Counselling

I’m a man in his 50s. I’ve been pretty self-reliant throughout most of my life, and have generally been in good health throughout. I built my own rally car. The fastest I ever changed a clutch was 25 minutes in a Mk1 Astra. I’m sure most would think I am not ‘pro counselling’ in any way. But during my 20s I had a couple of periods where I needed help with my mental health. My doctor wanted to just prescrible pills – “Pills work” as he said, but I was offered 6 sessions with a counsellor instead. And it made a big difference to me. I would say it was probably the start down the road towards where I am emotionally and mentally in many ways today.

A year or two later and relationship difficulties left me in a similar place, and I managed to get another 6 sessions which again put me on the right road.

So when I got my diagnosis in January, after the initial shock wore off, I was happy to accept the sessions I was offered via Macmillan, using a BUPA counsellor. The waiting list wasn’t long (I think it was about a week between referral and first session), and I was looking forward to it – a space to talk freely and explore what was going on, at a time when I was really struggling with the situation and how to deal with it. I think I had started on the wrong foot (working solely on practicalities and the things I thought would make the most difference to T in the future), and would get a chance to explore this.

What happened was not anything like what I expected. After some time running through my summary of where I was at (which took about maybe 15 minutes, all told), the remaining time was more like having a conversation with a hairdresser than with a counsellor. I won’t go into too much detail here (or name the counsellor), but some of the gaffes included:

• Being told that “bad luck comes in threes” (my diagnosis and my mother’s (ultimately terminal) hospitalisation being the two pieces of bad luck… I later joked that my session with this person was the third bit (but wasn’t quick enough to think of it at the time, dammit).
• Being told that I’d “Had a death sentence imposed on me, just not being told when it was going to be carried out”
• When I was upset about feeling that I’d never get to enjoy dancing with T again or seeing her dance freely in a club (prompted by her open wardrobe of going out clothes in front of me) I was told that the counsellor would prefer to go to a last concert with Biffy Clyro or ‘Harry Styles, he’s my favourite’.
• “Have you seen the cost of travel insurance once you’ve had a diagnosis?”. Yes, yes I have.
• A comprehensive list of lego owned by her boyfriend and why she wouldn’t have it in the house after I mentioned I’d been bought the lovely gift of the Lego Milky Way that is now on the wall to my side here.
• Death bed regrets of her family member’s obsession with her weight.

This is not all, but it’s enough of a picture to say that this did not go how I expected it. I came downstairs to talk to T somewhat in a state of shock. I think had I been more mentally fragile than I am, this kind of experience could really have sent me into a downwards spiral (I was already pretty low, as you may understand).

In short, we decided to not have any more sessions, but to also make a formal complaint. I have no idea what this looked like at the other end, but this is someone who is a practicing, ‘professional’, qualified counsellor. We were assured that steps had been taken. I have no evidence of what has actually happened – if anything. And I think this is an area that the industry probably needs to do something about to be taken more seriously.

Through some work done by T to find someone suitable, I have since been having near-weekly sessions with another counsellor. I want to protect their identity as I think that both of us have a responsibility to do this, and I would never want to do anything to damage what has become such an important part of my routine. I shall refer to the counsellor as X. As nearly no-one’s name begins with X, and that’s definitely not their real initial!

X has been frankly transformational in my experience. They have helped me discover what is going on with me, and what is the best path forward during this time. Each session – even when it has been far-ranging and difficult – has left me feeling more positive, and better prepared for the week ahead. I’ve been given the space to talk about whatever is going on for me, and to rediscover what matters – not just the obvious thing that my relationship with T is the most important thing in my life (followed closely by the relationship with the kids), but that my relationship with myself is just as important. And getting that right was something I had not been doing.

When I got my initial diagnosis, I just wanted to fix everything possible to make T’s future as simple as possible. And a lot of that has been valid – and indeed is now complete as it can be, making the future as secure as possible in terms of finance, housing, etc. But I had lost sight of what made me tick, and made me happy. I’d very quickly sold a lot of things that I used to tinker with or that brought me joy. Making things. Being nerdy. That sort of stuff. Someone had sent me an email early on in the process with the line “be yourself for as long as they will let you” and that has become my guiding thought throughout this, and my sessions with X have allowed me to explore this, and understand that as my levels of physical and mental energy change, I need to change my expectations and boundaries with people to allow this to carry on.

That it’s OK to refuse some appointments, or not to reply in graphic detail to each request. Effectively that I can ‘unsubscribe’ not only to the million emails that I used to get, but that sometimes replying with a single emoji is OK if that’s all I’ve got the energy for at that point. And that people will have to learn to meet me where I am, rather than the other way round.

That doing and making things (again, with energy levels in mind) is something that is a core part of me, and doing it makes me profoundly happy. I’ve not picked up a guitar in a serious way since January 13th, and I’m OK with that – I’m just not going to be able to do it in a way that would make me happy. But I’ve been programming things (one of which is a disco lighting system for the extension, the other is the information display) and that has been gratifying.

That I’m not going to finish everything that I’ve started, or planned to start. Going through all the things I had bought for projects this year and getting rid of them (and the million cables etc I’d accrued) and getting rid of a lot and organising the others was hard, but needed so that T can actually find and use them when needed. The idea is that the studio will live on as a possible creative space for T and the kids to use next year as I feel it will be a fitting use for it for a while until it needs to be repurposed.

Clearing out the garage was similar. I had two project motorbikes which were always going to be done at some point, so they had to go. Getting rid of a lot of stuff that I had vague plans for in the (now non existent) future was difficult, and one of the two times I’ve experienced genuine anger during this process.

My van (which I was planning to keep as it allowed me to drive my mountain bike to anywhere I wanted to if I wanted to go riding with Paul) developed a fault which I would usually be able to fix with a week’s work. But I didn’t have a week. Or the energy. A £2000 asset became a £500 eBay spares or repair sale. But it went, and both of us shed a tear as it had been the bedrock of so many holidays with the kids – the reason we bought it in the first place.

And getting rid of our beloved 1982 VW T25 Devon camper van was really difficult. But there’s no way it would be usable for T next year as it needed constant attention from a qualified person (i.e. me, or someone else at huge expense). So it went.

That was hard. But it was needed. We’ve bought a newer, modern, usable camper with some of my life insurance payout which came early due to my diagnosis (the rest is set aside for the future). So its function has been replaced, and we have pictures and memories of it as it was and the fun we had in it.

Finally, I sold my motorbike – I’d owned it for 14 years, and it was perfect for me.

This meant that for the first time since I was 15 I didn’t have a vehicle registered in my name – an odd feeling for someone whose entire life has been defined in many ways by vehicles and the objects I’ve owned.

But while this came at a cost, it also brought something with it. A lightness I’d not experienced before. All of the expectations that the objects (and particularly the vehicles) were gone. The pressures of having to fix them if something went wrong. The responsibility for their upkeep. Walking past them and thinking ‘that needs a clean’. All of that just vanished with the last thing going. It was empowering. We have two vehicles – the Zoe for everyday use, and the Camper for leisure (which has been the best purchase as we have used it a lot and plan to keep doing so as long as possible). And they are both modern, easy to keep running and don’t have bodges all over the place that T would have to deal with. This has been a really interesting experience finding this out.

And all of this has stemmed from the open, free-form but still structured and useful sessions I’ve had with X. They have given me the space to explore what’s bothering me, allowed me to discuss the consequences and possibilities that lie ahead, but also not shy away from what is ultimately a path that will lead to me no longer being present.

Obviously I don’t have a parallel ‘no counselling’ experience to compare to, but I’m totally confident that without these sessions I would not have had the experience that I’m currently having. And I’m even more confident that had I continued the sessions with the original counsellor that things would be equally far in the other direction. I cannot thank X enough for their professional skills and years of clear experience and study which have transformed what should have been an unerringly dark and miserable time into one where a lot of the time I am having an objectively good day. Not every day, particularly when I feel physically unwell, but I know that I would be in a much worse place without these sessions.

If you are unfortunate enough to be in a similar position to me, I’d strongly suggest you try to find someone who you can experience this with. It truly is transformational, probably at the most important time possible. While it is not the medical solution that I would dream of and everything would suddenly be OK and I’d get another year or 10, it has given me many hours of peace and enjoyment that otherwise I don’t think I would have stumbled upon myself – particularly given the mis-steps I made independently when I was doing just what I thought was the right thing to do to the exclusion of looking after myself as well, and making a lot of steps in the wrong direction that I think by now would mean I would be in a very different place altogether.