"Precious and fragile"

These were the words I gave when asked by my therapist how it felt to have someone work with me as he does.

precious and fragile

You see I absolutely know that the way we work, what he is prepared to do for me within our therapeutic relationship is not common. It’s not often a therapist will willingly engage in daily contact outside the therapy room, will revisit the terms of the therapy contract in so many areas to meet the needs of specific individuals. Like the recent discussion we had about what would happen should we meet outside the therapy room, bending his terms again to agree he would acknowledge me and talk to me if I wished him to. Like the letters and notes he prepares for me to hold onto when he is on leave so that I can keep the feeling of connection, can manage my fear of abandonment. Like the transitional object I keep in my purse, with me always. Like the check-ins he makes to me when I go off the radar; and like the phone calls he has, on occasion, fielded as I toy yet again with the possibility of ending my life.

I’m not your ‘off the shelf’ therapy client. Whilst everyone has different needs from therapy, and I know all good therapists adapt to meet those needs, I appreciate that I stand at the very far end of a spectrum of unique needs.

And, as an intelligent and well read (in the arena of psychology and mental health maybe too much so) person I am well aware that my needs and the label that has, in the past, been applied to me by professionals in the fields of psychiatry and psychology would drastically affect my experience of getting the type of support I most need. There are not many therapists who would flex to support people like me. Indeed, I know a huge proportions of mental health professionals who would not even begin work with me upon hearing the word ‘borderline’ or of my complex history which includes long running self-harm and suicidal intent. Many therapists would not have the experience or capabilities to do this work, hold the boundaries and make this work safe. To have found someone who can and will do so working with me is pretty awesome.

When I reflect on what I have with my therapist (which I try not to because that involves feelings and shit like that!) it feels remarkable to me that I have this. For the last 2 ½ years I’ve had someone in my life who sees me, all of me; who knows my secrets and my vulnerabilities; who I’ve treated badly like the petulant, dismissive, destructive and thoughtless child I can be, and still stands alongside me caring, not judging and offering me more. That is beyond special. That is precious.

Sadly, the challenge for me is that anything I let actually feel good, safe, reliable and beyond fleeting is to be feared – it will soon be gone and it will be my fault. It’s like I’m holding some rare and delicate flower inside a paper-thin glass orb, I’m simply never going to keep it. Indeed, it will soon shatter and likely wound me in doing so. It’s so fragile that I cannot enjoy the beauty of it, explore it or learn from it because to look down and really see it or move my hand to feel it properly would risk a movement that would jolt the petals loose and distract my careful grasp.

I recognise that I need to find some bubble wrap or a soft cushion to place it on, or maybe even be prepared to pass it to be held by someone else, the very person who is there keeping boundaries and guiding me through it. He thinks the glass is thicker and that the flower is growing plentifully somewhere else, an even more precious and beautiful meadow. He also seems certain that I’m worthy of something this special, this much care and this unique way of working he has created for me. And so I need to be prepared to trust his judgement where mine is so uncertain.