The Importance of Ritual

Well, that went well, didn’t it? What a coronation! The pomp and ceremony that the British do better than any other country in the world.  Months in the planning, three hours max in the delivery and it’s all over until the next time.

 

Allowing a little time to pass since the ceremony itself, I’ve been considering and reading the pros and cons about such an event. The King himself reportedly wants to reign over a “slimmed down” version of the monarchy and his Coronation was intended to show how the Carolean age will be an example of that. Fair enough. He’s king. He’s the one who has the final decision. 

 

Except, of course, there is the government of the day and it’s hard to imagine politicians wouldn’t want to take an opportunity to have their say so. You can just picture Palace and government officials telling His Majesty that a coronation during a cost-of-living crisis “shouldn’t be too ornate”. And you can imagine a man who we’re told is very sensitive to being seen to do the right thing, trying hard not to offend.

 

So, what did we get? A spectacular coach. Two to be precise. Fewer coronets and tiaras – fewer women altogether in fact – and more men (politicians) in suits. The ceremony and the music was certainly rousing and I found the part where the King was anointed and crowned surprisingly moving. Personally, I thought there was an argument for a bit more joy in the music and a little less choral, but that’s just me. It might relate to memories of singing psalms at school. I always preferred uplifting hymns.

 

Was everyone satisfied? The crowds certainly seemed to be as did the participants and those lucky enough to be invited to attend at Westminster Abbey. Generally, from the media reviews I’ve read and seen, it was considered a good show. A job well done.

 

There are one or two remaining niggles. 

 

First, the problem with a slimmed down monarchy is that the balcony at Buckingham Palace looked a bit bare. It’s designed for a lot of people and the 15 or 20-so royals who were there were not enough to fill the space. And where were the youth? If the Royal Family intends to continue its role as Britain’s family-in-chief, then we need the whole group, warts and all, not just those at the top of the tree.

 

Like all families, the royals have their own disappointments and, without naming names, I can understand why one or two of them might have been left off the balcony showstopper. Some chose to move on in a private capacity while another was deemed to have behaved too badly to be allowed on public display.

 

But what about the other blameless siblings, in-laws and offspring who were omitted by default? (Sarah Ferguson, btw, should have been invited to the service if Camilla’s ex was, and he was.) That seems mean. Zara and Mike Tindall, Beatrice and Eugenie and their husbands are all immediate relatives of the King. They add a bit of joy and colour – and gossip – to his subjects/citizens’ lives and we like to see them. They are part of the ritual of Charles’ life and that means they have become part of ours. 

 

Close your eyes and imagine how it would have looked if all the royals had been on the balcony as they usually were. Our beloved one and only Queen would be missing of course and it would take a little mental reshuffling of the characters to get past that, but we’d have taken comfort in the familiarity of the main cast and accepted life moves on.  

 

Those of us interested enough would have been able to glory in the occasion or, if we were in typical family mode and feeling a bit more bitchy, we could have criticised the dress sense and styles of those who displeased us. It’s what we do after all and it’s how family events work. Everyone’s invited and we must make the best of it.

 

In this case, I think King Charles was not wise to go with the political idea less is more. I don’t think so. I think more is more.  

 

Important parts of our lives are marked by rites of passage. Our birth, and birthdays, Christenings or alternative religious inclusions, our comings of age, our marriages, births of our children and, at the end of it all, our deaths. All marked by ritual, a vital way of trying to get our own handle and understanding on what life’s all about. Without this, many of us might feel lost. 

It could be argued this sense of ritual also applies to the rhythm of therapy, a ritual where one agrees to meet the same person at the same time in the same place each week. That ritual creates the conditions for healing to take place. Ritual helps.

 

So, I’d like to make a plea for the royals to remember that this is not just about them, it is about us too. And I’m not just talking about future coronations, I’m talking about celebrations, bringing a nation together, allowing us to collectively participate. We need such rituals, we deserve them and, when life is looking bleak, they are more necessary than ever. And the more glorious and over-the-top, the better. 

 

My charming, talented and artistic 94-year-old friend, who remembers the last Coronation, said she’d enjoyed this one and was glad the ceremony itself was shortened. 

 

However, she added, she’d have liked to have seen more ladies in long dresses and more tiaras, along with “a bit more splash of colour”. She's still got it.

 

Photo 1: Katie Chan - Wikimedia Commons 

Photo 2: Chris Boland on Unsplash

Photo 3:  Adrian Raudaschl on Unsplash

Photo 4:  Armand Attard/DCMS

Far from the Madding Crowds

The sightseeing season is under way. Hopes of warmer weather encourages the winter stay-at-homes to explore beyond their front doors. My big adventure was a trip to central London to investigate Sea Life, followed by a trip on the London Eye where the crowds are out in force.

It's a long time since I've had an expedition like this, probably pre-Covid and I think I'm suffering with the leftover fear of a large group of people and the potential for virus contagion. I had a small companion who was another body caught up in lockdown but I was relieved to see the hesitancy she showed towards others during that period has now gone. She was boisterous and excited. Thank goodness for the resilience of youth.  

We had a glitch with a signal failure at Waterloo which involved a change of plan to bus and Tube. My little friend has never liked loud noises and who knew the London Underground could be that noisy. 

After various changes where I, the leader, became completely lost, we reached Waterloo. This is a trip I once was used to. It's alarming how easily we can find ourselves trapped in our own imagination, if we allow others to convince us it's the right move. 

 

The crowds. I’m short, so is she. She will grow. It’s not easy manoeuvring this way and that when you - I - barely come up to someone else's shoulder and when you're clutching an even smaller person's hand. She surprised me by her dexterity at getting her way to the front of the Sea World aquarium slots without seeming to wind others up. I had a bit more trouble there.

What I did find different from my pre-Covid explorations is the increasing absorption of other visitors with photographing and videoing via their smart phones, to the extent that they seemed to have no awareness of others around them. They pressed their screens to the aquarium face as they filmed the sharks or the penguins, and then they turned round to do their own selfies with the same creatures. 

But not that many people stood and watched the creatures as they were, in real time. It was strange. There was all this extraordinary other worldliness to observe but they weren't really looking. They were missing out on real life in order to record what they might see later. Memories are great but not as a replacement for the initial experience. 

Next stop was a little more complicated with the step up onto the Eye needing careful negotiation, particularly as the wheel continued to move and I was holding tightly onto my charge's hand. 

 

I thought I was over the worst but that came seconds later with the sensation of speed as people propelled themselves into the gondola. Exquisitely dressed women in their 20s and 30s were pushing ahead to secure a bird’s window position. What was the rush and there were limited spaces so surely there was room for everyone?

And then, as the smart phones came out and the elegant mouths moued into familiar poses, I realised what it was about. I was a bystander in a giant social media shoot; the young women moving languidly from one side to the other, arms outstretched, clothes artfully positioned as they posed for the perfect shot. 

Among the sea of people, they were all alone, seemingly oblivious to the "other" who were standing to one side perhaps also hoping for a chance to see this spectacular bird's eye view of London.

 

I thought I was the only one feeling just that bit irritated by the pushing and shoving so was pleased when a lady from California – suitably dressed in jeans and jumper – started to tell the gang off. They ignored her but I felt better. 

 

Generations do things differently. It’s how we make progress. We want to make our own mark on life and to improve on what’s gone before. It’s natural to believe the generation before you is not as good as you are, or you are going to be. 

It may be an age thing. My own youthful preoccupations were certainly connected with how other people viewed me. I got over that (long-enough) phase when I genuinely realised that others were so preoccupied with how they were seen that they didn’t have time to give me much thought. It was oddly comforting.

 

The big difference now is the actual evidence showing how other people’s perception of you can matter and make a difference. Smart phones wouldn't work if people didn't want to be seen by others. And if those others like what they see on social media, an influencer will gain enough followers to monetarise their account. If you have enough followers, sponsorship or advertising arrives. Meanwhile, the person who blends into an ordinary world – as most of us do – is not appealing to these advertisers. So why would anyone want to be ordinary?

 

I have to admit to admiring these would-be influencers. They are feisty. They know what they want and they are trying to get it. It’s also not easy being dressed up to the nines all the time, with beautiful, sleeked back hair, cream coats (in London, really?) and high, high heels. That takes a lot of work because you're always on show. 

But how will they feel if they don’t make it into the arena of success? Where do they go from there? At what point will they admit defeat and go back to ordinary, or will they ever? It’s bad enough feeling awkward if you’re embarrassed on a small scale but social media is something else. Who wants to see personal shame projected on a full-scale screen? Not many.

 

I have a little postscript to this story. I had pointed out Big Ben (obvious) to my little friend and was trying to find Buckingham Palace which seemed difficult to spot, for me at any rate. I felt joyful when I did and was excitedly telling her where to look.

 

“Excuse me,” said one of the would-be influencers in heavily accented English. “Can you show me where is Buckingham Palace?”

 

I could and did and she smiled charmingly as she moved off to point it out to her equally glamorous friends. I was surprised to find the exchange had softened my irritation towards her. A  part of me even hopes her influencer aspirations will turn out better than my experience of the school of hard knocks indicates it might. 

Photo 1: John Cameron on Unsplash

Photo 2: Biljana Martinić on Unsplash

 

 

Arise Sir Dad!

I was told of a client in therapy who only wanted to talk about the present and not “go there” about childhood matters. That was clear and, for the person-centred psychotherapist/counsellor, it meant that was where he and the client were going. What the client wants – within reason – the client gets.

The conversation had occurred after the client became distressed while referring to events in his childhood. He left that weekly session with his counsellor feeling worse than when he had arrived. He didn’t like that feeling and wanted to keep apart from it.

 

Sometimes a client feels worse after a talking therapy session than before. A therapist will explain to a prospective client that h/she may feel more unhappy at the start of their journey than they expect. They will be reassured however that the aim of the process is for the client to work through these feelings within the space and ultimately leave the process feeling better and more able to cope with the future than they were before they began counselling.

 

Counselling and psychotherapy are often used in an interchangeable way because there is no strict legal definition of where one begins and one ends.

 

However, it can be argued that counselling is more concerned with the here and now, whereas psychotherapy work will involve delving into the past to see why a client may be behaving in a way that is not necessarily helpful to them and why they keep doing it.

 

Talking therapies such as CBT are favoured in general terms because they are seen as goal-oriented and ways of helping a person change behaviour within a short period of time. As such, it would be considered counselling for the “here and now”. Time-focused clients referred to a clinician by, say, an insurer paid for by an employee, will often cite CBT as the way they want to go. It is said to work well for a person who is used to working with goals and assessments and someone who likes to see quick results. 

 

That is a reasonable expectation and studies show it works. If you learn how to deal with a problem which has previously “triggered” you, there is every possibility that you will have some awareness of how to deal with it should be triggered again. That applies for other equally “triggering” challenges.

 

However, there could be a problem if the triggers threaten to overwhelm you and, after managing to find a way through one, you find another pops up to disarm you just when you are least expecting it.  

 

At that point, I’d suggest some psychotherapy might be helpful. Delving into your past to discover why you are behaving – and repeating the behaviour – in a way that is not good for you could be helpful. Maybe it might even be useful for us when it comes to choosing our public figures.

 

I’ve been thinking recently about former prime minister Boris Johnson’s relationship with his father. 

 

There is the recent row about Johnson junior reportedly wanting to give Johnson senior a knighthood through his end-of-term honours list. Brother Jo has already been made a peer, at older brother Boris’s request. While that may surprise some onlookers, we understand Jo had a ministerial role in politics and Boris felt he was right to reward him.

 

But, when it comes to his dad, the relationship seems very different. We read about situations with Boris’s father and mother – the airing controversy over the issue left one TV presenter resigning from a voluntary and worthy post she’d held for 25 years – and might be confused as to why Papa Johnson deserves his knighthood. Sister Rachel weighed in, saying her father deserved his K for services to the environment. She may be right, it’s just that we are not entirely aware of all he’s done.

 

From a therapeutic point of view, it’s fascinating to see an adult family still so clearly involved. 

Ordinarily, it may not matter, particularly if all are happy with the status quo. But, I’d argue, from a public point of view, we need to know. The dynamics between Stanley and his offspring seem to be not much changed since childhood. Stanley was the boss then and appears to be the boss now. That is likely to have an effect on those children who still seek his approval. Could it be that the indecisiveness Boris is so often accused of has its roots in childhood? Then there’s the competitive element – we’re told Boris must win at all costs; where did that come from? And as for a need to be loved, well, we’d better not go there. 

 

None of this would be our business if Boris had never entered politics. But he did, and his internal thought and decision-making process mattered. They still do. It is too late to turn back the clock on some of the big decisions he influenced and took but perhaps we need to explore the motivations of our politicians of the future. We need to know what makes them tick.

 

Returning to the client mentioned earlier, their therapist stayed with the client’s request to keep sessions current but could not help noticing how the client kept referring to their past. This was pointed out to the client. 

Gradually, as the client came to realise what effect the past had had on their present and as trust in the therapist grew, the relationship deepened with the client revealing more of their inner self, allowing them to see how early behaviour had adversely affected their adult life. 

Years of early learning that confuses the soul can take a long time to unravel and there may well be some sadness, anger and distress along the way. It requires a brave person to travel down the road of self-discovery but it’s a journey that can be so rewarding.

 

  

 

Photo 1: Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash 

Photo 2: Nik on Unsplash

Photo 3: Brett Jordan on Unsplash

The Importance of Teddy

Did you ever have a cuddly friend of some description when you were little? Do you remember its name? Or, even better, do you have it still?  

I’d bet good money that you can answer yes to at least two of those questions, possibly three. In researching this blog, I’ve done a non-scientific study of friends, acquaintances and work colleagues and had a 99% recurring response saying yes to all three.

Some respondents admit that, while they still have the cuddly, it’s hidden away from plain sight in some corner of the attic. I find it interesting that they still know exactly where the once-beloved is, so the link has not gone entirely. Others proudly keep the cuddly toy(s) on display. There’s no embarrassment there. The soft toy remains part of the family.

 

I began thinking of this when reading about Prince Andrew’s collection of teddies and the fury he is reported to have shown to staff when they were not set up in the way he’d left them. There was a story told about a maid sent upstairs to draw his curtains (we’re talking Andrew as an adult here) and she inadvertently moved them out of position. 

 

We have two issues here. One would concern – and perhaps be concerned by - an adult male having someone drawing his curtains for him. But let's park that. We know the rich are different.

 

What particularly interests me in Andrew’s case is that he has such a collection of teddies, and treasures them still. Some people might suggest a large part of him remains a small child or, at least, attached to those he loved as a child.

 

In the world of psychology, the description of a cuddly animal is more austere. It goes by the phrase “transitional object”. It was first used by the much-admired paediatrician and psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott as a way of explaining how a baby begins the difficult transition from baby as extension of mother and baby as individual and separate person. 

The baby, of course, has no idea of this. To begin with, it is of its mother, it has no stand-alone self. But, as it grows and develops, the separation begins and the baby starts to develop its own sense of separateness. We all do it – or, ideally, we are all programmed to do it – but, even so, it must be a very hard and frightening time.

Imagine the “perfect” set up where the mother caters for her baby’s every need. She is for ever on hand to feed, change, comfort and love. And then, as the baby begins to grasp that h/she is not an extension of that all-loving parent, there is increased reason for insecurity and uncertainty. The baby’s unconscious thought process must be fearing the worst and wondering what happens now? 

And this is where the transitional (TO) object comes in. The baby is given something soft and reassuring to cuddle. An object that belongs just to him or her. It doesn’t have to be a cuddly creature, by the way, (although it usually is); it could be a piece of cloth or some other soft item intended purely for this baby. Gradually, the cuddly takes on a scent and feel that the baby will take comfort from, knowing the object is entirely its own. That means, when the baby is left without its primary carer - as it must be even if only for a short time - the TO is there to provide reassurance. And as the baby grows and matures into a toddler and then a small, speaking child, the TO continues to provide the comfort it always has.

 

Most nursery schools nowadays encourage new pupils to bring in their favourite cuddly and that’s a very positive sign when you consider it wasn’t always like this. Even 20 years ago, children going to nursery were encouraged to “leave teddy behind, he’ll be waiting for you when you get back”. 

Again, I imagine it was meant for the best and the worry about a worse-case scenario of the child losing that treasured possession. Still, I’m glad rules have changed. 

I believe the TO is a vital part of each transitional journey. The change from being a big cog in a small environment (home) to a small cog in an ever-changing environment (nursery) needs to be handled with care. The TO is a loving reminder of the attachment between the family and the child. Even though the parent is absent, the replacement TO helps keep the child feeling safe. 

The conversation about a child feeling secure cannot be left without mention of John Bowlby, with whom Winnicott worked, and his theory on attachment which he split into categories - secure, anxious, avoidant, disorganised.

 

If all the ducks are in a row, the child should develop a secure attachment. If not, there may be trouble ahead. 

 

I’m reminded of Brideshead Revisited and Aloysius, the bear belonging to Lord Sebastian Flyte, the central figure of the book. Although a young adult, Sebastian keeps his bear with him at all time, as a comfort against the troubles he has with his family. The bear's lovable qualities remained with Sebastian as a substitute for  the loving family he might have wanted.

 

I'm relieved to report not all tales end as sadly as that. I have recently been to visit a successful and contented lady recovering in a nursing home after a fall. She is in her 90s and has lived her life surrounded by love and external acclaim. She says she has been lucky and very happy.

 

I noticed, when I stood up to leave, that in pride of place on her pillow was a delightfully aged cuddly toy. I asked her about it. “Oh, that’s …” she said, naming him with a wide and joyful smile. “He’s been with me longer than I can remember. He comes with me everywhere.”

 

I found that strangely comforting. No awkwardness, no embarrassment, just pure acknowledgement of the importance of her beloved companion. My lady’s transitional object is her lifelong and permanent friend.

 

Photo 1: Laurie Gouley on Unsplash

Photo 2: Ana Tablas on Unsplash 

Photo 3: Alexander Dummer on Unsplash

 

Minding Our Language

 

At the start of any new year, most of us look forwards with ideas and plans for the future. 

We may reflect on what is past and decide to let go of what doesn’t work well for us and invest a little more effort in what we think we can and want to change.

 

Sometimes our resolutions are effective and we can be pleased with what we achieve. Sometimes they’re less so, in which case we may need to move on and try something else.

 

The one thing most of us don’t do, however, is look back and dwell endlessly on the past. Reflecting and learning from it is good, holding on to a grudge is not. In the end, it’s usually we who suffer, not the person or people with whom we feel furious.

 

I wonder if that’s why there’s been so much astonishment at the recent publication of a certain royal person’s memoir. The revelations within are extraordinary, of course, and way too much, but the readers’ response has been almost visceral. Commentators are appalled and, for every one person who still supports the once-admired prince, there are dozens more who are not at all happy with what he’s written. 

 

As a lay person, I’m pretty shocked at all he’s offered out there to people who he doesn’t know from Adam and who may not have his best interests at heart. 

 

For example, what about the republicans who don’t like the Royal Family and want to see the institution gone? I wonder how Harry would feel if one day he found he’d played a big part in the downfall of something that he still maintains he admires? The Royal Family has a private and a public part but it’s becoming harder and harder to separate the two and Harry’s book has not helped.

 

That’s one of the many feelings I have about the situation in a private capacity. 

As someone who spent years training - and now practising - as a counsellor/psychotherapist, I’m even more upset. I find it all quite demeaning. 

 

I feel Harry has taken the language used in therapy that can be truly beneficial in a private client-counsellor relationship and incorporated it into a world in which he is at the centre and a laughing stock. I’m not sure how that truly helps mental health.

 

To be fair (and part of me doesn’t want to be), it’s not just Harry. It seems to be more generational and probably came about when key words were “discovered” by journalists who had limited awareness of their significance. 

 

Unfortunately, what this means is that specific words and phrases, used in therapy between client and counsellor, have been taken out of context and picked up for use in general terms. Words like "denial" and "narcissism" are bandied about with only a vague notion of their clinical meaning.

 

Another example: a “safe” space, in terms of therapy, means a place where you can reveal your deepest and darkest thoughts and know you are not going to be judged and the counsellor with you should be doing their best to help you in your psychological exploration.

 

However, that “safe” space definition is not the same as the definition of a “safe” space at a university. That phrase is more than likely to be used by a person or group who is opposing a cause to close down any discussion or argument. How does that benefit anyone? And who says my beliefs are more worthy than yours? Do I have the right to shut you down publicly because of it? No I don't. 

 

There are other words – narrative, journey, “my” truth – that have been turned inside out to mean the opposite of what was intended. In a therapeutic relationship, “my” truth is used to understand the client’s point of view. It doesn’t mean it is actually true – it’s his or her belief or how they see the situation. That gives the therapist the chance to explore and question that particular belief in a thoughtful way that is trying to understand where the client is coming from.  

 

A good therapist will work in an empathetic way with a client to clarify and question their client’s beliefs. The therapist’s job is not to swallow whole all that the client says or believes - that would make their role pointless. It would be the equivalent of an echo chamber (another alternatively interpreted phrase) which would be likely to reinforce the complications the client is already experiencing.

 

Clients come to therapy for various reasons but often it’s because they want to talk about a problem they are finding hard to get past. In all cases, the therapist needs to get to know their client, to listen to what they are saying and, when appropriate, reflect back or indeed challenge them. A therapist who is in tune with their client may pick up words and feelings of which the client is unaware. Reflecting it back to them is a way of checking that’s what they really mean and, if necessary, allowing them to reappraise their view, often through taking responsibility for their own actions. A therapist should not be used to reinforce a client's potentially distorted view of the world.

 

There is so much more to the therapeutic working relationship between client and therapist that can bring deeply rewarding results. But it takes time and trust. 

 

Recollections may vary - wedding fever for Meghan and Harry

It’s also a private matter and best kept that way. I get the sense that Harry’s using the telling of his story to shut down any criticism of himself and his wife. He’s put those people he insists he loves in positions where it will be hard for them to answer back without more aggression coming their way. Silence, if they can bear to keep quiet, will continue to be the best option.

I can’t help feeling that Harry’s book and his casual use of therapeutic terms is not doing himself, or the therapeutic community as a whole, any favours. Less is more, although it’s probably too late for that now. 

 

What a pity he didn’t use his words more carefully. Words are what separate humans from the rest of the animal kingdom and they matter. They really do.

 

Photo 1: Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Photo 2: Etienne Girardet on Unsplash

Photo 3: King's Church International on Unsplash

 

Out With The Old, In With The New

This time of year seems to be about a last-minute dash for perfection as we hurtle towards the biggest party season of the year. I’m for ever amazed at how it always comes as such a surprise.

The date of Christmas, unlike Easter, is set in stone so I’m always curious as to why the mad rush as this particular Holy Day creeps up on us. How come we’re never ready? Is it that we’re so preoccupied with our day-to-day existence that we forget about it? No, I doubt that. After all, we plan other holidays in advance and look forward to our sunny trips abroad or change of scene at home. They usually get planned and booked before the big day.

 

So maybe we derive a certain pleasure in the drama of the rush. The amazement at the reoccurrence of the annual event, the sudden recognition that it’s upon us, the build-up and the expectation that it will be the same – or different – from what’s gone before. 

 

I find it fascinating that we seem to experience the same set of emotions every year and I find it hard to fathom it out. Except perhaps what all this is doing is taking us back to childhood and giving us a taste of those blissful moments that many of us may remember. That magical moment we look back on with real affection. Oh, to be that all-hopeful child once again!

 

Back in the present, what we can do for our children is to try and give them the best experience of this beautiful time of the year so they can bank their own memories for their future. That might be one of the best presents they can ever receive. It’s a gift to hold onto, and to treasure.

 

For adults, it’s a bit trickier. Time may have made us all a little more cynical. The treats we requested from Father Christmas may be lost in the post, or in translation. Or we may perceive that all that work we’ve done – all that planning, all that loving and giving we’d wanted so much to offer – is not received with the graciousness and appreciation that we’d hoped for. What then? Put like that, it’s easy to imagine a toddler tantrum coming on in adult form.

 

If you’re feeling fraught and recognise any of these signs, may I offer a suggestion? How about allowing a little time for reflection?

 

Believers understand the importance of Christmas – the birth, the new hope, the farewell to what is past – and usually allow themselves a moment to consider what Christmas represents. But even if you celebrate the festivity for its own sake alone, this is a good time to stop and take stock. 

 

I wonder if we come over all “rushing”, so that we don’t have to allow ourselves time to reflect. What might reflecting mean to us? Satisfaction, contentment, happiness or, on the other side of the coin, disappointment? It’s hard to work it out if we don’t give it some thought.

If we feel resistant to the idea of reflecting, why might that be? And if that feels too much like being about to go down a rabbit hole, consider that too. Remember a Monty Python sketch where one of the team kept explaining: “My brain hurts.” It can do when it’s trying to avoid looking at a question or finding an answer. Easier to put it to one side and wait for a time when you’re less busy. After Christmas maybe.

 

My challenge to you is to go there. Enjoy the ride/slide and see where it takes you. Rabbit holes may seem dark and all-enveloping but they are also tunnels, with entrances and exits, if only you have the concentration and determination to find the right direction for you.

 

I wrote recently about the loss of a close relative and this is the first Christmas we’ll be without her. It’ll be very strange and disparate. Even though she was not herself for some time, she was still in this world. Now, we’re all having to find ways of managing that loss. It’s surreal, as those of you who have been through a bereavement will understand. 

 

Ironically, not one of the siblings are spending Christmas with another. Two are minding (different) cats, one’s settled at home (with their cats) and the other, the chief mourner, remains undecided about what to do or where to go. It’s a little unsettling.

 

On the plus side, a new baby was born this year into a family that already has a fascinating child. This new sibling has, from very small and slightly fragile beginnings, turned into a real chunky monkey with the most amazing charm and good nature, so different from others we might have known!

 

I’m discovering I’ll need to use different skills sets to learn how to incorporate a life-adjusting loss (with the sadness and stoicism that entails) with the delight and joy of watching a new person develop. 

 

My aim is to celebrate the birth of the new baby while acknowledging that the person who has gone was also instrumental in that baby’s arrival. 

 

That baby – and all other babies – are the product of their parents with all the characteristics – light and shade – of their ancestors. 

 

And that’s where the similarities end. Ahead of each one lies a journey that belongs to no other, in which each can make their own individual and first hesitant steps.  For my part, I am there to celebrate this year's new birth and make sure that family knows I’ll do what I can to help, if I'm needed. 

 

On reflection, this sounds a good way to remember the meaning of Christmas and to celebrate it in the way it truly should be.  

Grief – The Price We Pay For Love*

I lost a close relative recently. She lived a long and fulfilled life, most of which was conducted very much on her terms. 

Strangely, for someone who was determined to be at the centre of every glamorous and fun event, this 97-year-old lady left this world so easily and so soundlessly that those lovely carers in her room preparing her for bed didn’t even notice. They went to tuck her up and she was gone. What an ending and what a lucky way to go!

 

I and three other members of the group had been preparing for this particular ending for a number of years. I had experienced other losses over the years - some of which saddened me and some of which left me with such a hole in my heart that I thought it would never mend - but this was a major one. 

 

In a sense, I was also lucky because of my years of experience working as a bereavement counsellor. I had some idea of what to expect. 

Most of us know by now of what are described the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. However, even that’s not quite what it seems. 

The research, by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, was actually about people who were themselves dying, not people experiencing the death of a loved one. There is a difference. 

 

The stages make more sense if you understand this is about the person at the centre of the story. The person who is dying. Bargaining in that case becomes clear. We’ve all done it in less important circumstances. But, if you are the person who has lost a loved one, no amount of bargaining can get that beloved back. The ending is final. 

 

Understanding that – and remembering that the stages are not linear – it becomes easier to adapt these stages of grief to one’s own process. Denial – disbelief that the person is dead; Anger – it was so sudden, I had no idea, how could they do this to me; Depression – I can’t bear it, I’m lost, how will I manage without them? I can’t go on; Acceptance – they’ve gone, that’s it, now I have to go on with my life and nothing I can do or feel or plead for will bring them back.

 

These are only a few thoughts and are mine alone. Your own grieving process is unique to you and you will have your own internal conversations. Again, bear in mind there is not a specific time frame for these conversations to take place, nor a formal way of grieving. We may one day accept our loved one has gone while the next day we wake up in a fury at what’s happened or a sense of disbelief that it has. And so it goes until at some point later down the line, we find the pain of mourning is shifting and lifting and, little by little, an ability to find joy in life returns.

 

We all grieve differently. And, of course, it depends on the age of the person we have lost. You can mourn a 97-year-old for the loss of them in your life but it’s not the same as when someone younger leaves this world. There is a sense then of what might have been and the deep sadness of the loss of a future. And when a child goes, well, that is unbearable. 

 

It feels strange to observe how we all mourn differently. My own loss is different from the other three relatives who are also most affected. One – the favourite – is bereft. They cannot bear to hear someone tell them they were lucky to be the best beloved for 75 years. The bond was so close there was no room for anyone else. They never married or had their own children. They have others they could turn to but they don't want that. They want her back and for it to be just as it was.

 

The middle two are grieving in their own ways. The second mourner is just as they always were, elusive, impenetrable and avoidant. They may telephone and start talking, only to pause with an “anyway” before abruptly ending the conversation. The avoidant is always keen not to go there if there’s any emotional pain involved. I imagine they've been hurt in the past but I'll never know. 

 

The third in this quartet is the peacemaker. The one who presents a “perfect” face to the outside world and observes the niceties with a decorum they believe is in keeping with how they believe the grieving process should be. They will be seen to do the right thing at all times, shed tears if and when required, put on a brave face when not. Either way, it is impossible to know what’s really going on inside. You will never be invited into the inner sanctum. 

The final piece of the jigsaw – the scapegoat – had a difficult relationship with the person who’s gone and feels awkward and unsure about how they’re supposed to respond. They always felt an outsider and the person on whom the other chief mourners project their own rages and furies – the innermost prejudices they can’t face admitting to themselves. In shorthand terms, it’s called “owning”. They don't.

The scapegoat is so overwhelmed with the feelings of others that they find it hard to work out what they themselves are feeling. They feel a bit of a fraud because they imagine it would look strange if they started screaming and crying about their loss because of the difficult relationship at the heart of it. Even so, they are part of it and they feel they deserve to be included. It looks unlikely. 

I explained this was personal right at the start, but I’m sharing it in the hope that you – and I – will understand there is no right or wrong way of mourning. It is a process unique to us. We have to find a way to go through it in the best way we can. 

On a personal level, I am at the start of my journey and still a little bemused. I'm not quite how it works. But, as a professional, I know that I will come through it, and I can take whatever memory I choose to keep with me and to hold dear. I just have to remember to give it time.

Photo 1: Ann on Unsplash

Photo 2: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Photo 3: K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

 

 

 

 

* The original quote comes from psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes in his 1972 book Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life:  

“The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love, the cost of commitment.”

This is usually quoted as: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”