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“I’ve ‘got’ anxiety” is a commonly-used phrase I come across in my work, or people will talk of “my anxiety” or even “my anxiety’s back”, as though an interloping disease or virus that has settled in or returned.

When considered in these terms, anxiety seems to develop a life and form of its own; an external force that the host it has chosen has no control over. It’s easy to understand, therefore, why it can feel so scary, if our body indeed has been overtaken and is reacting independently and outside of our immediate need to feel safe and calm.

Whilst I recognise that people can be diagnosed with some indelible traits and long-term conditions for which anxiety can be a primary focus or by-product, I do think the trend of individualising anxiety often isn’t helpful to those suffering the effects, because it feels separate and external rather than being our internal feelings that we can come to have control over if we can learn to adjust our perspective.

Anxiety is a feeling – our own emotion playing out because of one reason or another, that we may or may not know the reason for in the moment. It is not a thing that has come to visit; it is our own conscious or unconscious concerns and worries. If we say “I feel anxious…” then anxiety becomes an owned emotion, but the word ‘anxiety’ seems to have developed its own persona when we use it in the form of an ‘it’.

We wouldn’t say “I’ve ‘got’ unease” or “my worry’s back”.

The whole externalising concept of anxiety leads me neatly on to a reflection a client once made in session (recounted with permission), about fear and living within a fear bubble; which again ties in with the angle of perception.

My client’s reflection was inspired, as they came to realise that for them, fear seemed to be everywhere, and by keeping them in a small ‘bubble’ they thought they were keeping themself safe. However, as their reflection continued to flow, they came to recognise that the fear was inside their bubble – it was in fact within them – thereby challenging their perception of what was actually so scary outside of it.

Interestingly, a change in perception, particularly when self-discovered, can in itself be empowering and anxiety relieving. I just love it when I see that power shift in the amazing people I work with.

Blog photo image credit: Lars Nissen

If I were to be a guest on the TV programme Room 101 (which would actually never happen, other than in my head), without a doubt I’d  argue to bin the word ‘should’ – and if my case was rejected, I’d pull the lever myself (in my imagination, with Frank Skinner in a headlock), because it fully deserves that fate.

Should comes to visit a lot in my practice, more often in the earliest sessions and in a flurry of dilemmas or internal conflict; a person’s own wants and needs overridden because of one should or another that has worked its way in to their psyche, or been put there by others.

It seems such an innocuous word – a sentence-filler almost – but aside from its context in a legal basis and the laws and rules of the land, I find it has the potential to hold so much power… Shoulds can create expectation that we come to believe we should meet, and may set us on a life path because that’s what we should do – or indeed restrict our wants and dreams because we shouldn’t.

The Oxford English Dictionary describes the word Should as – “Used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness, typically when criticising someone’s actions”.

Wowzer, doesn’t that just sum up restriction, oppression and burden, and create a breeding ground for guilt, blame and shame?

Interestingly, very few, when the question is posed, can name their ‘Lord of Shoulds’, other than to say they or them. Society, community, family, tradition, culture and responsibility all appear, in part, to generate shoulds, and I can see how they can feel so dominant, when fitting in and being accepted forms part of our survival make up.

There’s certainly a balance to be had in identifying and meeting our own needs and dreams – in feeling courageous, confident and liberated enough to strike out towards them, whilst maintaining our relationships with those around us. But it can be achieved, and that’s why Frank I’m putting should in Room 101. In my job, there’s nothing more satisfying than watching hope, purpose and potential overcome obligation and become unleashed….

I learn a huge amount from my clients, and I particularly love it when a piece of reflection blows me away, as happened recently (recounted with permission).

The phrase that hooked me was a shortened version of Newton’s third law – for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction – about cause and effect. In summarising in session, my client explained a realisation about expressing emotion. His thinking was that if for every action there is a reaction, then by denying the reaction the action would still play out but in other ways…or words to that effect.

What I heard in this was a really visual and simply explained perspective of the impact on mental and physical health if there is no scope for emotional release, whether avoided, denied, or considered not permitted; and while the explanation was fabulous for me to hear, more importantly the understanding appeared momentous to the client himself.

This reminds me of the book, The Transparent Self, by Sidney M. Jourard, in which the author considers self-disclosure; exploring, as the blurb states, how “man has chosen concealment rather than ‘openness’, a route that all too often results in sickness, misunderstanding and alienation from self”.

What particularly struck me was that my client is a male, and I immediately recalled chapter 4 in the book, which starts with a bold, but apparently factual five words – “Men die sooner than women” – and which goes on to say that there is no biological difference between men and women that can be found that suggests there is any reason why there is this inequality in life expectancy. The author’s premise, of course, is that protection of a ‘manly’ image and the hiding of a man’s real self could be the cause of enough stress to ultimately impact on physical health, hence the figures.

“This feels weak” is a common first introduction to me by male clients, and it feels like they initially don’t believe me when I explain that my client base is generally made up of more men than women at any given time. I am, however, telling the truth, and given my client’s realisation and my own reflections on it and my previous reading, I feel heartened that men are engaging with the talking therapy process. You never know, that life expectancy imbalance might just become a thing of the past…

Pearls of wisdom continue to shine, and once again I’ve been moved to recount (with permission) another client reflection, this time an end of therapy realisation focusing on opportunity and forward movement.

This big deliberation was about destiny, whether or not our lives are mapped out for us, if there really is a hand of fate delivering what is meant for each and every one of us, and if this is the case, then do we just need to sit back and wait for it all to happen? My client thought not, and this was the interesting part for me.

In considering this quandary, my client came to believe that no one is going to come to us and deliver all that we want or feel we need, and it is up to us to put in the effort to seek out the opportunities that may be our personal destiny.  In one sense, this might seem like a contradiction – I mean, if we are making things happen for ourselves, then where does destiny come in?  However, there was an answer for this that I really liked. If opportunities are, in a visual sense, a set of doors that we may enter, then it was suggested that perhaps some doors are meant for us – our fate – and will open when we push, and others, which aren’t, simply will not.

I think it takes real courage to go out and get what you want for yourself and make changes, but as the saying goes, fortune favours the brave. I may have to push on a few doors myself to see what else may be out there for me too…

I’ve been pondering the subject of mortality for a while – nice thinking, eh? – and a few separate thoughts and interactions have now melded into some semblance of a blog post, so I figured I’d share them now.

Mortality is a common theme, in one sense or another, in my work; often perpetuated by a bereavement or relationship loss, when life and all it means can come vividly into focus. I started musing this a little more recently when I heard a BBC Radio 2 Pause for Thought, which I found so interesting I’ve shared it when appropriate in session. While I’m afraid I cannot recount the full reflection or the speaker, the basis of the story is of a Latin phrase on a clock front, which is about death and dying. The speaker, however, noted that the inscription came from a longer phrase about mortality, and a consideration that people live two lives: living their first life, and then when they recognise and accept the inevitability of their own mortality and death, experiencing a second phase of existence in which they truly live.

It’s quite paradoxical then that a fear of death can create self-restriction or risk aversion.

Existential Psychotherapist Irvin D. Yalom, whose published case studies often have a focus on this theme, says in his book Love’s Executioner and Other Tales of Psychotherapy: “As a general rule, the less one’s sense of life fulfilment, the greater one’s death anxiety”.

No one really wants to think about their own death, but I’m wondering now how many people really take the time to think about their life and really living it; milking each moment and becoming personally fulfilled so they have no need to venture down the road of regret.

Going back to the Latin phrase on the clock, if we avoid the consideration of our own death, perhaps then we are avoiding the potential to start our second life in enough time to get the most out of it? I’m as guilty of this as the next person, and perhaps my musings are for myself and I’m hearing them louder now because of this?

You know, I think my bucket list could do with an overhaul…

During his lifetime in the late 1800s, German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche quoted, “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger”; a passage so identifiable that a century and a half later it still routinely drips of the tongue by many, with real acknowledgement for its meaning.

From a position of strength – after the event – it’s perhaps easier to declare, but I wonder how many, in the eye of a traumatic or challenging storm, are so confident in the potential of their resilience. If we were readily able to be so bolstered by our own selves and our capacity to weather all that life throws at us, I wonder too if counselling support would even be necessary…. but I digress.

I really do encounter some fabulous people with equally fabulous reflections, and Nietzsche’s quote came to me recently when a client summarised their changing perceptions within our work by recognising the value of having to experience hardship to reach the developmental place they had since come to (recounted with permission).

In their well-considered dialogue, the basis of the reflection was that only through encountering real adversity had they learned and fully grown as a person, with a poignant belief that before then they had merely existed. I mean, wow!

Taking the path of least resistance, not rocking the boat, just wanting a quiet life… how many times I’ve heard these phrases from people within my work and also my personal life. Yet here was a client, in retrospect, now clearly grateful for having experienced adversity.

I was once told an analogy that fits this thought well, of a half-filled glass of water that the drinker wants to be topped up to gain more. As more liquid pours in, the surface of the water already in the glass is disturbed…yet the process cannot be achieved without this period of unsettledness occurring, and when the disturbance is over, the water calms and settles, only now at a higher level.

What satisfaction then to see my client’s glass continuing to fill higher and higher…

“‘tis the season to be jolly…” so we are led to believe, as it’s carolled from what seems like an eternity until the inferred ‘magical’ one day event is upon us.

Can you tell I’m not very Christmassy? 🙂

I’m not really a Grinch, and I do feel a festive flutter or two much nearer the date, but as a counsellor I know full well that for some, Christmas – and all that it represents – can be one of the most difficult times of the year. There’s just something about the message of Christmas that twangs emotional nerves if the reality is far from the John Lewis advert image, and I’d hazard a guess that there are more people in the former than the latter.

Life doesn’t pause for Christmas time. Loss, separation and divorce, fractured family relationships, the financial burden. I don’t ever recall seeing any of these scenes depicted on a glittery boxed set of Christmas cards, yet these realities can feel heightened at a time when messages all around us are telling us we ‘should’ be having a ball. And don’t even get me going on the word ‘should’…

From experience, Christmas for some is a time to get through. To tolerate. To more keenly feel loss. A time that has to be endured before the New Year, when the slate can be mentally wiped clean and a little hope may shine through for better to come.

I always hold a thought for my clients at this time of year, and others like them, and if you’re reading this and any of the above applies, I really do hope you hear that someone does know and understands.

Season greetings, Debs

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