Well! From the end of one relationship to the end of another in two days. I last wrote about the demise of Monica (and this morning found even more evidence of how hard she had fought off her attacker) and yesterday another relationship came to its natural conclusion.
Me and Helen have worked with each other for almost a year: I was referred to her for Cognitive Behaviour Therapy by one of her colleagues, Becky , who had put me back together again after I had done a Humpty Dumpty impersonation. I wasn't sure what to make of Helen at first. A small woman, blond hair and with a very 'proper' air about her but I did catch the occasional glimpse of rebelliousness about her.
I had known yesterday was to be our last appointment and was therefore prepared for the loss; seeing someone every week for almost a year and sharing with them the most awful secrets, fears, joys, little triumphs and major setbacks is a very odd experience if you have been 'taught' to be self reliant in all things. Add to that lesson the confirmation that to suffer is God's way of making the next world more glorious and top it off with a generous dressing of unworthiness and you have the perfect recipe for a hooman bean riven with terror. Oh! And it helps if you were born saying 'sorry' too. This condition is also known as 'trainee perfectionism' where you strive to overcome all the ills of your world by consuming the full dish of responsibility for everything that goes wrong which, naturally, leads to others not accepting their portion.
There were times when I left Helen's office physically exhausted; other times when I was so drained mentally I could not function in any way for the rest of the day. At first I didn't understand that I was 'working' with her: my simple view was that she was being paid to listen to me wittering on about my Dickensian childhood but of course that was not the plan at all. Helen's role was to walk me through events; to see them from a different perspective; to view the participants from other angles, including and especially me. Our sessions were not a series of light-bulb-lighting moments of recognition; often the sense or understanding of something puzzling did not come to light in my psyche until several days, or nights, after the unravelling. Then I would find myself Tigger-like wanting to tell Helen what I now understood from something that occurred 50 years ago.
I tried to encapsulate with her what I thought our relationship had achieved : She agreed with my suggestion that, had we met socially, we would have probably ended up friends because we each recognised the off-the-wallness of each other. It had been easier to do that with Becky: I had been broken and she had pieced me together again. What was put together, however, I couldn't yet approve of. I was still very fragile when I met Helen and it wasn't too long before we both realised that there was too much 'stuff' to be dealt with to use only one form of therapy. Not least because of my absolute inability to relax!!! We agreed that our joint task was to help me manage the crap and it residual behaviours. Our work has helped me realise that it is actually quite okay to be a mad old bat; that I am who I am because of my past (and indeed my present). I am neither inferior nor worthless. Those lessons taught to me by my mother, the Roman Catholic church, my stepmother and other vermin were NOT an acceptable curriculum for an innocent child and what's more, I did NOT invite them!! Wow!!! Only someone who has walked a similar road will understand just how absolutely massive that realisation is.
As I approach my sixth decade (something I genuinely believed I would never see) I know I am the most fortunate of women. It is true that I have complex and serious health problems; the concept of my demise is never too far away from my consciousness (I'm hoping for an actual answer from the imminent CT scan - at last) but now I forsee my demise as a natural progression of my life. My future, financially, is bleak and I am being divorced by the Estranged One because he was care-less. I am utterly blessed with my little family; I am blessed with genuine friends (AND some of them are women!!!) across the age range. I have friendships with people through cyberspace that I am unlikely ever to meet but with whom I have a definite and real connection. I have my family of animals to sustain me and I am content to be alone. I no longer have to prove I am worthy of someone's affection; I no longer need to justify my very existence. It's perfectly alright for me to have a house full of animals including a chicken who wants to inspect the food on the table. In other words, I am what I am and I am ME!
Helen had made it clear, during one of our sessions, that I was not to provide her with a gift so, being a literal bean (and likely to be on the spectrum if ever diagnosed) I didn't. But that didn't stop Monica, posthumously, getting me to wrap, individually, 6 of her eggs in paper patterned with red stars and presented in a red silken pouch. (For those familiar with Chinese lore - red is of course the colour of wealth.) Helen, in her response, illustrated again how well she had gotten to know me: she said that the gift was all the more precious because of Monica's departure and that she, and her family, would share a celebratory omlette at the weekend to remember her. That's my kinda girl!!!
Beloved Son and Heir is hoping to come Ooop North to visit at the weekend and has asked me to save the remainder of Monica's eggs (this fantastic chicken who laid ALL the way through winter including Christmas Day) so that we can have a family omlette together to say goodbye. I have one unhappy task to perform: my darling grandchildren will be devastated to learn that Monica has gone and I have asked if Granny Bea in Charge of Magic can tell them in her own way and my son has agreed. I shall tell them the truth but in my special Granny Bea way.
So another goodbye but one that sees me with a happy, if slightly dented, soul looking forward to the next adventure...
Keep safe, warm and dry
Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx
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