I received some feedback from a client with whom I recently concluded therapy which confirmed something I know but rarely acknowledge - the value of the space. The dedicated space each week to come into afresh or to reflect on something we discussed previously. The space into which anything and everything could be allowed to emerge, and if nothing seemed present, to share in the silence, itself a voluminous communication. The consistency afforded by the routine, of the time at which we met and the space in which we met. How these created stability, and containment from within which it was possible for us to identify the contrasting aspects of life in flux, and courageously explore their impact. Sometimes it really is good to talk. How rarely we find ourselves with an hour, or fifty minutes without agenda or obligation. My former client intimated that this might indeed be the height of self care, reflecting on the extensive benefits that were to be derived from something which initially felt to be an enormous sacrifice.
I am, constitutionally, a glass half empty gal. I will always first acknowledge what I don't have, what I have lost, and what it is that I am seeking. I tend to overlook my strengths, concentrating only on those bits of me that are underdeveloped or weak. I refer to myself as a realist, but in doing so compliment myself and insult those who genuinely are simply realistic. My modus operandi is to identify what's not working and acknowledge this before seeing more clearly what functions perfectly well. This has its place: I edit others' written work pretty well. My fastidious attention to detail serves me, and the author. Accuracy counts, for me and I have an excellent memory. I can remember a great many of my sessions with clients verbatim. Even this asset is something I can, and do, diminish the true value of, by concentrating on 'I should have said...' or 'why didn't.... occur to me during the session?' Earlier this we...

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