Not ” Just” anything.


 “ It’s hard to know that she will never be anything other than my therapist.”

This was a quote from an email I received recently. It is something I’ve said and felt hundreds of times too. And I know that it’s such a common sentiment from people in depth therapy.

My reply was this;

I don’t know if it helps any, but even though I struggle a lot at times with Sienna not being able to be my mother or not wanting to be, I do also hold within me a gladness that she IS my therapist. That her in that role is what I need. And the love and care she gives me as my therapist IS enough, more than enough. Being “just my therapist” doesn’t make the relationship less than others or shallow, on the contrary, it’s one of the deepest relationships I’ve experienced. 


Our relationship is limited by professional boundaries. It’s limited in terms of where we meet, or the things we can do together or the time spent together. But there is no limit to the depth of feelings or emotions. It’s the most honest relationship I have. The feelings are all authentic. With friends, yeah we can go out and do things, go places, spend a ton of time together…. but we are rarely deeply authentically honest with each other. Not in the way I am with my therapist. And I don’t lean on my friends the way I do my therapist. 


So, I think the therapy relationship can be enough as it is. If my needs are getting met in the way I need. 



I can’t always hold onto that sentiment. Sometimes parts of me grieve hugely that she can’t be my mother. Or sometimes when there’s been an empathic failure on Sienna’s part or a rupture of some sort, I immediately doubt the authenticity of the relationship. Bumping against the boundaries and limitations of my therapist produces so much pain and anger and suspicion and mistrust.

In those moments, I see the limitations of the relationship and sometimes it just feels so narrow and just not enough for me.

The cold hard fact that Sienna cannot be who she is in the therapy room ALL the time is hard to swallow. And it’s hard not to feel suspicious of who she really is, if she’s not exactly how she is when her “therapy hat” is on.

How can one person be so deeply attuned and caring and say all the right things (mostly) when we are face to face in session, yet outside of session she is someone else. Who is that other person? Which one is the real her, then?

These are things I often wonder.

Part of my mistrust of people is that I try to find their essence. Who are they when they take the mask off? That’s what matters. Who are they when no one is looking? I think that if I can find that out, then I can decide if that person is trustworthy. I can take a risk on a person if I think I know who they really are.

A therapist who is playing a part is a danger to me.

Thanks to my other superpower- hypervigilance, I can sniff out an inauthentic therapist from 30 miles away. I can tell generally by just looking at them, and then when they speak and when I see how they move….. there are signs.

I’ve never sensed inauthenticity from my therapist. But many times I have came across her “real” self, as in the normal human who is busy and stressed and frustrated and tired. And I hate it.

My need for outside contact was in part an attachment need and in part a symptom of hypervigilance – the need to “know” who she was without the therapy hat on.

Anyone who’s read my blog for any length of time will know the ruptures the outside contact has brought. I don’t regret any of the ruptures, even though they were and still are hugely painful and sometimes re-traumatising. I see it as all part of my journey.

What I have learned through those ruptures is that I really need my therapist to be my therapist. The moments that she has been human and fallible and a bit of a moody cow to be honest, have created huge ruptures that don’t feel good to either of us.

Yes, I have a better idea of who she is outside of the therapy room. Though she still remains a bit of a mystery to me. But I can’t cope with the real her. I need therapy her. I need the idolised perfect mother.

And even though I know cognitively, that it isn’t real. That “ therapist”  it is a construct, a role that is bourne out of need and attachment theory and training and isn’t something I’ll find outside in real life…. I am okay with going along with it because it is healing. It is what I need.

I never thought I’d say that or feel that way. I’ve always been determined to get to the real person under the therapist persona. Determined to catch them out. Determined to find the real them.

And also, I suppose I also thought that if they gave me access to the real them then somehow I existed more to them. That I was more than “ just a client” to them. That I existed in their real life not just that stupid therapy room. I needed to be more to them than “ just a client” or “ just work.”

I probably still do have that need sometimes. To be something more than the rest, to be special, to belong to someone, to belong somewhere, to exist to someone. After years of just fading into the background in my own life, after years of meeting everyone else’s needs and denying my own, after years of never feeling wanted or good enough or special to anyone or belonging anywhere, after years of being ignored and dismissed….. I want to be more than a face in the crowd. I want to be more that “ just a client”. And if someone whom I regard highly and love dearly feels warmth and care for me then it’s like something magical, like a wish come true to experience it.

What I am learning is something I always knew cognitively, but could never feel authentically. And that is that the boundaries and constraints of the relationship are deliberately constructed and based in theory and ethics. The relationship has professional foundations. That part is unreal I suppose or to use a phrase; “ just a professional relationship.”

But that’s where the “fakeness” ends. The two people who come together in that room create something unique. Something that can’t be replicated with any other person (therapist or client). Because the relationship that is created is real and the energy in that room is a co-creation between two souls. The intricacies and the emotions and the dynamics are individual to the two people involved in this therapy dance.

It is special and unique. It is intense, and the highs and lows can be dramatic, there’s actions and reactions.

The level of intensity in that room, the sheer mass of emotion emitted by both parties would be impossible to keep up 24/7. The wish for access to that magical energy is very normal, very natural for people who haven’t gotten enough of it in childhood. But it’s a child’s wishful thinking and it can’t survive adult reality.

Because if we truly had access to our therapists 24/7, we’d soon get the exhausted “mother”. The “busy, not now” mother. The “not good enough mother.” Because as amazing as our therapists are, they cannot expend all that intensive loving energy on one person. It’s impossible to produce the amount of energy needed and it would be unhealthy to try.

And honestly, we would quickly become exhausted with all that intensity too.

Babies will look away from their mothers when interaction becomes too much. Even babies need a break from the lovely stuff. And so do clients. It’s in the moments in between sessions that we process, and feel and learn and rest!

I feel like in session I get the very best version of Sienna. I get the “good enough” mother. And I don’t feel like what we have is fake or shallow or “ just” anything. I think what we have is pretty special. I feel like I do get the real her, even though I don’t get All of her, there’s so much of her I don’t know, so much of her I don’t get, so much I don’t know about her. Yet what she does show me and share with me is the realest thing I’ve ever experienced.

What I get from her, I suspect not many others in her life get to see. I don’t know that for sure of course. But that paid-for hour gives us both the chance to take of our real-life masks and be authentically us. Yes, I pay for her attention. I pay for her to be ethical and I guess I am paying for her to be professional rather than personal to an extent. I am paying for her to take a role, I am paying for her to keep her needs out of the room. I am paying for her to stay within a therapeutic framework.

But I don’t think I am paying for a shallow relationship. I don’t think it’s a limited relationship in ways that matter. I don’t think her feelings (good and bad) are fake. I think she cares deeply. I believe her when she tells me I’m a really important part of her life. I believe that I exist to her. (Disclaimer – I don’t always feel this way depends which part is out!)

Sienna and I don’t have a traditional therapist/client relationship. It can be a little “outside the box” at times. We rupture big, we repair big too. It can feel stormy at times. But as time goes on, I am slowly learning to trust that ruptures don’t necessarily mean termination of the relationship, though it still feels that way in the moment it happens.

I used to need the relationship to not be traditional in its framework. I hated the traditional framework with a passion. I am still not terrible keen and I couldn’t work with a therapist who stayed rigidly within it. But having experienced the downsides of outside contact and all the drama it brings, I have surprised myself in learning that I really do need the safety of a more traditional framework. I need predictability and stability and a therapist who is on her A-game.

Right now, it doesn’t work for me when the lines blur, even slightly. In the past I’ve actively pursued a blurring of the lines. I needed it so badly.

Yet, after last year which was horrendous from about April onwards, I am so tired and worn out from the blurred dynamics that played out, from the transference-laden bullshit that confused and terrified me.

Perhaps it’s because I am more in touch with my extremely vulnerable child parts since the rupture. Maybe it’s them who needs structure and clear boundaries and a therapist who is focused completely on them. I find myself unable to discuss transference and Sienna’s counter-transference. I literally can’t cope with hearing it.

Whereas it used to fascinate me and I really enjoyed hearing Sienna’s perceptions and feelings and discussions in supervision about me.

I enjoyed the less traditional framework and the blurring of lines. I wanted to work that way. And there is so many gains to be had by working like that. It’s so enlightening and there’s huge lessons to be learned in it. I don’t regret it at all, we’ve done some amazing work in that place.

But the downside was the ruptures. Too many. And now my capacity to deal with any upheaval has greatly diminished for now. I feel too vulnerable to cope with the heavy weight of counter-transference and blurred lines and parallel processes and fiery dynamics.

Right now I need simple. I need clear. I need nurture and reassurance. I feel better without the outside contact. (Can’t believe I’m saying that!!!)

My sessions are a lot simpler. There’s less to fear. There’s less focus on the relationship and more focus on just me. In some ways it feels like having been at university and now I’m back in infant school, year 1. It feel strange and below my capabilities but it’s also restful.

It’s like when I was a therapy rookie, I was so busy coping with therapy that I didn’t fully experience all it had to offer on a felt body level. It wasn’t a felt experience, it was a cognitive assault on my poor trauma addled brain.

Whereas now, I am fully experiencing the benefits of basic, year 1 therapy level. I can now take in the therapist’s caring and warmth in a way I never could in the beginning. I can go in an be a baby client again and just have things fully focused on me. Everything has been slowed down for me. The focus is very much on nurturance.

That’s not to say there haven’t been bumps in the road. Just last week Sienna and I had a small rupture which felt huge in the moment. But that’s just us. It’s what we seem to do. And I’m getting better at accepting that.

I’m not sure if this post has been a bit un-focused, it feel like It has. I’m just thinking out loud really.












Oxytocin Cocktail. Hit me up.

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I was reading tonight about a client who’d gone through many years of 3-4 times weekly psychoanalysis. She wrote about how after around 8 years at that frequency her maternal transference, all the longing and tears of not having her therapist as a parent and all the drama that comes with maternal longings has finally been resolved.

She said she could sit with her therapist now and not feel any of that stuff at all and how lovely it was to just view her as an old friend almost. Someone she’s just very comfortable with.

It is nice to hear that the mommy stuff can be resolved with enough time. But a thought struck me – “ I don’t want to not feel the transference, I don’t want it to go away.”

I do NOT enjoy the pain of maternal transference. I do not enjoy the agony of wanting to merge with my therapist and her not allowing it. I don’t enjoy longing for the safety of her all the time and not being able to access it when I need it. I don’t enjoy being plunged into the depth of despair when I am triggered by her temporary lack of attunement or by her absence or perceived rejection/abandonment.

Maternal transference is hell on earth.

But the flip side is the heavenly bonding moments. The warmth and caring, the cuddles, the mothering to fill the gaps that were left by my birth mother, the protective anger she feels when someone has done wrong by me and the gentle advice she gives me, the education on all things I missed learning first time round. The joy of hearing her say she’s proud of me or that she loves me or the little tears that escape her eyes for both happy and sad reasons. The warmth and security of her stable influence in my life. The moments we share that leave me floating on a big oxytocin cloud, a huge big “ I love her” fest.

I don’t think I want to lose that. Ever.

Is it possible to keep that? I don’t know. I won’t know until I get there.

I do know that there have been a couple of rare moments in the 3 years we’ve worked together that all my parts disappeared. I was just one. An adult. And as such, I viewed my therapist as just a normal human being. Someone just as flawed as the next person. I didn’t see a golden light around her, I didn’t have her on a pedestal and I no longer had much need for her.

And I didn’t like it much. I liked not having the bad side of transference. But I really missed that delightful innocent love and blissful oxytocin hit. I missed the intensity of the relationship. I felt a bit empty and sad.

Luckily (or unluckily) all the parts and all the maternal transference gradually flooded back in.

I am guessing we maybe grow out of needing that intensive mothering. We get to a point we are filled up enough to go out into the world and develop other relationships.

But it makes me sad to imagine seeing her as just a normal human. And to not feel that motherly-ness, that safety in her presence, to not feel filled up by her attuned responses. I don’t want her to be reduced to “ normal”. I like her just where she is – on her pedestal, glowing in warm safe light.

If I had a choice, she’d always occupy a very special place in my heart and in my life. She would be someone I could return to, she would always be “ home”. And when life got too real, too exhausting, too stressful, I could go “home” and be a child for a while and find my center again before heading out into the big adult world again.

I have no idea if it’s possible to keep that feeling or whether it’s linked to very young under-developed child parts who really need that right now.


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Amelia and the Demon

I realise I am quite behind with my sessions. So this one that follows is from two weeks ago. It’s long, so get a coffee 🙂

Session on Monday the 19th FebruaryScreenshot_20180304-042704

I started the session regaling Sienna with stories of my trip away with friends. We’d spent a night in a spa hotel.

She was delighted that I’d seemed to be able to participate in something without worrying too much and acting spontaneously.

And it’s true, the previous week I’d done well in many respects. But amongst it was all of Amelia’s drawings, she was so distressed. And I’d felt such an aching emptiness many times throughout the week. The old attachment emptiness, the lack of self, lack of mother, lack of love and of nurturing. And that is always really tough.

Last week had good moments for sure, but the splits between the trauma alters and the adult me who was just living life, going out with friends and immersing herself in her art were strong, evident and striking, to me at least. No one else knew. But I could feel it.

For example, on the previous Wednesday, Amelia drew those disturbed drawings, highly traumatic feelings and expressions of distress….. yet 15 minutes later there I was in the car with my friends chatting and laughing – being the adult I needed to be and not even thinking much at all about the distress or trauma stuff. I mean, I could feel that I was splitting, I could feel that I was sort of in survival mode and the slight fuzzy disorientated feeling was never far away. But far enough away not to be noticed by anyone.

Sienna asked if I’d felt any anxiety about staying away as she knows on previous trips my anxiety has been huge and I’ve struggled to leave my house.

I told her “ Even though I’ve done a lot of good things, I’ve been dissociated a lot – a lot, a lot, a lot!!!” I emphasised.

Sienna said “ Yes, I can see that. Because that trip was last Wednesday, yet on Friday we had the phone check in because you’d struggled with dreams…. Do you feel like you were dissociated when you were with me (on the phone)? I mean, I thought you were, it’s as if there was a little one there.”

I agreed, nodded my head. The phone call felt distant, a far away memory but I think I remembered at the time channelling a younger part.

Sienna continued “ Yeah, I thought so, there was very much a little one at the forefront. And that’s find, I’m glad she could ask for what she needed.”

I said to Sienna that it was the adult who’d asked for the call on the Thursday. I explained that I knew the young part wasn’t going to settle, so I was as well asking for help and even though adult me didn’t need or want a call, the child part did and the best way to settle a young part is to help them get their needs met.

As I traced my steps back to last week and what led to me asking for a call, I suddenly remembered that the previous Monday’s session had been weird. That I’d had a big dissociation towards the end of the session but when I “woke” out of it, it felt like the whole session just disappeared. I had felt like I’d only been there 15 minutes, not an hour! I don’t think that’s ever happened before.

And now, I told Sienna, “I can’t remember that session. It’s just a black hole.”

I recounted how heavily dissociated I’d been the previous week.

“ I find it really hard to get out the dreamy place after I’ve woken up, it takes a long while. I can’t stop sleeping, I feel heavily sedated. Time is weird, I don’t know where I am, I don’t know the day or the month. Sometimes I think it’s November still. Sometimes I think we are at the end of March (instead of end of February) and I get a fright because it feels like I’ve lost a lot of time. I feel disorientated a lot. And there are parts that were screaming in my head last Tuesday. I can’t remember what they were saying only that they were loud and distressed.

Yet, if I have adult things to do…. I’ve been getting them done. So it feels strange. To feel so very dissociated and disorientated yet also somehow keeping on top of my adult life things.”

I could feel just talking about this was pulling me into a confused slightly dissociated place. The foggy feeling was drifting in.

Sienna wondered whether this was a sign of my adult ego state strengthening; that I could do all the adult things even though things were feeling so dissociated. Perhaps the adult was better able to hold things now?

I agreed.

Listening to the session, I hear my voice start to turn a bit thick, kind of like when someone has had a drink and isn’t drunk exactly but starting to edge that way…. Not slurring but just not as precise in their speech.

“ I can’t remember much about our phonecall on the Friday, everything feels like…. Like someone’s just taken the memory off me and there’s just black where the memory used to be.”

Sienna said “ It was very much about….. well you came on the phone and said you’d had a bad dream that I’d closed my private practice, so I wondered with you if that dream was anxiety about me going on holiday? And I’m going so far, and maybe there’s a panic in the young ones.”

I nodded.

Sienna continued “ – but you couldn’t really answer that, you weren’t sure…. You just had that feeling of distress. And Amelia was about, you said. And she keeps drawing bad pictures, black and red pictures…”

I laughed slightly and nodded, yeah, she does.

I told Sienna that I’d been looking back to last year’s blog posts and had discovered a post called Amelia. And as it turned out, Amelia first turned up exactly a year ago this week. I told her of my amazement at this because up until last week, I hadn’t known who Amelia was. She had been written down last year on the list of alters we know about but when I saw her name on that list a few weeks ago, I had no idea who she was. Not even her name rang a bell.

Sienna said surprised in a soft tone “ Did she?”

I nodded.

Sienna said “ I think I remember us having conversations about….. I’m trying to remember…. I think her name came up and I recognised straight away her writing. That we’d seen it loads of times in other things and in some of the pictures you’d done in the books, she was there but we just didn’t know her name – or I didn’t. And I’m sure at some point whether it was last Spring having a conversation about because we’d been in relationship for the longest time.. – and also things were quite rocky, we wondered if it was her wondering how long I’d stay around because no one had stayed around that long. And that was 6 months of quite a lot of insecurity around that. And Amelia’s name was about at that time and her pictures were about.”

I nodded.

Sienna added “ And then in the Summer, it went downhill.”

I felt ill remembering it. I said “ I know.”

Sienna said “ But that’s fine, that’s part of the process. It wasn’t pleasant at the time but it was really important to go through. And I think Amelia comes out when there’s a lot of anxiety, particularly about attachment. So that’s why I was wondering if it’s my impending holiday that’s triggering this. Even if it’s unconscious. Because your adult’s saying yeah go on holiday, it’s fine…”

I laughed “ Is she?”

I laughed but I was irked that Sienna would assume to know what any of my parts are feeling about her THREE week trip. She hasn’t outwardly asked me how I’m feeling. I’ve been feeling anger about it and a resistance about even talking about it with her. Because honestly…. What’s the actual point?

Before breaks, I’ve always felt anxiety, dread, sadness but never anger. Not that I can remember. I’ve been avoiding thinking about this break much because it is what it is. It’s happening no matter what I feel about it so I may as well suck it up and deal.

And I’m not so angry about her going away for 3 weeks. That isn’t the anger. The anger seems to be accompanied with the huffy, churlish thought of “ My feelings on it don’t matter. Why bother talking about my anxiety or the young parts sadness and longing whilst you’re away, because it just irritates you. You don’t want to hear how I feel.” And I feel immense anger about that.

This thought and feeling isn’t entirely based in non-reality. Because last April/May, Sienna did admit to being frustrated and a bit annoyed/irritated that breaks were still such a sticking point with me, that they still caused so much disturbance. So, given that I know this…. Why on earth would I deliberately irritate her by sharing my feelings on it?

I think she mistakes my lack of conversation about it as me coping better and being more comfortable with her breaks…. Ummm wrong!

So yeah, my “ Is she?” comment about my adult being okay about the break was me reminding Sienna not to assume.

Sienna said “ Well, maybe she is, maybe on the surface it’s okay but the little ones inside aren’t.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk about it.

Sienna continued “ I asked on Friday morning if Amelia would let you bring in some of the pictures and you were like um no.” She laughed slightly.

I said “ Well, I brought them with me.”

Sienna said surprised “ oh! Well maybe she is okay with it then.”

I said to Sienna “ I don’t think she speaks. I don’t know. Does she? I don’t know?” I couldn’t remember if Amelia has ever spoken directly to Sienna.

Sienna said “ No, well someone else was talking for her on Friday, for sure. She doesn’t talk. She talks through her pictures.”

I exclaimed in agreeance “ YES! That’s what I think.  I wrote that on my blog.”

Sienna asked if I’d read the blog post about Amelia from last year. I told her “ Yes, I brought it in.” I got it out my bag and handed it to Sienna.

I said “ And I’ve brought in a picture she drew last year, you’ll remember this, she sent you the drawing in a text but she destroyed it.”

Sienna said “ Right, so she’s the one who does all the ripping.” Lots of artwork in my journal had been ripped out.

Sienna asked “ Is she the one who wrote what’s inside the envelope?”

Sienna was referring to an envelope in my journal from last year. It is sealed and written on the front is “ A secret never told.” It’s never been opened. I think Sienna is extremely curious about it because she’s asked about it many times over the year. To be honest I’m not entirely sure what’s in it.

I laughed and said to Sienna “ You’re dying to know what’s in that envelope, aren’t you?”

Sienna said “ No, not really. No. Not until you’re ready… there’s absolutely no rush.”

I said “ I don’t even know what’s in it!”

Sienna said “ No, it’s just that there’s a secret being held somewhere and there’s not point in forcing anyone. When they are ready, they will open it.”

I went back to the blog posts about Amelia. Sienna read the 3 pages.

We commented back and forth about Amelia and about the system in general. Trying to work it out, to get to know better what happens when she’s about.

As Sienna flicked through Amelia’s drawings, she talked about the recurring dreams I’d told her about right from the beginning of therapy with her, about the dead girl in the attic. About the different stages of decomposition.

Sienna said “ you talked about that right from the beginning and here it is showing in your drawings again. For me it’s always been a really powerful metaphor for fragmentation, that holds really powerful distressing and difficult material that won’t go away. And is hidden, not to be seen by anybody, not to be found. But obviously very dark and distressing for you. And you talked about your bedroom as a little girl just being there and sitting on your bed and you would cry on your own.

But you didn’t know what age, you didn’t know…. It was almost like a separate story from the other bits you’d tell me about. Just like, your normal family life.”

I felt strange. Floaty.

I said to her “ I don’t remember crying in my room.”

Sienna said “ And maybe it’s because those elements are so split off from a lot of your everyday experience.”

Sienna went back to the drawings. Amelia’s drawings.

She looked at Amelia’s frantic scribblings of her name, over and over. She said “ You know it’s like a little girl saying I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. But she doesn’t know people are trying to find her and we can’t reach her.”

I don’t know why I started slipping into another place. But something about talking about Amelia, talking about her drawings and about things I said that I can’t remember… combined with there being time to let my adult-self slip away as Sienna quietly read my blog and flicked through the images. But in the recording as Sienna asks me a question, I say “ I don’t know” and I sound like a tiny child.

Oh yeah, I’m gone. Sienna doesn’t notice yet. But I’m gone. Someone else is here.

Sienna says flicking through my journal “ I wonder what Amelia needs to help her. I do wonder? Poor Amelia. Very scared isn’t she? And alone.”

I say “ I don’t even sense fear, it just…. Distressed.  I don’t understand why. I don’t know.”

Sienna said referring back to Friday’s call, “ And you asked when I go on holiday if you can take the blue pillow, do you remember that?”

I laughed and nodded. The blue/turquoise floor pillow stays in Sienna’s office but it’s become “MY pillow.” The thing I hold onto very often for comfort and protection. In our call Sienna asked if there was anything she could give me as a transitional object to help me while she’s away and I had asked if I could take the blue pillow home with me. Really, I’d love a cardigan or jumper belonging to her but I felt like too much of a creep to ask. So the pillow is something I also very much relate to her and that seemed less creepy to ask for.

Sienna smiled and said “ And of course you can.”

Sienna said “ Her images are so powerful. What I would say about Amelia is that because she has no words, no language, that she’s presenting herself through images. So, when she presents like that, try and take special attention and capture it. Even if it doesn’t make any sense, because that’s how she’s trying to communicate.”

I nodded. “ It’s weird, cos when it comes over me, I couldn’t even say Oh, this is Amelia I wouldn’t know, I just know that I have to draw and it’s like being in this dissociated place and it’s page after page after page, and it’s almost frantic….. but then once it sort of slows down a little bit and I see what’s been done on the pages, this Editor part comes in says, no that can’t stay, this looks really bad….

Sienna interjected “ And that’s what I was getting on the phone actually – because I was asking if you thought Amelia would let you bring the drawings to therapy and it was like a hard no, that she doesn’t want anyone to see them. It was a case of you didn’t know and you’d need to see how it felt on the day. There was some resistance to that. But now, when you see those images, what sense do you make of it? Or what feelings does it invoke in you?”

I paused to think.

“ Just a lot of confusion. I feel very confused about it and I don’t understand why… what that’s about. I don’t understand why she’s doing that. I don’t like it, I don’t…. I look at those drawings and I think that looks like quite traumatic stuff but I don’t know what that is, I don’t feel that, why am I doing that? Stop doing that! It’s just confusing and it’s hard to NOT destroy that (the drawings).”

Sienna said “ I mean, she’s drawn worse. If you look back at your first journal, she’s drawn worse.”

I was surprised to hear that. I couldn’t think what images were worse. How does Sienna remember that? I can’t remember Amelia drawing.

Sienna said “ The first one you drew, during our time here…”

I interjected “ In here?” shocked that I’d have drawn anything like that in front of anyone.

Sienna said “ Yes”

Me, incredulous “ I drew it IN HERE?”

Sienna said “ No, no, you brought it in and again they were very black but that was pre- knowing what her name was but you can tell it’s hers , looking backing. They were very dark, abusive, distressed pictures.”

I felt embarrassed. Scared. I said quietly “ I don’t know why.”

Sienna said “ Well that’s the whole point, there’s no words to it. It’s an experience, potentially. Split off which is what happens because you don’t feel the trauma, that’s why she’s split off. It’s another reason why potentially she’s…. that nobody is going to let her come in a hurry, because the other parts don’t want to have to feel it all. So the protection mechanism is still in place and that knowing about it is protection I think.

But on another level, I think it’s really important to say to Amelia,  that I see her. And she’s not evil and she’s not bad. And I understand why she can’t come here. But know that this is safe and I feel her and she’s not alone.

And I don’t need to know what it’s all about in order just to care and feel empathy for her distress. She feels like a really lost little girl.”

Oh God. Sienna was talking directly to Amelia. And I knew Amelia was there, listening, I could feel it. I could feel her. It’s always hard when Sienna starts talking with the parts directly, they are not used to being seen.

I felt Amelia, breaking through and past the permeable membrane of adult me as Sienna spoke to her. The adult me receded and Amelia was at the front.

I felt Amelia’s sadness, her vulnerability and distress. I felt floaty and sleepy and tearful.

The room fell silent.

I can’t say what I was thinking or feeling cos I was no longer there and I don’t remember what was going through my mind.

Eventually, Sienna’s voice broke through the silence “ Is she there? Is she listening?”

I nodded, made an affirmative noise.

Sienna asks quietly, “ Does she want a hug?”

I shake my head immediately. Amelia does want a hug but she can’t ask, can’t accept. She feels too unworthy of it, too dirty.

Sienna said softly “ Does she want anything? Or does she just need to be here?”

I say quietly “ She says she’s dirty.”

I remember now, hearing Amelia crying and wanting to draw the word dirty.

Sienna said softly “ I know she feels that. But you’re not dirty. It’s someone else that’s made you feel like that. It’s a word that you use in order to understand the feelings that you’ve got. It’s not about being dirty. It’s about being hurt.”

I’m crying. I put my arms out limply and then I make a washing motion with my hands “ I just want to get clean, I just feel I want to get clean.”

Sienna says “ I know, I know.”

I curl up into myself. Bring my knees up to my chest in an effort to get small and to hide or comfort the level of vulnerability I was feeling.

I sob to myself. Head down.

Sienna said “ It sometimes feels that it’s someone else who’s contaminated you. That it’s stuck on you that you can’t get rid of it.”

Amelia rejects that immediately “ No, it’s me.”

Sienna pauses and then says “ It’s just a word to describe a feeling, and nobody is born dirty, nobody is born bad.”

Amelia doesn’t believe her. She knows she’s dirty, it’s on her, it’s in her. She wants to sit in a bath of bleach but she knows it won’t make much difference.

Sienna said “ You just feel that way because you can’t see beyond the feeling. But that’s not true.

You are as good and as….. I don’t even want to use the word clean, because there’s no such thing as being clean or dirty…. You’re just normal. It’s normal to have these feelings when you’ve internalised something that doesn’t belong to you. You’re just a little girl whose been really confused about feelings.”

I make a sound that makes it seem like I am quietly agreeing with Sienna but actually I was just acknowledging that I was listening. Inside there was a war. Amelia knew that Sienna couldn’t understand. That she wasn’t seeing that she really IS dirty, inside and out. That there’s no way to get rid of the dirt. She IS the dirt.

I cried silently.

Sienna said “ Amelia’s a little girl who should be allowed to play. And do normal things. But I can sense that in the front of her mind she had all these dark, dark images and pictures and she’s allowed to put those image onto paper as much as she likes. You do what you need to do. As long as it’s not dangerous to you, if that helps get the feelings out.

Is she worried about me going away?”

I shake my head and shrug at the same time.

Sienna says “ Is she okay?”

Sienna asks if Amelia knows why she’s surfaced again?

I say no.

Sienna says “ She’s maybe just full, and she just needs to get all this out. She holds all this by herself for months on end.

Do you know what emotion is behind your tears?”

I think and then say full of tears “ Dirty. I want to be clean.”

Sienna asks “ Did someone tell you that you were dirty?”

I reply in a burst of tears, a resistance to remembering, a resistance to…. Explaining, maybe “ I don’t know!!!!”

Sienna nods seeing the resistance. She lets me have it and doesn’t push me. “ You just feel it, hmm?”

I sob and nod. Bereft.

Sienna says “ and that’s really hard to bear, especially when everyone’s telling you you’re not that way, you’re not dirty.

Do you know that even if you were, everybody would still love you? And even if you were, it’s not your dirt.”

I whisper “ it is mine. It’s mine.”

Sienna said “ No. You know when you feel like that, it’s your sense of self that feels dirty. And you aren’t. And I’m not going to collude with that feeling.

Because there’s nothing you can do to change you can’t do anything to it, you’ve got to decide and get to that point inside yourself that “actually this feeling doesn’t belong to me. I have to give it away I have to reject it.”

I was shaking my head no. Amelia wasn’t ready to give up the dirty feeling because she knows in her heart that it’s her dirt. It is in her, it is on her, it sticks to her like tar. She is made of it. And she couldn’t understand why Sienna would insist otherwise. Can’t she see it????

Sienna continued “ – And let Amelia come out to play. So whoever is holding her back….. so that she’s encased in that belief, needs to come and talk and tell us why they think Amelia should stay hidden.”

And just like that, a new part moved in. Angry. Possibly male. A powerful disembodied voice inside my head telling Amelia to shut up, she’s not real. Anger towards Sienna for challenging Amelia to be anything different. Anger at Sienna for trying to reach Amelia. Rage directed at me. It felt like a demon.

All I can do is listen to it. Amelia listens to it.

I or it, answers Sienna’s question about why Amelia should stay hidden. It’s impossible to tell that another part moved in by my voice, it still sounds like me. “ Cos she’s not real.”

Sienna hesitates and then asks “ Who says she’s not real….. hm?”

Sienna says “ That’s a big judgemental statement for someone to make. It’s very convenient for the others or some of the others to say that she’s not real. She’s as real as everybody else inside.

And I wonder if the others are a bit scared that she holds information that they don’t want anyone else to know?

But maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s just a very distressed little girl. Because she’s been abandoned by all of you.”

I said nothing. I was still experiencing Amelia’s distress and this other parts rage at being challenged by Sienna and a tiny bit of adult who was watching this unfolded and utterly confused.

Sienna asked “ Who’s not letting her out?”

I said “ Me.” I sounded quiet and meek but inside the rageful demonic voice was verbally attacking Sienna over and over, trying to scare her into submission.

Sienna asked “ Who is me?”

No answer.

The part recedes, not willing to say anymore. Amelia had receded too but less so.

I lift my head and begin to feel a bit more in the room.

Sienna detects the shift. “ Are you okay?” She smiles.

I nod.

She says “ Don’t let Amelia think she’s any less important than anybody else. None of the rest have any right to be thinking or doing differently.”

I don’t say anything. I can feel Sienna’s protection over Amelia. Defending her from the parts who want to shut her down.

She asks “ Is it Amelia who likes the cushion?”

I laugh meekly “ I don’t know.”

I add “ She wants a doll.”

I could feel Amelia wanting to desperately hold onto a baby doll.  “ I want a doll, I want a doll.” I saw an image of Amelia hugging tightly one a baby doll for comfort.

Sienna says “ Does she need want one to hug?”

I nodded.

Sienna says “ Maybe Sirena could go shopping and buy her one?

I nodded.

In the last 6 minutes of the session I ask “ Can I come and sit with you now?”

Sienna nods “ hmhm, we have a few minutes left.” And she pats the seat next to her. I scurry over. Into her arms.

Sometimes it feels like hug time is respite for both Sienna and I. A break from the intensity.

Sometimes it feels very much like after a toddler or young child has a major meltdown, has destroyed its surrounding and now all the power has gone out of them, there’s a quiet moment of repatriation and reassurance. Sienna often talks quietly to me, I listen, sometimes I talk a little bit, mostly I just cry and hang on to Sienna like my life depended on it, feeling utterly spent.

Those moments are so important. Those are the moments that make it okay to leave the room and pick up my adult self.

My session ended shortly after and I felt pummelled. War-weary.

As I listened to this recording of my session it strikes me how little I remembered of it. My memory seems to be a strange thing.

I don’t hold memories of that session. But when I listen to a recording, I suddenly remember it happening and what I was feeling – from all the parts. But if I was to pause the recording I literally could not tell you a single thing that happens or is said next. It’s like a big black hole.

What is that? Why does that happen? Clearly I have the memory in there somewhere since I can immediately remember details as I’m listening, but I don’t have access to the memories unless I hear the session, How does that happen?