It’s been a while since I’ve added to this blog. I’ve had a couple of false starts where I’ve half written out my thoughts, but in speaking to my supervisor today I realise how much value there is in me re-engaging with writing. I know that regularly writing a blog can help with marketing, as it pushes my website up the rankings, and marketing is an important part of being self employed as a counsellor. (However much I’d prefer it not to be, as it’s not my area of expertise!) But it’s also important to me to put my thoughts ‘out there’ and in doing so share some of myself with the world, with you, whoever you are. I know whenever I’m looking for a therapist it can be helpful to get a sense of who they are, and what it might be like to be with them, before I reach out to them.
So here’s a current worry of mine – sometimes I worry if I am a ‘proper’ therapist. What does ‘proper’ mean? Perhaps someone who blogs more regularly (I’m half joking). I’m obviously qualified, and have a fair amount of experience. I’m reminded of this anecdote from one of my favourite authors Neil Gaiman on imposter syndrome:
Some years ago, I was lucky enough invited to a gathering of great and good people: artists and scientists, writers and discoverers of things. And I felt that at any moment they would realise that I didn’t qualify to be there, among these people who had really done things.
On my second or third night there, I was standing at the back of the hall, while a musical entertainment happened, and I started talking to a very nice, polite, elderly gentleman about several things, including our shared first name. And then he pointed to the hall of people, and said words to the effect of, “I just look at all these people, and I think, what the heck am I doing here? They’ve made amazing things. I just went where I was sent.”
And I said, “Yes. But you were the first man on the moon. I think that counts for something.”
This brings me both comfort and joy. If both a writer who means a lot to me, and Neil Armstrong, sometimes get imposter syndrome then probably everyone does (apart from psychopaths, perhaps). What does it mean to be a ‘proper’ therapist though? I’m obviously qualified, I have a certain amount of experience, and I am pretty familiar with my own variety of suffering (which feels particularly important). Certainly not all therapists write regular blogs! I am, by all significant external definitions, a psychotherapeutic counsellor. And yet, I still doubt myself… I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing though. I find a certain amount of self doubt (“am I a good therapist?”) to be really helpful – if I’m anxious about making an impact it means I care, and it means I will ask for feedback, continue my professional development and so on. This is a strange profession after all, talking therapy. With each and every session comes an incredible amount of possibility and uncertainty. How do I know when I’ve had an impact? Was this session therapeutic? And how about this one? And how can I ensure the next one is? One way I’ve found helpful is simply to ask my clients.
I hope to offer the type of therapeutic relationship which encourages honesty from both of us, and I find it incredibly useful to get feedback of all flavours. It helps me guide the sessions, to keep us on track, and to give clients the opportunity to really speak their mind about how this relationship is working, and what we might be able to do to shift things if necessary. How we are in a therapeutic relationship will mirror how we are in other relationships, and for some people being able to ‘practice’ being honest and direct about a relationship within that relationship can be of value. Asking for feedback is also just good sense – if a client wants a certain outcome or is working towards a specific goal, it’s good to regularly check in to see how we’re doing.
Away from therapist-client feedback, I also do plenty of self-reflection to see how I am doing, and how my therapy practice is doing. I also really value supervision, therapy groups, and just general interactions with other therapists. I’ve been attending a therapy development group this year (perhaps more on that in another blog) which has been great for my practice of reflection and self growth. Part of that is just the nature of ‘grouping’ – being together with a bunch of other therapists, all struggling and thriving in our own ways. The rooms I practice from in Worthing are shared with other therapists, and even those 5 minute chats in the corridor between sessions are valuable to me. My professional development group has finished for the summer, so I’m now looking at how to fill that space. Some of it can be filled with meeting other therapist friends, and some of it with writing.
Writing is a great way for me to connect with my self, and to sort my thoughts, feelings and intuitions into a narrative that makes some kind of sense. Writing can bring out parts of experience I was unaware of. I’ve found surprising truths can be revealed from writing down my answers to seemingly random prompts. There have been several occasions where I’ve used prompts to help me get into the ‘flow’ of writing, and in reading back my answers have found themes running through all of them, despite the questions being unrelated. Writing can be analogous to therapy in that we talk about ‘narrative’, or ‘re-writing your story’. Just because you write something down doesn’t mean it has to remain like that, you can edit it, even if it’s in black and white. It doesn’t matter how old a story is, how true it has felt, you can always write a new one. Similarly a book or piece of writing that impacted me when I was 20 may have a completely different impact on me age 40. My relationship with my own story has changed a lot over time, the story itself has shifted, as has the tone (perhaps softer, more playful).