In 2019, aged 57, I was finally forced to face up to a deep-rooted mental health issue that, in retrospect, had affected my thinking and my conduct for some 40 years. I knew I had to have help; but I also knew from previous experience that the problem – or problems – couldn’t be medicated away. The alternative was therapy.
However, therapy (or counselling if you prefer) costs money. As indeed it should – therapists are professionals, who have undergone rigorous and lengthy training to get where they are. But it was money I didn’t have.
Thank whatever God you believe in, then, for the St Barnabas Counselling Centre. A Norwich-based charity, staffed by qualified counsellors who, for their own altruistic reasons, give both their time and expertise to help folks like me, who pay what they can afford. Folks like you, too, maybe.
I have been attending weekly, one-to-one meetings at St Barnabas (or if not on the premises, under its aegis) for the last eight months. My therapist is both kind and empathic; though these sessions are by no means easy. She is forensic, homing in on details that at the time I’d rather she didn’t – and she will not quit. But the benefits have been, and continue to be, huge. Forty-plus years of bad knitting takes a lot of careful unravelling, but I feel we’ve made, and are making, fantastic progress.
In March 2020 the UK was hit by Covid-19, and our face-to-face meetings were forced to cease, moving instead to an online environment. I was worried that the switch to an online platform would render the sessions less effective; but I needn’t have been. If anything, being able to talk to my therapist from the comfort of my own home, with my own familiar things about me, has made me more open, not less; and while I hope that we can resume our face-to-face sessions as the Coronavirus threat diminishes (don’t get me started on that one), I think a mixture of face-to-face and online may well be the best way forward.
Talking of own homes, another big change.
For personal reasons I left Norfolk, my home county, for Wiltshire in early 2017. Due to my character flaws (the flaws that therapy is in the process of fixing) the new life I’d hoped for didn’t work out. I returned to Norwich last August prepared for a short period of sofa-surfing while we sold the family home.
Twice we had a sale agreed – and twice it fell through. In February this year, a third buyer came forward. After a bit of horse-trading we agreed a price, and began the tortuous process of selling up and buying two (smaller) houses. Conveyancing, as it’s known.
More tortuous even than normal as it turned out, thanks to the pandemic. When lockdown was announced in late March, I may actually have shaken my fist at the heavens; yes, I had erred – but hadn’t I been punished enough? That sofa was getting mighty uncomfortable. Then I checked myself; even my ego is not so colossal as to believe that a deadly virus would be visited upon Planet Earth solely to upset my own personal apple cart.
We finally completed the deal on 3rd July – not far short of a year after I left Wiltshire – and I am now occupying my own home. As I write, the word is that the Chancellor of the Exchequer, in a bid to kickstart the housing market post-Covid, is poised to suspend Stamp Duty on house purchases – which, had he done it sooner, would have saved me £2,300. So thanks for that, Mr Sunak. But hey – at least, at last, I’m in.
How long I’ll stay here I really don’t know. Therapy (which I might add is horrible) might indirectly provide some clarity – although that may be asking too much of it. Once the dust has settled and I’m living my rewired life, I’ll take a view. But (a) my chosen profession is extremely portable – just a laptop and an internet connection, and I’m there – and (b) so, it turns out, is my therapist. The same criteria apply.
Housing aside – a red herring, but I just wanted to vent a little – we all have our own issues, our own personal reasons, for seeking help. The St Barnabas Counselling Centre is with me on my journey towards finally, belatedly, becoming the me I want and need to be. Wherever I’m living.
The financial cost? Affordable. The benefits? Beyond price.