Navigating dysregulation and selling presence as a therapist in times of horror.

Being a therapist can feel a little bit like being in a play at times. You can catch yourself giving your best performance to appear regulated, seemingly unaffected by what’s going on in the outside world or indeed within your insides. I take extra care in also trying to provide an environment where my clients can feel safe and held. A sort of magical sanctuary for the contemporary hyperaroused nervous systems of my community where nerves can have a chance to (temporarily) downregulate so that things can feel (sort of) ok once again. This isn’t a bad thing or a cynical perspective. I see it as a mere fact that whatever happens in my therapeutic space is simply temporary respite. ‘Simply’ doesn’t meant not important, invaluable or insignificant in someone’s healing journey. Quite the contrary.

But lately I have been thinking of myself and my fellow therapists and professionals who also make a living out of holding space for others and, as a consequence, perform aspects of wellbeing and caretaking. I have been thinking of the consequences of doing so on a regular basis, without much space or opportunity to express the realities of collective grief in the face of horror, both at the macro and the micro scale. I’m talking something as worldly and distant (for me) as the conflicts in the Middle East (for example) as well as the very local and close-by homophobic abuse I get in Leith for being visibly queer (for example).

Running my Instagram page can also feel like part of that performance. It’s part of my job to attract potential clients and sell them the image of a regulated therapist with whom they want to ‘spend time’ in a therapeutic environment. It’s a somewhat consciously curated image of a ‘good’ therapist who never seems to lose his cool or get really mad. But when I step back I notice I can feel like I’m giving sterilised therapist running a sterilised studio, severed from world politics and/or uncomfortable and unpalatable feelings. Perhaps this is a little too harsh because, truthfully, what I give off on Instagram isn’t a lie either - it is complex.

At times (and really, not all of the time), I catch myself saying robotic ready-mades about the sunny weather and being in good spirits. Other times, I can be in a desperate rage about this or that and it takes Herculean effort to regulate before clients arrive. Trans people are under threat, homophobic abuse is still rife and there’s a genocide unfolding in our phone screens. How could I not be raging? Sometimes I rage so much I need medication to regulate (and I carry no shame about it and nor should you!).

As a visibly queer therapist who claims to be invested in de-colonising therapy, how could I then have fallen for the idea of a permanently regulated therapist who never self-discloses about personal matters or political views? Are the tentacles of capitalism so far reaching? Yes, it seems like so. I have been toying with the idea of writing this post for a while but held back on the confusion of whom I was writing for as well as the tenuous belief there was any worth in writing these words. Upon reflection, I now believe it’s very much worth affirming - to fellow therapists and existing and potential clients- that I do not believe in the selling of the idea of a regulated therapist who doesn’t burn deep with rage and anxiety, and neither should you. Believing in such magical therapists is not only a lie, it’s a capitalist trap designed to keep us from collectively grieving and connecting in genuine and meaningful ways.

This isn’t to say boundaries between client and therapist are throw away formalities. You most certaintly won’t hear me reel off my despair to you when you come in for a treatment; after all, my job is still to hold space for you and not the other way around. But right now I’m interested in what might happen, what therapeutic futures and healing journeys might open up if we proudly admit therapists grieve too and that holding therapeutic space is a tough job. I am interested in what may happen when two individuals, therapist and client, connect at the heart to realise we’re all on the same planet, the same wondrous timeline, working ‘this’ out as we go along and that neither (truthfully, if we’re honest) of us knows exactly what we are doing. And that, might just be one of the most valuable therapeutic touchstones to stumble upon.

I too am on a permanent roller coaster of a journey of deconstruction and reconstruction. I can’t promise to be the perfect therapist (be suspicious of any who promises it!) but I can promise you that I am committed to offering you presence. Presence is a limited resource and selling presence requires insight, the ability to regulate but also to step back when the time requires it. When things get too much and I feel uncontained I take a sick day or two to make sure I can be the best witness and space holder I can be for you. I reach out and connect with others. Presence, that elusive, rare but essential gem that therapists attempt to provide, isn’t a stable or immovable quality. Sometimes, therapists have bad days too and they might be lacking in presence because the world is and has been burning for a while. That is ok and I thank you for understanding.