lived through more life challenges, and this allows me to be an even more understanding and rounded human with broad human experiences. I understand the impact of a dynamic disability now in a way that I could not have before, and similarly, I now understand more deeply the impact of raising a child on individual identity and independence.

But these circumstances have also introduced a vulnerability to my practice that I believe that I have a responsibility to manage - I have to manage the availability of my emotional energy to ensure that I am resourced for my clients, and I also have to manage my physical symptoms as a consequence of my illness, to ensure that these do not distract me from my work. These elements and changes are not my fault, but they are my responsibility, and I carry them gladly.

Community for the caregiver

This brings me back to the role of community for the caregiver - to whom do we go to with our own issues when we notice that there is an accentuation or amplification of difficulty in our own lives, alongside witnessing our clients' struggles and suffering? The knee-jerk reaction here is, of course, clinical supervision, but what about when we need more connection? Few of us have an informal relationship with our supervisors; such is the nature of the professional relationship; however, we might feel more drawn to informal relationships for the processing of our day-to-day struggles as just another human in the world.

The second automatic response might also be to have “good boundaries”, and I agree, but I would also argue that we cannot be a totally robot-like separate self and remove ourselves from the issues of our clients - good boundaries are one thing, but good human-ing seems to me to involve simultaneously being a conscious being, aware of, impacted by and empathetic towards others in the world.

This original conversation was centred on the idea of the value of a supportive community for therapists and counsellors. The argument being that even though we are not sharing details of the work we are doing with friends or peers, we can nonetheless connect with them and find common ground through our shared experience of witnessing the human experience, all the while having our own troubles. We can offer knowing looks and supportive words. We can hold silence for those who need it, and we can understand the other’s drive to give to their clients, even though they might also need someone to give to them.

Personally, I think there is enormous value to this kind of supportive community that goes well beyond the experience of the easier to find peer supervision, but unfortunately, finding informal relationships with others with whom we can feel a shared experience as a psychotherapist or carer can be difficult.

What I’m doing about it

This year, I am going out of my way to try to build this very helpful network. If I see an opportunity to be with those who understand this work, then I try very hard to grasp it with both hands and welcome opportunities to connect. Even when it feels like a lot, or as though things are hard - I recognise the value in this space.

I’m scouring notice boards and email chains for the details of events that I know will bring other like-minded peers. I’m turning up to professional coffee calls to share with others who work in the same way as I do, and I’m being gentle with myself as I remind myself that this is sometimes a challenge, but in the words of Glennon Doyle, “we can do hard things”.

If you are a trusted listener, a carer, or someone in service to others, do you have a community that you can turn to in your more difficult moments as a professional and as a human?

I’d love to hear more about how you manage it in the comments.