Therapy Today

In training
Walking
the line
Alex Erskine
Now that we’re back at college
I find myself thinking about
the implications of training,
at the oddest moments – like
last weekend when I was
ankle-deep in mud on a
walking trip in Wales.
Years previously I had
been there as part of a group
expedition: it was fun tagging
along with everyone else and
enjoying the scenery at leisure.
This time, however, we fancied
something a little wilder and
opted for a more out-of-theway
route that required tough
boots, a copy of the local
Ordnance Survey map and
some map-reading skills. The
views were more spectacular
than ever and we hardly saw
a soul. I felt alive. The only
frustration was that I kept
feeling compelled to consult
the damn map to ensure that
we didn’t stray from the
unmarked footpath.
What on earth, you may
ask, does this have to do with
counselling? I wasn’t on some
ecotherapy trip, and moving
though the landscape was,
I wasn’t hoping that nature
would bring me close to my
inner soul. The answer is one
word: boundaries. When you
don’t know they are there, it’s
easy to go about your business
oblivious to the implications
of treading somewhere you
shouldn’t. But, just as the
novice hill walker in me was
worried about losing my way
and trespassing onto private
property, so the novice
counsellor in me is becoming
ever more aware of the
complexity of interpersonal
dynamics and mixing up roles.
The importance of
boundaries – for both client
and counsellor – is one of the
first things we start to learn
about as students (we have
yet to question this received
wisdom in the way encouraged
by Nick Totton in last month’s
Therapy Today!). Their looming
relevance in the practice room
is making me ever more aware
of them in my personal life.
And, like that faded footpath,
it is not always immediately
clear where they should start
and end.
Take the example of a friend
who recently found herself
suddenly plunged into a lifechanging
crisis. We talked at
length about what was going
on, and I suggested that it
might make sense to see a
therapist to start addressing
some of the deeper material.
She duly started seeing a
therapist, who has rapidly
helped her gain some major
insights into her life story. Yet
as she explored these issues,
she wanted to talk about it
with someone, and I proved
a willing pair of ears. That felt
fine, until one day she started
telling me information that I
didn’t need to know, and which,
frankly, was more appropriate
for her therapist. A line had
been crossed. In that moment
I had made the basic error of
allowing myself to switch from
being an old friend to becoming
a surrogate therapist. Mistake.
Around the same time
another friend became
seriously ill. On my visits to
him in hospital we shared some
of the most moving, intimate
moments together we have
ever enjoyed. At times, words
were unnecessary – just being
together was enough. And
yet... And yet when I wasn’t
there I didn’t spend all my time
thinking about him, which in
turn gave me pangs of guilt.
‘The novice counsellor
in me is becoming
ever more aware
of the complexity
of interpersonal
dynamics and
mixing up roles’
That inevitably relates to
my own issues with caring for
others, but it did prompt me
to wonder how I would feel
with future clients. However
much I am able to provide a
safe space for them during a
counselling session, it would
not be healthy for me to carry
their material with me for the
rest of the week. Yet will this
in turn make me feel guilty
if I don’t think about them
between sessions? How easy
will it be to contain what goes
on in the counselling room?
At college the issue of
boundaries is also lurking
in the background. The
experiential part of our
training can involve exploring
very personal material –
as well as experiencing
meaningful shared moments.
Confidentiality dictates that
what happens in a group stays
in the group. But as soon as
an experiential session is
finished and we regroup in
the canteen, not to mention
the pub, do we really put all
that aside as we resume the
student chit-chat? It can feel
a little disorientating to say
the least.
In a sense, ignorance is
bliss. But I recognise that
unboundaried life – let alone
work – is not an option. My
hope is that my emerging
‘internal supervisor’ will
make it easier to navigate
through those shifting
boundaries of interpersonal
experience – and even one day
to achieve ‘boundlessness’,
as Nick Totton puts it. At the
moment it feels rather like I
am embarking on that walk
across the Welsh hills, map
in hand. In time I hope I will
not have to consult it so often:
then truly will I have more
space to experience in full
the humbling majesty of the
views all around me.
Alex Erskine is a pseudonym.
November 2010/www.therapytoday.net/Therapy Today 9