The first psychotherapy session

I think of all the people I’ve met already, their fascinating lives and stories, the defences stored in their bodies and minds.  The people they are and the people they might have been.  The choices, the lack of choices. 

Now here I am again, the psychotherapist and the client’s first session, that moment of not knowing how it will be, the very first session, like every session.   Can we meet here and will I get out of your way enough for you to step across the space and begin to trust this place? And then, I wonder, how can you trust this place, it takes time to trust.

I’m letting each word you say land in me, whilst noticing all your being, your breath, your movements, the hand that clasps at the throat not allowing your words to form.  I’m imagining the deep somatic memory of not being listened to, of being silenced. Maybe, I’m meeting a fantasy of yourself, a fantasy so strong she is now the only version of yourself, keeping safe the tiny child who was dominated, neglected, unseen.  I think, how confusing it might have been to look back at your mother who seemed blank, downcast, or angry, who couldn’t reflect your bright ‘why’.