Reflections of a bereaved psychotherapy client
One year ago, my therapist died. I had been seeing him regularly for four years and during that time my relationship with him had grown and deepened. The gift of therapy I received from him helped me find meaning and peace within. Shortly after his death, I wrote a short piece to help alleviate the grief, abandonment and solitude I felt. Below is a shortened version of what I wrote:
My therapist died
Numb and shattered at the same time, numb and shattered at the same time, numb and shattered at the same time…
… those words keep on echoing in my mind.
I am alone. I feel raw, empty and immensely lonely.If I did not know any better, I would descend into a familiar hole of betrayal and abandonment.
And yet, I am a psychotherapist … a bereavement specialist even!
I find I cannot help myself in this instance. I cannot find any solace because I am a secret, a client seen in the boundaries of the utmost professional confidentiality. So there is no way I can share my grief, reminisce or remember him with others who knew him well and loved him as I did. The deceased therapist’s family and friends are clearly off limits, and I do not know any of his other clients, as one would expect. There is no one to commiserate with.
I started therapy as result of distressing and life-changing circumstances. It was a difficult decision as my professional role was to help and care for others, not the other way around.
The 13th February 2008 was a grey drizzly day. I rang the doorbell three times; twice I considered running away while I still stood outside. The man who greeted me was kind and warm, I was cold and on the defensive.However, even from the very first meeting, I had never, ever felt so understood. As therapy unfurled, with Rory by my side, I slowly dismantled the bricks of the ivory tower I had started to build as a little girl and where I found refuge. Slowly I allowed myself to be me. It was hard work and it felt like undressing my soul. Feeling safe was essential to the work. At some point, Rory had become the most important person in my life: because I felt safe and understood in the therapy room, I no longer felt alone in my despair. Selfishly, I hate to think of what would have happened if he had died then.
Perhaps the best testimony to Rory’s work is expressed in my oldest friend’s email:
“It is not just that Rory was someone you cared deeply about; he helped you overcome all the horrible events you’ve gone through; he was your support when you were desperately insecure and frightened, your most understanding listener, your mentor…think how much of him, his engaging personality, personal courage, wisdom, and compassion he has given willingly to you and to many others, enabling other lives to go on.”
The therapeutic relationship is quite extraordinary. It is a relationship formed for the specific purpose of enabling the client to move towards a more fulfilling life, a special kind of intimate relationship that involves the sharing of confidences and the revelation of vulnerabilities. Although there is some reciprocity, it is ultimately the therapist’s responsibility to ensure that the criteria of safety, confidentiality, healthy boundaries and best interest of the client are met.
Rory’s authentic compassionate, non-judgemental stance along with the positive unconditional regard and unwavering faith he conveyed to me were healing factors that enabled me to find the strength to emerge from the hopelessness I felt then. His role was to accompany me on my journey to wellbeing. My role is to accompany you on your journey.
This post is dedicated to the memory of Rory Tierney, a great counsellor, therapist and human being.
