…attachment disorder. OK, I’ll admit its not as catchy as ‘How to win friends and influence people’!

Some 18 years ago when I first saw a psychiatrist I was told (in true emotionally unintelligent psychiatrist speak) that I almost certainly had Borderline Personality disorder and that, in all likelihood, I therefore had some degree of attachment disorder. Both diagnosis’ whilst undoubtedly correct, carry a burden of stigma within the mental health fraternity. In the same way that those hideously annoying birthday cards auto play a merry tune when you open them, I assume there is some warning beacon that sounds when my medical records are opened.

Having BPD makes me “hypervigilant” – I’m always on the lookout for signs of rejection and, am constantly checking for reassurance with a sense of impending doom. It remains alarmingly easy to tip me over the edge into feeling insecure. And, when you mix that with the warning beacon I believe is sounding, I am inclined (understatement of the century) to get very messy and over-anxious around attachment.

After 3 years in therapy with a counsellor who I let my guard down with and did attach to, and with which I am still bearing the emotional brunt of that ending, I had fully committed to not letting myself get attached to a new therapist. I was being very ‘Adult’ about it I thought. I’d be honest, I’d work hard, I wouldn’t avoid the tough stuff but I would not let myself get attached.

Simples.

Or maybe not.

From the moment I had the first contact with my therapist to the point I had to admit to myself that I’d attached was a measly 80 days. I felt that much needed sensation of comfort from his email, responding to my torrent of self doubt, that offered me his perspective on me and agreed hold that perspective even whilst I didn’t. And there it was, like the trusty click, clunk as you fasten your seatbelts before taxiing to the runway, attachment and security. The fact that he closed out with a reference to Elton John’s “I’m still standing” lifted my hand from the buckle and allowed me to accept that the belt was fastened and it was OK to relax….and maybe order an in-flight G&T.

Maybe 80 days isn’t so measly - Phileaus Fogg and comedy God Michael “it’s an ex parrot” Palin (please let someone understand that reference) made it all the way round the world after all. Maybe it’s OK that I’ve latched on, limpet style, to someone who has presented themselves to be safe, reliable, full of care and, importantly, humour.

Attachment is scary for many people, to open yourself up to caring brings with it the risk that losing that will bring hurt. And to let it happen again when you’ve been stung should be viewed as a move of strength and resilience, not weakness and over-dependence. I’m going to give myself a break that it’s happened, hope that I can make use of it to do the work and crucially, that knowing I’m attached won’t scare the hell out of him.

My Dad once said to me, when I quizzed about his best friend who was a Roman Catholic priest (a whole other story for another day), that people enter your life in all sorts of ways and sometimes you just know your world is better because they are in it. And I guess it is just that.

Simples after all.