|The last thing I remember was the feeling of coldness and static of the plastic chair by the pool, on the back of my thighs when I was about to sit. I could feel my hair, there, almost pulled. I don’t remember sitting.
I have been told that I started screaming, jumped and then lost conscience.
I don’t remember anything else. The doctors in A&E dismissed the whole thing simply as: “it was an extremely hot day and she had a panic attack. A massive panic attack, but nothing more”.
The only thing I know is that I shut down. The following days, weeks, months are all in a blur. I remember only wanting to eat lemons, needing to be covered in wool, that I sat anywhere my parents put me, and rocked back and forth, back and forth. I felt lonely, desperate. Whatever my thoughts were, I could not express them; I was forgetting everything and did not remember the basics of living: I could not recognise any sensation, emotions, feeling. Nothing. I was zeroed. Resat beyond my control. It took me about one year to consciously leave the comfort of my bedroom, 8 years to trust someone to drive me around, 15 years to get a driving licence, 21 years to sleep alone, in a house, by myself.
I could only imagine, at that time, that I was losing the plot. My thoughts made no sense, and when my emotions started to come back, they were extremely intense and I could not differentiate, for example, between feeling desperate or just being moved by something. Everything was desperation, disaster, pain, hurt, I felt closer to death than alive. I wished Death would come but I was way too scared to call her in.
I definitely felt not understood. And nothing made sense.
That day, that 15 August 1988, wasn’t the first time I lost something precious and felt excruciating pain. And it definitely wasn’t the last time. But on that day I learned the most important lesson I could have ever learned; the lesson that, at the age of 44, made me decide to trow everything I thought I knew to the wind and go back to the roots: back to school, back to me, and I became a counsellor. Then, a chaplain.
The lesson was: there’s a part of me, a tiny tiny minimal infinitesimal minuscule part of me that is still ok. I am going to be ok, I am going to go back to being that 20 year old woman who travelled the world alone, who was strong and happy. I haven’t lost everything. There’s this tiny tiny minimal infinitesimal minuscule part of me which will get larger and deeper and stronger, and everything is going to be ok. I can build on that spec of me. And I love Life.
I learned Hope.
Every time I speak to a client I remember that same kind of pain, and desire to feel better, and to believe that they are ok, that it’s going to be ok, no matter what.
Every time I say good-bye to a client, I try to imagine their sense of Hope, because now they are ready to go on without the support of therapy.
Every time a friend calls because they want to talk, or someone reads a horoscope, or have their tarot read, or they receive the first text message, or someone smiles at them: it all goes back to Hope: please, tell me it’s going to be ok.
This is the reason why I am so happy to start this year’s workshops with HOPE: what does it mean to you? Can you find Hope in your heart? Is Hope utopistic? and, How much is Hope interconnected with courage, fate, strength of character, independence? Is Hope another word for Faith?
Please, tell me it’s going to be ok,
that I haven’t suffered all this pain for nothing,
that my time will come,
that this is a Life worth living.
We will explore Hope from the philosophical, spiritual and psycho-therapeutic perspectives; we will talk and share, meet and experience, confide and maybe dream. For any detailed information, regarding fees, offers, Terms & Conditions, location and directions please contact me at The Resting Tree at firstname.lastname@example.org
Tomorrow is another day : HOPE
Date : Saturday 10 MARCH 2018
Time : 10 am – 2 pm
Location : Nelson, Lancs
Fee : £70 (Deposit : £30 by 24 FEB 2018)