A new year brings me thoughts about reflection and intention. In recent years I’ve been connecting the new year more with reflection, recognising that January is the darkest month, and thoughts of new growth, new direction, feel more appropriate for the Spring. As I wrote in my last blog, the winter is a period of darkness and so it fits that there are so many wintery ghost stories. When I think about new years resolutions I imagine the importance of checking my footing first before leaping forward. Me and a group of friends recently spoke about January being the time of soup – using up existing ingredients, earthy root veg, comfort against the cold. This hunkering down doesn’t feel like it fits with a leaping forward, not yet anyway. But/and hunkering down and reflecting on the year past seems like a great grounding on which to then build. And my mind can’t help but think forward when looking back. My supervisor recently used the metaphor of fishing to describe something similar; casting the line back in order to then get the momentum forward.
2025 was personally quite difficult, although there were wonderful aspects to it too. I’m reminded that even the most ‘anxious person’ will find aspects of their experience where anxiety is not present, if they are curious enough to look deeply. My emotions change moment to moment, but the story I have about myself persists. This is where phenomenology really helps me, phenomenology as my study of my experience in relation to the world (as it is always related to the world). What am I actually experiencing, now? The theme of soup slipping though (Freudian soup) is a reminder I’m hungry, yet I’m in the flow of writing so have been trying to ignore it. But the harder I try to ignore it the more it bangs at the door. I’m coming off the back of a cold, and am feeling more energy than the last few days. My throat is slightly dry. My feet are warm, my fingers slightly cold. If I stay with my experience there is ever more to learn about myself, others and the world. After all it is the only way I can experience the world. In that experiencing of myself in each moment I may find that some stories I have about myself are not true.
Last year (I want to write ‘this year’, as 2026 is still struggling to be born) I was partly focussed on applying for accreditation with the BACP, which in my typical way has taken me on a winding journey. Writing this blog is partly a way to get my reflectivity engaged again and get onto editing my final draft before submitting. Reflecting on my counselling practice and development has reminded me of how important phenomenology is, and forms the ground from which I look up. For me everything emerges from this ground – embodiment, trust, relationships, being, the world. Existentialism is the other side to my practice, although it is a broader set of concerns. To me it’s understood in balance between aspects; freedom and constraint, authenticity and inauthenticity, death and life, meaning and meaninglessness, ground and space. Together, phenomenology and existentialism give me a place from which to stand as a counsellor. I call this humanistic therapy, which was in the title of the main course I studied to become a counsellor. Humanistic therapy is also used as an umbrella term for a variety of different therapies, not all of which emerge from phenomenology or existentialism, and not all of which have much in common. The more I delve into my phenomenological experience of myself and the world, the more I land where I already am, and the firmer the ground beneath my feet seems. Humanistic therapy is not just a label given to me, but one I actively take.
As I said when I reflect on this past year my mind naturally looks forward too. I’ve been studying the enneagram as a tool for self-development and bridge to understand others for nearly two years. And as someone with enneagram ‘type 9’ process the concept of space is important to me. When suitably grounded I’m good at allowing space for others and space for myself. When I’m overwhelmed or unravel I can become ‘spacey’ and feel my feet spinning over my head, turning weightlessly like Sandra Bullock without gravity. When I was younger I was fascinated by space travel, and was drawn to Einstein’s theory of relativity. I still am to some extent, often reminding myself how many people are currently in space (10 at the time of writing), and keeping an eye on the moon (someone has to). While I love thinking about space travel from Earth, I would be terrified to ever go into space. I recently read Orbital and was reminded how awe inspiring and awful being an astronaut might be. All this reflection on space reminds me that it’s important for me to find space for the things I love, and that the seeking of space keeps me solid. As an enneagram type 9 I can disintegrate towards doubt and self-forgetting. I’m reminded that self-remembering and directionality for me is found within that spinning, doubtful place (the answers are inside the black hole, thinking about another space-based film Interstellar), that the way out is through. Everyone’s metaphors for this will look different, but I believe the general principle that the pearl is inside the oyster holds true – the courage is inside the fear, the letting go is within the holding tightly, serenity is moving through the anger.