Hopelessness is an emotion which is characterised by a lack of optimism, passion and hope. It makes us wonder if life is worth living. I understand that there are times when my role, as their therapist, is to hold my clients losses, hurt, fears and despair, shouldering the burden of them for a while, as they work through whatever has left them feeling hopeless. At the core of my work is the belief in the possibility of therapeutic change, which is vital when working with hopelessness. I see myself as a guiding light, as my clients find their way back to the hope that there is a life worth living after all.

To move forwards after our lives have been shattered, and we find ourselves suspended in mid air with no landing in sight, more often than not, demands that we let go of who we thought we were and how we had thought we were going to live our lives. As with all things, hopelessness can come in all shapes and sizes. Our lives can be sucked into the vortex that descends into hopelessness in a single moment. The unexpected death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, the loss of a job, home, country or safety. Or it can be a slow descent into agony as we lose sight of what has in the past made our lives worth living.

Although at the time, hopelessness might feel as if it consumes every cell of our bodies, it is useful to introduce the idea that there is also a part that holds hope. Although hard for clients to remember at the time, the powerful human experiences of hope and hopelessness live side by side. As a therapist I marvel at the human beings ability to switch between the two as I often witness fleeting moments of hope within hopelessness. I am mindful of the how the room can feel devoid of air when someone feels a sense of deep hopelessness, as they battle with no expectation of future improvement. In those moments I remind myself to breathe as, like quick sand, it is easy to follow hopelessness.

One of the things that drew me to training as a Gestalt therapist was the use of creative and experiential techniques as a means to enhance awareness. Gestalt therapy recognises that a change results from what is rather than forcing a person to change. The empty chair technique is a quintessential gestalt therapy exercise. It is important to understand and validate that to be human is to have moments where we get in touch with the ‘hopeless’ part of ourselves. By focussing on the here and now we can explore the feelings of hopelessness, and in addition, allow clients to reconnect with parts of themselves they may deny, ignore or forget exist in moments of distress, in this instance hope.

It would feel remiss to not acknowledge that there are millions of people living in extreme suffering. Death, war, poverty and fear are just some of the things that many face daily and as a result those lives do feel helpless and hopeless. There are then others who have little or no control in their lives as relationships end suddenly, a diagnosis changes the course of a life, an accident, job loss, financial hardship all take their toll. It is with this in mind that I reflect on Viktor Frankl’s ‘A Man’s Search For Meaning’ and his belief that one can remain positive despite tragic circumstances: “Man can preserve a vestige of spiritual freedom, of independence of mind, even in such terrible conditions of psychic and physical stress. We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man, but one thing: the last of human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” (Frankl, 1985, p.86)

The idea that we each have the ability to decide how we should conduct ourselves, no matter what we are living through is vital to remember as we go through dark times. It is easy to forget when we feel that life has happened to us. At the heart of therapy is the ability to engender hope and by staying present in the face of hopelessness, my clients can choose the stance they take towards their suffering. For each of us, when faced with loss of hope, we can take comfort from Frankl who spoke, often, about the concept of the defiant human spirit. How, for as long as there is life, there is hope, and how we have the chance to transform the worst of experiences into honourable achievements.

Frankl, V. (1985). Man’s search for meaning: Revised and updated. New York: Washington Square.

For many, when they think of psychotherapy they think of talking, but sometimes, words seem woefully inadequate. The pain, the shame, the experience, too extreme for it to be simplified or minimised by words.Not speaking and speaking are both human ways of being in the world, but speaking seems to be the more expected. If we take the time to notice, there are many conversations that take place in silence. They are often expressing feelings that are stored deep in the place that words cannot capture. Sadly, for most, silence is uncomfortable and so the silent space is hurriedly filled with words or distractions, and as a result those moments pass unacknowledged. I have come to understand the differing voices of silence as I sit with my clients, and see that it is not always words that draws one person to another, but more the inner bond of our full presence. The words of Elbert Hubbard hovering, as a reminder, when I can find myself wanting to fill the space, as silence howls with all its might; “He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.”

There are many different levels and reasons for silence. John O’Donohue in an excerpt from Eternal Echoes writes; “There are no words for the deepest things. Words become feeble when mystery visits and prayer moves into silence. In post-modern culture the ceaseless din of chatter has killed our acquaintance with silence. Consequently, we are stressed and anxious. Silence is a fascinating presence. Silence is shy; it is patient and never draws attention to itself. Without the presence of silence, no word could ever be said or heard. Our thoughts constantly call up new words. We become so taken with words the we barely notice the silence, but the silence is always there. The best words are born in the fecund silent that minds the mystery.”

I trained originally as a Gestalt therapist, and phenomenological tracking was a part of my training, which was a relief for me as my childhood had taught me to be hyper vigilant, a useful tool for my work as a therapist. I had learnt to listen with my eyes as well as my ears, my senses at all times fully alive and totally present to any given moment. The phenomenological approach encourages us to stay as close to our clients experience as possible by staying in the here and now, and not interpreting behaviour. Research shows that words represent only 7% of how we communicate and unless we see silence as an expression, a conversation all in itself, we will miss all the creative ways that people speak non-verbally. Facial expressions, the tear that is barely visible, the smile that doesn’t match the story each passing in a moment and easily missed. The flicker of an eye, the sharp intake of breath, the subtle stroke of a hand on hand can often unwittingly reveal the motive or even the content of our clients silence, which can be useful to explore.

Some of the most powerful moments I have experienced personally, in my own therapy, and with my clients have been when the silence of what is not being said, but thought, and felt in the moment, permeates the room. I have sat for entire sessions week on week, with a client whose silence protected them from the shame and trauma they had encountered in childhood. It was being able to tolerate, and be totally present to that experience, that eventually allowed my client to say their first word. A moment when, having sacrificed my own desire to know, understand and fix, allowed for their healing journey to continue, as it had begun the months before, but in silence. In each session my deepest desire for my client was that they felt my full, unconditional presence, and in turn, there being no need to say or do anything, but just feel my total commitment to their journey, no matter how long it took.

I have had to learn to manage the need to just say something as I have watched my client crumble, relaying the story of their child having stabbed themselves numerous times. The fireman who spoke of picking up the children’s shoes after the Grenfell Tower fire. The young man who spoke of being a survivor of incest and his wish to die. As a therapist the stories are endless and the moments of pain deep and breathtaking. As I hold space for all the despair that life throws at each of us, I am aware that, there are moments in therapy, where we long to be held and met with compassionate curiosity as we reveal our hidden selves. For some, the deepest expression of their feelings is in the silence as words cannot always be trusted, nor have they been heard or welcomed. It is in the presence of silence, short or long in length, that they can start to emerge from the noise of their past and their truth can appear and confirm the uniqueness of their journey in this life.To be met by someone who can tolerate the uncertainty that silence can bring to those everyday life moments, allows a healing to begin.

It takes some time to move through the belief that we are not doing our job if no one is talking. The Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said, “Silence is a source of great strength” and I believe that to be true for both clients and myself as a therapist. I witness silence as being the vehicle that takes my clients to the innermost centre of their being. From that far off place, they engage with their thoughts, and even the words they may or may not choose to use. The silence may be fleeting or long, but in those moments, I know I need to get myself out of my own way, and be courageous enough to trust that I need not do anything. In that place of meeting, I am more open to learning about my client whether words are being spoken or not. More importantly, in those silent moments as my client enters their interior life, they can experience what happens for them when they reflect, with their full attention, on a particular topic or memory and feel affirmed, seen and safe as they share their inner world with me knowing that I will notice, whether there are words or not. Emerging from the silence, there are times I witness hearts start to unfurl and reach outwards into the world again after, what can feel like years, of suspended pain, and my heart sings, silently. I say silence can be more eloquent than words.

Whether working in individual, couples or group therapy I see no two persons as the same. Research shows that neither the minds nor the bodies of two people work in exactly the same way and that we all learn differently. Over the years, I have learnt to be flexible enough to form a different relationship with each of my clients, no matter what they bring. Since no two brains function identically, we as therapists are called to be curious about the sensory strengths of our clients and in doing that, explore being creative. Creative experiences within the therapeutic relationship can enable authentic self expression for those clients who show creative qualities and help form a link between our deep internal world and the revelations of our outer experience.

The healing effect of words has long been recognized and creativity, within my practice, allows for words to be expressed in many different forms. I have had a lifelong love of poetry, and its powerful, healing qualities have been well documented. As a child, I used to write poetry as a way of expressing emotions that otherwise felt too hard to verbally acknowledge or felt too threatening to do in a direct way. With no one to talk to, I could visit my poems and connect with a part of my being that no one saw and that, in itself, felt like a lifeline as I struggled to hold on to myself.

As I have grown and changed as a therapist, poetry has been a constant companion for me. As both reading and writing poetry engage our senses along with our emotions, doors to our inner worlds can be opened, thus allowing for the exploration of a landscape that has previously been hidden. In therapy, we can read a poem and it can feel as if it is speaking directly to, or, about us. As a result, it can stop us feeling alone with our secrets, and any shame lifts, as we connect to another human through their creative expression, that magically says what we have longed to share. Aberjhani in his book – Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems and Essays, states :“Poetry empowers the simplest of lives to confront the most extreme sorrows with courage, and motivates the mightiest of offices to humbly heed lessons in compassion.”

Clients of mine have found that, with the freedom of writing poetry, memories have been unlocked and reading them to me has been incredibly powerful. They use their writing as a way of restoring the lost freshness of their words and giving their stories, both past and present, a new form. It gives me a touchstone from which to discuss and relate to their memories in a language that has come from a place deep within them. I have a catalogue of poems, each preciously stored away, with some yet to be used.They are lying in wait for, the moment where their poignancy will be entirely relevant, and carry my client to distant places on the wings of words so generously written and shared by others. In the meantime I gift you this one.

The Lightest Touch

Good poetry begins with
the lightest touch,
a breeze arriving from nowhere,
a whispered healing arrival,
a word in your ear,
a settling into things,
then, like a hand in the dark,
it arrests the whole body,
steeling you for revelation.
In the silence that follows
a great line,
you can feel Lazarus,
deep inside
even the laziest, most deathly afraid
part of you,
lift up his hands and walk toward the light.

David Whyte

Historians will be writing about this strange period of time for the rest of the 21st century. Many of us will emerge changed as this pandemic proves to be much more than a health crisis, more, it is a human, economic and social crisis. Our lives have shrunk beyond recognition as we have been asked to follow social distancing guidelines and self isolate to curb the spread of the coronavirus, leaving home only for essential reasons. As the media and politicians bombarded us with ‘Stay home, protect the NHS, save lives’, few of us seemed question what was being asked of us. The shocking numbers of people becoming infected with the virus, along with those dying, forced us inside, terrified that one of our loved ones, or indeed ourselves, would be amongst them. For most, home became a safe refuge with the outside becoming the place of risk. 

One of the feelings millions of us are experiencing as a result is loneliness. Although sticking to the advice is essential in the current crisis, staying at home with limited human contact is proving to have a significant impact on our mental wellbeing and in particular, feelings of loneliness. ONS statistics show that loneliness in the UK is a growing epidemic with 2.4 million adults in the UK feeling lonely. It is not only older people who are affected. People of all ages experience loneliness and research shows that loneliness actually peaks in adolescence with young adults experiencing loneliness just as severely as older populations. In 2019 ONS statistics showed that in Britain there are 8.2 million people who live alone and 2.9 million lone parent families. Today, single person households make up almost a third of the population. Loneliness comes in many forms, with loneliness being found throughout society, including among people in marriages along with other strong relationships.We know that being socially isolated leads to loneliness, but so does being in relationships that are not emotionally rewarding.

For many, admitting to loneliness conjures up all sorts of shameful images that people don’t want to be associated with and yet it is a human state. We all have periods of time of loneliness, that deep feeling of loss, and this pandemic, has perhaps, asked us all to face our loneliness in ways that are deeply uncomfortable. The dictionary definition of loneliness; ‘sadness because one has no friends or company,’ does nothing to normalise the ordinary human reaction to feel lonely sometimes and feeds a toxic and damaging shame around it. As humans we are born into families, communities and society. From our very first moments, we seek connection and as a result, we experience isolation as a physical state of emergency.

Self isolation stops us from engaging with the normalcy of day to day life. Human connection is vital to our sense of well being and many of the things that we have so taken for granted that have given us a sense of connection are no longer possible. For those living alone, going to the shops,  eating out and going to the gym, meeting friends, going to work are all ways we can feel that we are part of something. That we, our existence, matters. Someone to touch us in a caring, non sexual way, someone who is physically present to comfort us at the end of a challenging day are all ways we receive comfort and an escape from haunting loneliness. For those living with friends and/or family there is the shame that comes with feeling lonely despite being physically present with those that love us.

The poet Jalaluddin Rumi wrote a wonderful poem about acceptance of all our feelings; ‘The Guest House’. It is a poignant reminder not to resist the thoughts and emotions that naturally pass through us every day, but to meet them with respect, curiosity and courage.

 “This being human is a guest house.

 Every morning a new arrival. 

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

 some momentary awareness comes 

as an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and attend them all! 

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house

 empty of all furniture,

 still, treat each honourably. 

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

 The dark thought, the shame, the malice, 

meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. 

Be grateful for whoever comes, 

because each has been sent

 as a guide from beyond.”

If we can see loneliness as one of the familiar guests that shows up from time to time. If we can have it keep us company for a while before it eventually goes on its way, we will, with no doubt,  have much to learn from it, no matter how unwelcome it might feel. The blessing we give ourselves and others by doing this is that we can be on hand with kindness and compassion to others who are courageous enough to admit to being lonely. And in time, the word lonely will no longer be shameful, but a word associated with the depth of relationships we are able to have as a result of the revelation of the vulnerabilities of being human.