As a therapist, I incorporate and harmonise theories and interventions from a wide range of approaches that I have come across over the years. I do not believe in limiting myself to options that are fixed in a single approach as I work with a diverse group of clients and that requires me to be able to find ways of working with them on mutually acceptable terms. I believe that group and individual therapy can work well together, depending on what a client is coming to therapy for. Across time and culture, both ritual and group work have been used in many different ways as a means of accessing and containing emotions evoked by any number of experiences. I have developed both as part of my therapy practice. I have always been fascinated by rituals and see their use as helpful in therapy when clients are searching for ways of expressing thoughts or experiences that are beyond words. In addition, I am a believer in the power of group work as a way of facilitating healing and transformation in the broken moments of our lives – as well as a way of celebrating milestones and successes. As a result, I have worked with clients using both ritual and group work as a way of recognising important stages and events in their life. Rights of passage, the expressing of emotions, sharing meaningful stories and events, marking moments and experiences all held in a safe container, with a sacred presence that includes more than just client and therapist. 

I have facilitated many groups of different sizes and shapes. Group work, although daunting for many, can be immensely powerful. When we come together to tell our story and are witnessed by others, it can be profoundly cathartic and moving for all. Holding and participating in a group can act as a balm for the pain of life and be an important catalyst for the healing process. As talking therapy has many advantages and gifts, so does creating rituals. Clients speak of hearing my voice in moments outside of therapy which allows them to make different choices, receive an element of comfort and just know that although not physically present I am out there in the world rooting for them. In the same way, as a client might remember something I have said, creating a ritual contains many elements that can be reverted back to as touchstones during difficult moments or moments that hold unforgettable memories. Photographs, music, certain smells, memory boxes, places, objects and ornaments, books, clothing, jewellery are but just a few of the things that can be used in creating a ritual.

I see the creation of ritual as important as the ritual itself. It requires much thought as to its purpose and how it can be implemented. It allows the creative juices to flow as anything is possible. I see it as both exciting and faintly terrifying when asked to help create a ritual, especially those around grief and loss as I know that there will be moments where I touch my own grief. My desire to stand with my client whose lives are shaken by life stories that seem impossible to bear inspire me to move beyond my fear and take the strength and solace offered by bearing witness to the rich experience of being human.  

A while ago, I was deeply touched by the gift of trust instilled in me when a client I had been working with asked me to help create a Grief Circle to mark the death of her baby son. We had worked together on and off over a period of years, and part of her work had been around the several failed IVF attempts and miscarriages she had had.  On her fourth round of IVF, her ‘final attempt to get pregnant’, to her absolute delight, she became pregnant. As her stomach grew so did her excitement until her 20-week scan where she was told that her son had severe brain abnormalities and he almost certainly would not survive the pregnancy or if he did, he would die very soon after he was born. Her joy turned to disbelief, shock and grief as she tried to come to terms with all that the news involved. We worked closely together to prepare her for his birth and imminent death, to make things bearable. This included some small rituals such as her crocheting him a special blanket to be wrapped in as soon as he was born and writing him a letter. Her son, Noah was stillborn a month later when she was six months pregnant. 

We devoted a great deal of time in considering what the Grief Circle could look like and how she might make sense of her loss, whilst at the same time honour the memory of the son she had loved so much. What we created together was not only able to hold the beauty of the event, but the excruciating pain that was deeply moving and profound. The event was filled with all sorts of rituals that were relevant and poignant to the loss of her son. 

On hearing that I was writing a book, my client voiced that she would be “very honoured for others to learn from my experience” and so I share below some of what she wrote to me after we had created the Grief Circle and her experience of it. What we see if that a little like the ripples formed in the water when we throw a single stone in it.  – the ripples of ritual continued for a long while after the Grief Circle and as seeds are sown, we reap the beauty of new life whilst holding the loss of those who have gone before us.

“The Grief Circle you arranged for me was important in a way I think I won’t ever fully know. The impulse for it, the ritual of it, the impulse for it – every moment of it was beautiful in such a radical and full and deep way. It resonated with the deep grief within me and I felt a connection to the women in that circle in such a perfect and human and bereft and womanly way. It was wonderful that it so happened that the circle consisted of women who had never had children, women who had had young children, a woman who was pregnant, a woman who had struggled with fertility in the past, women who had both children and grandchildren and a woman who herself had lost a baby many years before. So we covered almost every state of motherhood. It was wonderful too that we held it just a couple of weeks after Noah was stillborn as I was so raw and open and in need of it.

I genuinely feel that those moments and the honouring of Noah together were among the most beautiful moments of my life. I felt so proud to be able to honour him, his life, his presence in the world, the potential that was gone; I also felt proud to honour the pain of the grief that is so specific to the death of a child and my touching of motherhood in such a painful way. I felt with these women the universality of motherhood and grief. I loved how we sat and listened so fiercely to the beautiful Bob Dylan, Forever Young’ (Slow Version) for him; I loved how each woman was asked to bring a poem or letter or the words of a song to read especially for Noah. I loved how you structured the time we had. I felt vulnerable and broken open but totally safe and held. I know that the fact that my own darling Mum was not alive to be there with me added to my bereftness and I felt I needed the Grief Circle to have other wise women sit with me and my grief.

You did something so very, very beautiful for me. So healing, so perfect. I wish I could put into words the enormity of it for my life and for Noah. We cried together and sang together in a way that felt tribal, primal, honouring and transformative.

Because of that Grief Circle, I did a number of other things that were ritualistic because I had known its power.  And I was able to share some elements of ritual with some of those closest to me. My husband and I had a beautiful funeral for Noah, led by an incredible celebrant. (we couldn’t have a funeral until many weeks after Noah was stillborn as we had to wait for the autopsy to be done.) it was just the three of us; she wrote a beautiful service which involved us listening to a couple of pieces of music, reading poems and drawing on some ancient rituals from different traditions. One of these was bringing oil and water as symbols. That morning, I watched my dear husband gather water from a small river near us into a lovely glass bottle, and I saw how he drew that water with such love. It had meaning for him that he could do something ritualistic, without really knowing it. The three of us stood by his tiny white coffin with the various symbols we had brought (a tiny teddy, a small statue of a mother and child given to me by a friend, some wool from the important crocheted blanket we had wrapped Noah in when he was born, the oil, the water) and spoke beautiful words. 

Some time later, we scattered Noah’s ashes at dawn at the foot of a beautiful tree on the top of an ancient and very spiritual hill. I can still feel the importance of feeling his ashes in my hands and touching the ground and the base of the tree and asking it to look after my beautiful Noah.

I then had what was almost like a Grief Circle with some close girlfriends who also had young children, who would have been Noah’s friends. I invited them to a special picnic to honour him, which was held by the tree where his ashes were scattered. It was a sunny afternoon, and we sat together, chatted, ate food as the children played. We then stood in a circle and I read Kahil Gibran’s ‘On Death’. We all cried. I had asked them all the bring headphones to listen to the piece of music we had played at the Grief Circle. Each of them walked on their own listening to the music whilst I looked after the children. I then asked each of them to write a note to Noah from them or their children for me to add to my memory box. It was incredibly special, and each said that they found it incredibly touching to be a part of.

One other ritualistic thing my husband and I did recently (as you know) was to send a card to family and friends, the women who were in the Grief Circle, and the nurses and doctors at the hospital which includes a seed packet that I had designed. This was so that Noah’s memory, wildflower seeds could be sown in places that need some flowers. I am also planning to do a small printed book for Noah called “Things You Have Known,” and in it, I will note down things Noah knew in his short life how we honoured him and how meaningful his presence has been in our lives. Babies in the womb can hear lots of sounds, and I had made sure he had heard Jane Austen, Mozart and Shakespeare, so I will include those references! And the beautiful poems and words brought by the women from the Grief Circle will be so important in this book. 

Of course, giving birth was a kind of ritual. Giving birth to a dead baby is not something I would have thought I’d ever be able to endure. But your help preparing for that possibility, meeting it as a ritual, was amazing: I was able to feel the experience fully and holding my very own baby in my arms is a moment I wouldn’t exchange for anything in the world.

In this past year, through doing these rituals, I feel I have been able to face the grief and the beauty and have been able to heal and share and feel held and strong. A dear friend recently described the amount of love we have as mothers as so strong that it was “impossible ….. unknowable”. That seemed to me to describe it perfectly. And even though I only touched motherhood so fleetingly, I felt – and continue to – feel this deep love and, through the Grief Circle so soon after Noah’s birth and the resulting rituals, I was able to express this love to my son as a mother. I had space to do so, permission to do so; my love could have a voice.

Overwhelmingly, I feel I have so much gratitude for having had the experience of having Noah. And for all the ways you helped me to heal through ritual, in particular the Grief Circle, I am so grateful to you.”

Over the years, I have been privy to many heartbreaking, breathtaking and inspiring stories shared with me by my clients. Whether sitting in a group or doing one to one therapy, I am often reminded that as much as we presume that others are not sharing a similar experience of life there is a part of each of us contained in every story I hear. Time and time again, I see, whether it be in individual therapy or sitting in a circle, how we are offered the opportunity to face our own unresolved issues. It requires courage and trust to be willing to fall into the abyss of our unshared stories and yet when caught by those around us; we can lie still in the embrace of love, validation and respect which allows us to rise no longer needing to hide the dark side of our humanness. Using ritual to mark these moments offers us something tangible to hold on to as a way of integrating the experience into our lives ……… just as we did for Noah. 

Somewhere deep inside, most often pushed away out of sight and mind, each of us knows that one day we will die. Most of us go about our day to day lives doing our best to ‘live’ and then in a moment, often when we are unprepared, fate opens a gate that allows the unthinkable to happen. To be given the news, or confirmation of fears, that one is dying is a direct blow to one’s sense of self as not only do we need to face the truth that we will no longer be, but we need to accept that we will be leaving behind all that we cherish. In my work, I have held space for many clients who have received a terminal diagnosis. Some I have an established therapeutic relationship with and others reach out as a result of the moment they were faced with the harsh reality of their mortality. There is often much uncertainty as the pattern of decline towards death varies from person to person and the timing of each death always a mystery. My deep desire is to support my client, with equanimity, as they find their way through the maze of a terminal illness diagnosis to a dignified and peaceful death. 

The work of Psychotherapist and Soul Midwife fit together perfectly as both encourage not only deep conversations but also the challenge of living life fully, until the end.  Just as a birth midwife supports a woman through the stages before a baby enters into the world, so a Soul Midwife supports people through the end-of-life stages before they leave their physical body. Most of us hope that when the time comes, we will die at home with our symptoms controlled enveloped by our loved ones. But not many of us achieve this. With dying clients, I adapt my boundaries so that I can support them on their journey, whether that be at home, a hospital or hospice. “Those who have the strength and the love to sit with a dying patient in the silence that goes beyond words will know that this moment is neither frightening, nor painful, but a peaceful cessation of the functioning of the body.” Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.

Although my work as a Soul Midwife is similar to that of Psychotherapist, there are differences. One of the first things that I do when a client talks to me about their terminal diagnosis is to establish what sort of support they need from me, which will determine how the roles merge or not. Although some consider a sudden death to be easier to deal with, it denies them and the survivors a chance to say goodbye. Anticipating death can enable a dying person to consider their options. In addition, there is the freedom for family and friends to arrange their priorities so that valuable time can be spent enabling the person who is ill to make the most of their final days. With death being one of the most critical moments in our life, there is the opportunity to treat it as such with reverence, honesty and courage. One of the starting points is to acknowledge the diverse emotions that inevitably emerge whilst coming to terms, or not, with the idea of dying.

Some diseases are known to be terminal from the time of diagnosis, whereas others may not necessarily be terminal at the first onset. I have had clients who have lived for several years with a terminal diagnosis and others for whom death came a matter of weeks from the initial consultation. Most of us struggle when things feel out of our control and dying challenges us to soften into the mystery of what will come next. Many go through Kubler Ross’s (1969) five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, and for some, the journey to acceptance is more manageable than for others. Each of us is our own expert as to what we can cope with and, because of that, I see my role to walk alongside my client, to guide them, educate them and trust them in every step they take towards their death – in their time and way.

Working with death has been one of my ultimate counter-transference challenges, and at times, I have relied heavily on supervision when I have felt as if the stitches holding closed an old wound have come undone. Thankfully, I have been encouraged and understood in ways that have strengthened my trust in myself to feel deeply and work effectively. As a result, I can draw on my own internal supervisor, therapist and mother to calm and guide me when facing not only my client’s mortality but also in the moments when I am being reminded of that of my loved ones and my own. The more I have explored my own history around death I have found the ability to be more open and honest with my clients who have touched my sensitivities with their fears, regrets, sadness and the unfinished business of living – thus enabling me to provide the much needed and meaningful support to them in their final days of life.  

There are a multitude of different reactions as clients come to terms with their life ending earlier than they had imagined. For some, they want to talk about and understand every detail. For others, they simply do not wish to know. Clients speak of the challenges they face in accepting their diagnosis and the fear at the thought of uttering the words to their loved ones. These moments can feel isolating and overwhelming, and therapy is a place where clients can share their truth without feeling the need to edit or adapt for me. It is inevitable that well established relationship patterns will influence how many of the important issues are addressed along with the various challenges faced by family and friends. It is not uncommon for clients to work on estranged or broken relationships in the hope that there can be some healing in the midst of their dying. It is essential for everyone involved to be cognisant that the environment within which they are operating is one of sadness and grief at the impending loss, but that does not mean that peace and solace cannot be reached for all involved.

Helping to facilitate a good death that enables growth and breakthroughs throughout the dying process and beyond, requires the sick person, their loved ones and their medical advisors to have the courage to have honest, transparent conversations in fiercely difficult moments. Gaining clarity as to what services are available is critical in offering additional peace of mind along with the experience of receiving and feeling support. Depending on what is required, these can range from financial aid, support groups, online forums and sites to a palliative care team who provide end of life care for those living with a life limiting illness. I often assist my client in setting out their wishes for the final days in a death plan, which includes what sort of funeral they would like, how and where they want to spend their ending days along with anything else that gives them a sense of closure before passing on.

As death is a process that involves mind, body and spirit, there are additions to talking therapy that can soften the final weeks, days and hours. Some clients have places they would like to see and things they would like to do. One last walk on a beach, to visit a church, gallery, restaurant or garden. If physically able these moments create tender memories that can soothe clients as they become less able to leave their bed. As time draws near, breathing techniques, along with a mixture of music, singing, singing bowls, poetry and toning can help ease anxiety and pain. Windows can be covered with coloured fabrics of choice that can offer soft light and a soothing environment. Favourite smells, white sage, juniper, sandalwood along with frankincense and myrrh can be used to still the mind and fill the air. If open to physical touch, massage is a beautiful reminder that they are not alone. Soothing touch in all different forms using essential oils, or not. A favourite of mine is to put a clients foot on my heart and gently sit there either with music, singing, toning or simple silence. Allowing the calmness of my soul to merge with theirs offering companionship in a very sacred moment.

Having witnessed clients at all stages of the dying process, I offer them my full presence by remaining open to the mystery of what is happening for them and between us. I am conscious that for most I am not part of their inner circle, but for a few, I am their only comfort. As a result, I tread respectfully and mindfully through the dying process offering my assistance as, how and when needed, without wanting to intrude. Whether clients have viewed death as an uninvited stranger or a welcome guest there comes a moment when death comes beckoning. Whether I am there or not I hold the hope that with their last breath they know that they are loved and that that love remains their companion, along with tranquility and trust, as they take their leave.

Kubler-Ross, E. (1969) On death and dying. New York: Macmillan.

Therapy is one of the few relationships that we enter into acknowledging that a time will come when it will end, and yet, so often neither therapist nor client is prepared for the powerful feelings that can emerge when faced with the actual ending. Attachment and separation are intertwined, thus by becoming attached in the therapeutic relationship, we have to accept that there will be a separation. Our ability to attach and detach will have a significant bearing on or our reaction to loss and, as a result, each of us will view the end of the therapeutic relationship differently. Bearing this in mind, I am always mindful of my client’s predominant attachment style when addressing the issue of the ending as the process leading up to the final session, for some, can be an anxiety-provoking and painful time.

At the start of my career, I would sometimes take my clients abrupt, unannounced ending personally, and when they left therapy unexpectedly would wonder what had happened. I would somehow make it personal and wonder what I could have done differently or better, sometimes feeling abandoned and unappreciated, triggered back to old beliefs of not being ‘good enough’. Today, I am aware that for the most part, clients find many different ways to avoid the pain and anxiety engendered by an ending that often has little, or nothing, to do with me. I also remind myself that just because a client disappears, it doesn’t mean that they didn’t get what they needed. For some, it might well be as simple as they got what they came for and have decided they no longer need further sessions, or to say goodbye. Above all, whatever the reason my clients have the right to choose when and how they end therapy, and for me, supervision is a place that I can take any unfinished business.

For the clients that imagine that as they leave the door for the final time, so does my memory of them, they are mistaken. So often, my work touches or re-opens my own wounds, and this has undoubtedly been the case around endings. Ending therapy is a real loss, not only for the client but for the therapist as well. The client-therapist relationship is often a profound and intimate journey that asks questions that can reshape identities and ways of being in the world for both. Although my own relationship to endings has changed over the years, I am still aware of my fragility around them. As my clients have learnt to tolerate endings and realise that they are not always as a result of something negative happening, so have I and for that, I am grateful. As as a result, I am better at what I do and trust what waits on the other side of the goodbye.

For those who want to experience a therapeutic ending, I see part of my role to not only support them in leaving therapy well but to guide them as they learn about themselves in the process. I am mindful not to collude with my clients whose emotions are triggered at the prospect of an ending. I make sure that we have plenty of time to work through what emerges to facilitate a valuable ending. For some clients fully completing the therapeutic journey can be the most enlightening and healing part of their whole therapy experience as they get to experience an end in a completely different way.

As the therapist-client relationship assumes some of the characteristics of a secure base, understandably, the ending of this relationship can trigger all sorts of unresolved past issues. For many, endings are associated with unfinished business, un-grieved losses, abandonment and a broken heart. Most of us revert to patterns of automatic response which have developed as creative adjustments for dealing with our feelings about loss or endings, and these are worth exploring. As we live in a constantly changing environment, we need to be mindful that our ways of behaving might have served us in the past or still serve us, in some cases, in the present, but can sometimes be misplaced. If our creative adjustments have become fixed around endings, they will stop us from responding to different situations accordingly. As a result, for some clients, their response to the prospect of therapy ending is no different to how they feel when faced with the sudden unexpected end of an intimate relationship. With the actual endings being different, the invitation is to explore the difference.

The client’s history and perspective, along with the length and depth of therapy all play a role in how facing the inevitable loss of the therapeutic relationship, will be experienced. Feelings of achievement and pride can often be overshadowed by feelings of fear, abandonment, grief, loss and anger as the reality of an approaching ending sinks in. Being willing to let go of a relationship that can stand alongside us as we touch the epicentre of our pain without being overwhelmed tests our trust in ourselves. The prospect of being fully responsible for what is precious inside us by leaving our therapist, who has become an ‘attachment figure’ requires us to commit to becoming that for ourselves. The need, sometimes, is to keep returning until we work through the fear and sense of abandonment reminiscent to past events and then, and only then, do we feel ready to ‘leave home.’

For those who feel cheerful and ready for the ending, these precious final sessions afford the opportunity to recognise our internal voice that feels joy-filled, proud, relief, complete or a mixture of them all. We can use the time to reminisce, reflect on our journey, seal and contain what has been achieved in therapy – express gratitude for the experience. However, the clients feel about the ending allowing them to acknowledge and feel their feelings is a vital part of the process. By exploring these feelings, therapy can be therapeutic up to the very end.

As my client stands to leave, I hold both the joy and sadness as our relationship as we have known it comes to an end. I marvel at their courage. I take pride in the relationship that has allowed my client to share parts of themselves that are hidden to the rest of the world. As my client ventures out into the world, I take pleasure in the knowledge that they have experiences and memories of valuable conversations that will provide nourishment to themselves, their loving relationships, friends and family. The extraordinary privilege replaces any tinge of sadness.

It is not uncommon for me to ask a client where they feel they belong and for them to consider quietly and, after a while, answer ‘nowhere.’ Belongingness is a basic human need, that along with the need to form attachments is universal among human beings across all cultures. Humans have an inherent need to be part of something outside of themselves and to develop and maintain at least a minimal amount of stable, positive and important interpersonal relationships. This can be with family, carers, friends, co-workers, community organisations or a team of some sort where they feel an accepted and appreciated member of a group.

Some of us have an innate sense of belonging that often comes from growing up feeling an esteemed and much loved member of a family which subsequently fostered the ability to enjoy secure attachments. For others, who struggle with the concept of belongingness, it is often as a result of not having experienced frequent positive interactions within a framework of long term care. Without feeling consistent attentiveness and security it is a challenge to feel ‘rooted’ anywhere and thus hard to experience belongingness.

The deep primal longing to belong is etched into our unconscious minds as we all need to give and receive attention – to love and feel loved. As belongingness is a fundamental human motivation, without it, we are vulnerable to feelings of loneliness, social anxiety and clinical depression. We can see just how strong the driver to belong is when we think of children who will do almost anything to feel loved or to belong as they remain loyal to abusive parents or abusers in general. Much of what human beings do is done in the service of belongingness and can continue long into adulthood sometimes overriding the physiological and security needs; such is the driver to satisfy the need.

W. Somerset Maugham speaks eloquently on behalf of those of us who have struggled with the idea of belonging:

‘It can seem as if everyone else belonged somewhere and to someone – I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known.’

I see Maslow’s hierarchy of needs rather like the roots of a tree. Each one is slowly tunnelling its way down into our subconscious and from there our beliefs and ways of being emerge. In Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, belongingness is part of one of his significant needs that drives human behaviour. The ranking is usually portrayed as a pyramid with more basic needs at the root, such as food, water, warmth and rest. The more complex needs near the peak, such as esteem needs and self-actualisation. The need for love and belonging is interpersonal and sits at the centre of the pyramid as part of the psychological needs. While Maslow suggested that the psychological needs are less important than the physiological and safety needs, he believed that the need for belonging helped people to search for companionship and acceptance through family, friends and other relationships.

The drive for belonging never goes away and is present at all stages of our lifespan. The fact that belongingness is a need means that we must establish and maintain a minimum quantity of lasting relationships which is difficult if you move around a lot. Being bought up in an orphanage, foster homes or fleeing a war torn country as a refugee, leaving family behind, challenges our sense of belonging. For others who although living with, did not feel part of their birth family, searching for and finding a sense of belonging is difficult in a different way. With parents who moved around a lot, clients of mine speak of the difficulties of entering new schools when friendships groups had already been established. Each time hoping to find a group to belong to, but soon being uprooted to start the journey all over.

For some of my clients who were sent away to boarding school at a young age, they felt their sense of belonging fade away replaced by the need for survival. Young clients speak of their craving for acceptance and want to belong to a peer group. As a result, they talk of having found themselves participating in sexual acts, breaking the law and abandoning their core values to satiate their craving. For each of us, our experience is different, but what threads us together is the feeling of being an outsider in a world where others appear to belong.

In therapy, one of the first things we address is the fallacy that we can make a home for ourselves outside ourselves without first establishing a deep rooted sense of home and belonging within ourselves. By recognising how some of us can perpetuate the feeling of not belonging by always projecting home and a sense of belonging onto others, we can start to understand how we do not always serve ourselves in our need to belong. The poet David Whyte states ‘to feel as if you belong is one of the great triumphs of human existence.’

It takes a lot of courage to be ourselves, to own our vulnerabilities and our feelings of isolation. Our work is to make ourselves visible in the world despite its apparent unrelenting need to change us. If we don’t abandon ourselves to belong and first turn our attention inwards, we find a place of belonging that no one can take away from us. It is only through being true to who we are, that we can make connections based on profound honesty, thus enabling a deep, rooted sense of connection and authenticity with those we meet. As we allow ourselves to be healthily rooted in who we are, and only then, are we able to rejoice in the true meaning of belongingness as – everything and everyone is waiting for us.

We know relatively little about what really makes a long term relationship work. If we think about the institution of marriage, for longer than not, they were arranged for social economic and political reasons, not for love. With the divorce rate being as it is we can but assume that many enter into marriage with unrealistic expectations and then find themselves confronting issues that seem insurmountable with the option of walking away seemingly the only one. Most of the couples I work with are in emotionally committed relationships whether that includes marriage or not. Many arrive at my door in a state of confusion and despair as the relationship they had imagined they were entering into is no longer bringing them the security, joy and comfort they had initially savoured.

I see myself as a therapist standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before me as well as those inspirational mentors and teachers I have met along the way. I owe much to those whose language, way of being and working fits with mine and from whom I can take forward in my work their presence and the gifts of their wisdom. Hedy Schleifer is one of those inspirational teachers for me. Witnessing her working, I am reminded that although structure and models are useful, they are not always appropriate in the moment. Instead, what is needed is the ability to be creative and spontaneous, moving beyond diagnosis and problems to teach couples what it means to really be alive and living in connection with each other rather than just coping and surviving.

Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher when speaking of relationships, said, “Our relationship lives in the space between us – it doesn’t live in me or in you or even in the dialogue between the two of us – it lives in the space we live together, and that space is sacred space.” Having worked with many couples, one of the guiding principles I take with me from witnessing Hedy work and teach is the importance of treating the space that resides between couples as sacred. By the time couples come to therapy, one thing we can almost guarantee is that at least one of them, but probably both, have neglected to treat the space between them that way. Instead, it is filled with many of the toxic qualities that disconnect and distance them rather than keeping them deeply connected. A starting point for change is for the couple to recognise that it is the responsibility of the both of them to take care of their relational space. By acknowledging how important it is to value deeply and treat accordingly the space their relationship lives in, they can start the journey back towards a loving and conscious connection.

Many times couples come with the focus being visiting the wounds of the relationship. Although this is a necessary part of the work we do together, I have learnt that by only focussing on those issues, clients don’t have anything positive to work towards. Because energy follows what we focus on we need to focus on our hopes and dreams, not only our problems and disappointments. With this in mind, one of the first building blocks we work on, is for them to create the vision they aspire to for their relationship, thus fuelling hope and potential. This enables them to visit the pain and hurt that they have caused each other, knowing that they are working towards the shared dreams and aspirations they hold for their relationship as well. As with all therapy, it is not for me to force anyone to be open, honest or to share their deeper selves, but in the knowledge that couples work can be extremely challenging, I aim to offer an atmosphere that provides the healing potential even for those who are profoundly resistant and unsure. As they are the holders of the truth of their deepest longings, I see myself purely as their guide. By focussing on the potential of the relationship rather than only what is lacking, we include the possibility of transformation as couples start to see each other with new eyes.

In the book, Passionate Marriage David Schnarch speaks to the importance of differentiation in relationships, which can be a delicate balancing act. Differentiation is the ability to balance individuality and togetherness, which is especially important during difficult times. The ability to be close to our partner but at the same time holding on to a distinct sense of our individual selves, complete with our own feelings, needs, wants, values and perspectives. From this place, when we start to confront challenging issues, we are able to not only take care of ourselves individually but at the same time take care of our relationship. Beginning to consider our own individual wants and needs along with our wants and needs for our relationship is an integral part of rebuilding and renewing our relationship. So many couples focus on what they don’t have or don’t want and when asked what it is they do want or need they do not know. Connecting through conversation is integral to all relationships. Allowing our partner to express their wants and needs without judging them to be right or wrong allows for a meaningful relationship that doesn’t deteriorate into emotional fusion. By holding on to our individuality, we can agree with others without feeling as if we are “losing ourselves,” and can disagree without feeling begrudging and alone.

Hedy teaches that conflict is a friend: “growth that is trying to happen” and should be welcomed as an opportunity. Not easy if we have been bought up with the belief that conflict is ‘bad’, ‘scary’ or ‘should be avoided.’ Perhaps a good place to start is to see conflict as a way of being able to deepen intimacy and connection rather than a dispute or doing battle. When conflict arises, usually one partner will become like an octopus and the other a turtle. The more the energy of the octopus increases in the desire to be heard and understood the further into the shell the turtle will retreat. This dynamic can continue for decades with each partner triggering their ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ response. By intentionally focussing on truly understanding each other, we create safety, instead of reactivity in our relationship, thus allowing conflict to become the opportunity for growth and healing that Hedy speaks about.

By reframing how we see conflict and as a result being honest and transparent, couples can start to understand the impact of their behaviours on each other. I offer them a way to find each other again even when they have polluted the space between them with infidelity, criticism, hurt, anger, betrayal and all the different ways we do damage to each other. My commitment to my clients is to be 100% present, no matter what the outcome is, knowing that it is only when therapy enlists deep emotions that it becomes a dynamic force for change. For some, the damage is too great, and one or other decides they are unable to continue, for others, I can sit in awe as they emerge from the ashes of conflict worked through together. Whatever the outcome, I am clear on being able to guide couples towards a new way of relating that allows them to have a more empathetic understanding of each other that will serve them whatever course they choose to take. Through the power of connection, with commitment and forgiveness, relationships can be repaired, healed and transformed. It is not easy, but the rewards are profound.