“No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it”

If I were to describe myself I would say I am self-aware and sensitive. Albert Einstein I am not, however. When I say sensitive, I mean sensitive to other people’s feelings as well as my own and also able to pick up on an atmosphere or a mood in a room quite quickly, in a way that not everyone can. There are various theories out there on people like this, including the term HSP (highly sensitive person) which I think fits the bill for me. I am a one-on-one person, empathic, and I seem to take ages to calm down when I feel I have been over stimulated by my environment. A day at the office and a social gathering afterwards leaves me inexplicably tired for days afterwards. But it’s amazing how self awareness and sensitivity can be cast into the shadows when you find yourself consumed with fear or with anger.

Three years ago whilst on a long weekend in France, a family secret was inadvertently shared with me by text, and I felt as though my life had been turned upside down in a flash. Suddenly I found my loyalties torn with my nearest and dearest, and I felt totally lost. I was in La Rochelle in western France (if anyone studied French in the UK in the 80’s/90’s you might remember the Tricolore text book set in La Rochelle featuring Jean Luc at the discotheque, or a la piscine… or perhaps not). Trying to take stock of what had happened, I walked the streets on the phone to my friend back home, sobbing. Ugly sobbing. I think I had the sense to apply a pair of sunglasses after a short while and my managed facade was vaguely restored.

The weeks and months afterwards I simply didn’t process what I had discovered, instead I buried it, and without realising, a tide of anger was seeping into my subconscious. I thought I was coping fine distracting myself with work and drinking lots at the weekend, until one Saturday morning when I was consumed with rage that someone was trying to push in front of me on the Stortford roundabout. “Big mistake” I thought as I hit the accelerator just hard enough to make sure they couldn’t get past me and ensuring they ended up heading for the grass verge and bollards instead. An extensive number of expletives were yelled by yours truly at the driver of the other car and I imagine that my face was probably red, perhaps with a tinge of purple due to reduced oxygen levels. A moment later, I caught a glimpse of my alarming self in the rear view mirror, breathed in as I realised my utter stupidity, and resumed driving to the supermarket to the sound of BBC Radio 2.

Imagine how ignorant I felt when I regained my composure and considered the irony that I had been contemplating a change of career into psychotherapy. Maybe I had work to do on myself first? A couple of weeks later my Thursday evenings switch from drinking wine on my sofa to sitting on Noreen’s couch talking about feelings. I like Noreen, she is warm and kind, easy to talk to, yet stern enough to make sure I do my homework. The work we did together helped me to break down my situation into some practical ways forward, and assess the risks of each. It helped me to reflect on my parents and the challenges they have had to face during their lifetimes. What seemed like a catastrophic revelation ultimately ended up strengthening my relationship with my father and for this very reason, I consider my time in therapy extremely helpful. Noreen had also noticed my low self confidence and low self esteem and encouraged me to start recognising my strengths by taking note of achievements each time they happen. This however proved somewhat less effective…