Jacob and his angel

I’ve always enjoyed the story of Jacob and his Angel. It speaks of a tenacity on Jacob’s part and a wish to forge a different identity for himself. His birth name is Jacob, meaning to follow or, less flattering, heel grabber! After his wresting match he becomes Israel – one who contends, who fights. (Which has resonances for the work of therapy. It takes energy and tenacity!)

In the Genesis story Jacob and his camp have settled down for the night en route to Canaan. Jacob leaves the camp and goes off by himself to a quiet place. (Not surprising given the size of his entourage.) Whilst here he encounters an Angel. Or possibly not an angel. The identity of Jacob’s opponent is unclear. From the Old Testament perspective we have three choices – an Angel, God or a man. In biblical terms there is a clear hierarchy. God sits at the top, angels next, followed by Man. It seems to me that what is being described in this story is Jacob’s struggle to find an identity. To forge a different name. (Which is one way of thinking about the struggle in therapy, a way to try to answer the question “Who am I?)

That there is this uncertainty over who or what Jacob is wrestling. In therapy we are always working with different aspects of our personality, and here, Jacob is wrestling with all that he is. The divine, the angelic and the mortal. (As ever Shakespeare put it so well in his speech in Hamlet where the prince muses “What is this quintessence of dust?”)

In Jacob we have the story of a man who wants an honourable name. He begins as a usurper and ends as a fighter. A man who has earned the right to a new name and a new identity. A good outcome that was hard won by a man who knew the value of a name. And the identity that goes with it.

Continuing to take my time

In the previous two blogs I’ve written about the difficulties of “transitioning”. Albeit in some very limited ways imposed on me by having a broken leg. Or, more accurately, the challenges facing life with a leg that was broken but is now healing. Any kind of movement was impossible when I had the accident. I was sitting on the ground, bike sprawled next to me, unable to move. Feeling rather frightened and trapped. Fortunately several people stopped, asked what help I needed and intervened appropriately. Calling an ambulance, waiting with me until it came and, finally, taking my bike back home for me. (Thank you very much!) The crisis is now resolved and my task is to carry on hobbling! It’s this process I want to think about now. Less my own hobbling, more the hobbling of some of my patients and how they choose to manage their need to hobble for a while. What internal helpers could they find to help them move from being on the floor to being at home.

The first patient I want to talk about is a young man whom I shall call Mark. (All personal details here are changed.) Mark was doing a foundation degree in photography. His work was very good. We talked about some of his images during the therapy. His difficulty was that he never managed to complete an assignment. There were ideas aplenty and no lack of technical skill. Just something got in the way of producing a portfolio of his work. Consequently he was in danger of failing his foundation year. During our sessions he would often ask me about my tastes in Art or Music. What novels had I read? What hobbies did I have. And so on. These questions usually came up when he was struggling with particularly painful material and wanted to take my attention away from these memories. After a short time I began to interpret these efforts at distraction. I suggested that he was trying to enlist me as a friend with whom he could his share love of Black Sabbath – or a comparable band. In so doing he could sidestep the painful fact that I was his therapist, not his friend. Thus he didn’t have to take seriously his pain or his risk of failing his course. Nor did he have to take our work seriously. If we could tsk about Black Sabbath, then he didn’t need to talk about his background. Thus, with admirable sleight of hand, he could deny the pain that came from his childhood and upbringing.

Mark was one of four children and his parents were both addicted to drugs and alcohol. Thus their main preoccupation was not the children. Except for brief periods when his father was sober and his mother clean, then some attention was given to the children who were mostly looked after by one or other set of grandparents or neighbours. (This level of care was just about enough to give Mark and his siblings some sense of self worth snd value.) Along with all the other difficulties faced by Mark were the mixed messages he got from his parents. On the one had he was exhorted to do well at school. Yet nobody helped him with his homework nor provided a quiet working area. (It is a credit to their resilience that the children did as well academically and socially as they did.)

My comment to Mark was always about taking himself seriously. He was a good photographer but risked putting a possible career in jeopardy by never completing a portfolioio. To present a finished piece of work meant being serious. Coming up with creative images was not going to be enough unless he committed himself to the process of making a portfolio. After a number of weeks Mark came to a session and announced “I’ve worked out my problem, Why I never finish any project. I don’t believe in myself. I always assume that my work will be seen as rubbish. So why bother to present something if it’s only rubbish?” I smiled and agreed with him. “I just need to take myself and my work seriously, don’t I?” I could only agree! The next week he came back and told me he had submitted his final portfolio and had been told, unofficially, by his tutor, that it was a good piece of work which should gain him a Pass. This was his last session. We had achieved our goal. Mark was able to take himself seriously, because I had taken him seriously. It was a pleasing outcome. (I asked him to send me a signed copy of one of his pictures if he ever had a major exhibition. He happily agreed.)

In my next “hobbling” piece I’ll look at some work where the outcome was much less satisfactory.

Unanswered questions

Image courtesy of Paa Kwesi Forson

One of my favourite writers is the late Robert B. Parker who wrote some of the best pulp fiction I know. (He was also a Professor of English literature at North Eastern University and wore his genius lightly!) His main character is a private eye called Spenser and his companion in arms, Hawk. They spend their time asking all those unanswered questions that people do, and don’t, want answering. Some of the time he will ask questions on behalf of his client. Sometimes he will ask questions because “Truth” demands it. Sometimes the two are compatible. Sometimes not. I suppose the maxim “To thine own self be true.” could have been written for him. (And many another!)

I’m nearly at the end of yet another reading of a Spenser novel “Back Story” (No Exit Press: 2003) about an investigation into a murder that took place nearly 30 years beforehand. In this case the request comes from Spenser’s adopted son, Paul, on behalf of his current girlfriend. She has a story about her idyllic childhood that was cut short when her mother was killed in a bank robbery. Her hope is that if the killer can be found, she will have closure. So Spenser agrees to do what he can. Inevitably this means that he discovers that the girl’s past was far from idyllic. Equally inevitably, he will follow the unravelling story to its end. Almost regardless of how much emotional, and physical, mayhem he leaves behind him. But, as Susan Silverman, Spenser’s “significant other” and a psychotherapist puts it “You have no way to know until you get to the end, what the end is going to be.”

The chart above is more commonly used with physical pain but could just as well be used with psychic pain. I was recently asked to describe what it was that I do as a psychotherapist. “How do you work?” I was asked. I could have launched into a long and technical description involving the role of the id, the ego and the super ego. From there I could have moved on to the idea of object relations theory and concluded with a tour of transference and counter transference phenomena. This might have impressed him. But I doubt it. My reply was to quote Freud’s dictum that the point of psychoanalysis is to change neurotic misery into ordinary unhappiness. The caller laughed and we arranged a first meeting.

To return to Spenser. In “Back Story” Spenser says to someone “Do you know who I am?” “Sure” comes the reply. “You’re the guy who asks all the unanswered questions.” He might have added “And all the unasked questions.” That sums up my work. I try to ask all the unanswered questions along with all the unasked ones. I ask these questions as an equivalent to the pain chart above. They help me find the what the psychoanalyst Bob Hinshelwood described as ‘the point of maximum pain.” When we know what this might be, the way is clearer to begin work on pain relief and healing. Wherever that might take both of us.

No Fixed Abode

I recently revisited the Barbara Hepworth sculpture garden in St. Ives. And, as usual, was delighted by it. Whilst I find her work intellectually challenging, if I simply allow myself to respond to it instinctively I can make sense of them. Which is, of course, exactly how I work as a therapist. My patient comes to see me. I listen. As much intuitively as intellectually. In time my listening is processed and I can formulate a thought. A tentative suggestion. The psychoanalyst Wilfred Bion came up with a classic comment about a clinical work. His maxim was that one should approach a session with neither memory or desire. (A maxim that has made my life much simpler at times!) It’s very easy when presented with a “diagnosis” to jump to assumptions. Better to meet the person and worry about diagnostic labels later.

So, to return to Hepworth. I was looking at the sculpture in the picture and trying to respond to its complexity. I love its fluidity and sensuality. Its sense of motion. (It was Goethe who said that architecture is frozen music. The Hepworth piece fits that so well.) For this blog I looked up a definition of a Mobus strip. Wikipedia told me that it is “… a one sided nonorientable surface obtained by cutting a closed band into a single strip.” Which is a perfectly accurate physical description of the thing. I could describe Hepworth’s piece in similar terms. And fail to miss the meaning of it. (Or at least the shared meaning we created that morning in her garden.)

One of the things that delights me about this sculpture is its solidness yet its fragility. It’s a relatively small piece which sits happily on a plinth. Unlike some of her more monumental pieces which are the size of trees. I like this mix in her work. I was reminded of the lines in T.S.Eliot’s poem Four Quartets.

“We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time”

The work of psychotherapy is so often to bring the patient back to their beginning and allow them to know it for the very first time.Which brings us back to Hepworth’s piece which is about Endings and Beginnings. And of knowing where we come from and where we belong. Hence the title of this blog. As Mary Angelo put it “If you don’t know where you’ve come from, you don’t know where you’re going.”

The root of our word “hysteria” has its roots in the Greek idea of a “floating womb”. The sense that women, in particular, had no fixed centre and were prone to emotional ills. It still is a good metaphor – if bad physiology – for a sense of uncentredness. And thus a proneness to emotional disturbance. This uncentredness is not unique to women – despite the view of the Greeks. I see many ”hysterical” men as well. A lack of a stable core is not a gender specific issue!

I shall follow up some of these ideas in the next blog. Meanwhile, please feel free to comment on this piece and any other of my blogs.

The Enemy Within

I’ve recently been watching a Manga cartoon about a young man called Baki Hanma who is a martial arts fighter of some talent and renown. There are some interesting sub-themes about self worth and how one finds it. There are also echoes of Freud’s death instinct (Thanatos.)

As the picture above shows, Freud’s idea can be seen in a variety of ways, some curative and helpful. At other times thoroughly destructive. Like all our drives. The Baki series consists mainly of impossibly muscled martial arts fighters attempting to destroy all their opponents and emerge as the One. (Along with this is a wish to know defeat. A possible expression of Thanatos? Perhaps there is a curious relief in knowing that one can be defeated? A reminder of one’s mortality? As Shakespeare’s Henry IV says “Uneasy lies the head that bears the crown.”.)

A film critic offers this summary of Baki, “Five of the world’s most violent and brutal death row inmates are gathering to face Baki. Their objective is to taste defeat – their unmatched strength and skill have led them to become bored of life itself, and they now seek out Baki in the hopes that he can overwhelm them and utterly crush them.” (Greenlight Factory)

One sequence in the film caught my attention. Two of the protagonists are in combat. Biscuit Oliva is fighting Yurijo Hanma. We watch Oliva display a dazzling array of moves: kicks, blocks, punches, lightning fast ducks and swerves in a display that would shame any of our current WWF champions. Sadly, Oliva is not fighting the real opponent, who stands behind him watching. Hanma has hypnotised him (although why is not clear). Thus Biscuit is fighting the fight he believes he needs to, in order to win. Hanma is behind him, watching. It is a rather sad vignette but one which struck me as full of psychological meaning.

As a therapist I see many people in distress. I see men who have problems with their anger and women who have problems with anxiety and depression. In most cases the men have an angry father and grandfather standing behind them whilst the women have a depressed and anxious mother and grandmother. In these cases, my patient is fighting the wrong battle. Their challenger is standing behind them watching whilst they tire themselves out fighting the foe only they can see. (But who is still real and alive.)

In the Manga version, Biscuit Oliva is certain that he is triumphing over his opponent. How can he not win? He fights so hard and with such focus, employing his vast strength along with every move he has in his repertoire.. Sadly the real enemy stands behind him. Watching. Unseen. Unaffected. So many of my patients are doing the same. Fighting the battle they believe they have to fight. A husband who doesn’t love them properly. A wife who is out at work all day and “neglects” them. Children who will insist on being their own people.

Much of my work is in helping my patient to understand that they are fighting themselves. The enemy is not Anger or Depression or Anxiety. These are shadows and formidable but not the real challenge. The work is to help them see that they are fighting a shadow who, whilst a part of themselves, is not the Truth about them. With this realisation, the work can then continue. The work is of self-acceptance, of choosing when a battle has to be fought or when to walk away. To use their energy to heal and not destroy.

And before I leave, may I offer my apologies if I have misnamed my fighters. I am not an expert on Manga in general and Baki in particular. If you’re enticed into the world of Baki, he can be found on Baki./Official Netflix Site.

Less is more (Part 2)

I wrote previously about my experience of the Alexander technique and my teacher’s mantra “do less” which I found counter intuitive and exasperating ( I’m still not sure which tense to use! Past or present. Probably both!) In most other contexts we expect to do more, not less. To run further and faster. To climb higher peaks. To cycle more. All of which is fine as long as it’s fun and rewarding in some way. When all that follows from this expenditure of effort is some kind of injury – physical or psychical – then it’s time to wonder what’s going on. I still find it odd when my teacher wants to move my arm without my joining in. “ Do less, Terry” comes the injunction when I try to anticipate her movement of my arm or neck. (The image of one hand clapping always comes to my mind at this point.) So I learn to do less as she again demonstrates a better way of moving.

I spent much of my early years as an evangelical, charismatic christian. There were so many rules, spoken and unspoken. So many ways to find oneself “in sin”. One didn’t dare “do less” for, amongst other reasons, one’s perennial enemy, the Devil “… prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” (1 Peter 5:8) One meets so many devils seeking to devour us in so many unpleasant ways! I’ll add one more classic example of doing too much before moving on! When I lived in a christian community we met every morning at half past six for morning prayers, a bible reading and a metrical psalm (not to mention indigestion!) In an attempt to prove (to myself?) my commitment and devotion  I would get up at five a.m. for my own Quiet Time before the main morning meeting. I well remember sitting at my desk, my head in my hands, more asleep than awake, trying to read my bible. “Do less” didn’t get a look in!

One of the questions my patients ask me most often  is “What do I do?”. There is an expectation that therapy is “work” and should be accompanied by exercises, worksheets etc. My patients often look bemused when I tell them that there is nothing to do except to talk about themselves. Which they do and often remark that the time has gone quickly, or wonder “where that came from!” I almost hear my Alexander teacher saying “Do less”. Many erudite articles have been written about why psychotherapy works. It’s the relationship, as Gelso (2014) says.

The real relationship, defined psychodynamically, is “the personal relationship between therapist and patient marked by the extent to which each is genuine with the other and perceives/experiences the other in ways that benefit the other”.  Or, in more straightforward terms, a baby at the breast is a very good picture for the process of therapy. The baby is nourished. It’s “programmed” to feed. The mother gives of herself and is rewarded by a fed baby. “All” the baby is doing is to feed. “All” the mother is doing is facilitate this feeding. In this way we grow into healthy human beings. In Alexander terms “all” I have to do is to allow my teacher to do the work. And to allow that my body memory will do the rest. So in therapy “all” the patient does is to talk and “all” the therapist does is to listen.

Less is more

I’ve been working with an Alexander technique teacher for six months or so. It’s a fascinating process, being a novice again. I know about psychoanalysis. I did this for about a decade. I have a sense of the rhythms and timing here. I have a theoretical frame or map to help me. I know when I don’t want to think about something and at least a sense of why. (Which doesn’t make it any easier!)

“Change involves carrying out an activity against the habit of life.”
(F M Alexander)

So, what is the Alexander Technique? I’ll quote from someone else commenting on the Alexander Technique

“The Alexander Technique is a way of learning to move mindfully through life. The Alexander process shines a light on inefficient habits of movement and patterns of accumulated tension, which interferes with our innate ability to move easily and according to how we are designed.”

So at its simplest, the technique is a way of realigning our minds and bodies to work more harmoniously. What could be easier? Mountain climbing; cross channel swimming; endurance running. All these and more come to mind. I don’t want to suggest that the Alexander technique is physically challenging or demanding. At one level it’s not. It is manageable for a three year old or a ninety year old. At another level it’s one of the most challenging things I’ve done. Why? That answer is in the title of this blog. “Less is more”.

My teacher’s favourite phrase is “Do less, Terry.” Initially this infuriated me. “I’m here to learn the Alexander technique” was my thought and my rejoinder. “How am I supposed to learn by doing less? Everything else needs me to do more. To stretch my back three times a day. To climb more hills on my bike. To go to the gym more frequently. How the hell do I learn by ‘doing less’?” (It felt like the image of the sound of one hand clapping.)

So, what has this to do with psychotherapy?

Many years ago I had a patient who really didn’t need to see me. His wife should have come instead. My patient’s “problem” was his wife. “She does too much. She always has to be doing something. The children have to be perfect. The house must be spotless. She must be brilliant at her work. It’s driving us both mad! But she can’t stop. Help!”

I listened for a while and quoted the psychoanalyst Winnicott’s maxim about being “good enough.” A good enough mother, wife, cook, employee etc. “Good enough” is good enough. I wondered if he thought his wife might find this idea helpful.

“Oh yes,” he replied “She tries very hard to be Good enough!”

At this point I put my metaphorical head in my metaphorical hands and let out a long and anguished metaphorical howl! How ironic and how sad that she managed to turn a potentially liberating maxim into a persecutory commandment. Except that I understand how she felt – in some ways. My Alexander teacher is always telling me “Do less, Terry” as she lifts up my arm. Or gets me to stand still and lifts up my neck. Whenever I try to help her, she tells me “Do less” and each time I try to “do less”! For a long time I thoroughly resented her “commandment” to do less. (Along with keeping my neck loose and long and one or two other “exercises”.) I turned “do less” into a super ego driven “Thou shalt…” and found that slowly but surely, I was angry at having to ‘do less”. “It’s my neck and I can carry myself any way I choose.”

Slowly but surely, I‘m beginning to enjoy “doing less”. And am amused at how easily I turned her into a ‘bad object’. Someone who was persecutory rather than nourishing. I’ve got a way to go yet. I have no plans to train as an Alexander teacher. (My psychotherapy training was demanding enough. As is my work as a therapist.) But I might just stick with my teacher and her ‘Do less” maxim.

Light and Shadow

“Filling the conscious mind with ideal conceptions is a characteristic of Western philosophy, but not the confrontation with the shadow and the world of darkness. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light , but by making the darkness conscious.” (Carl Jung)

The two pictures above play with this idea of Light and Shade. The National Galley in London has been running an exhibition on Leonardo da Vinci’s painting “Virgin of the Rocks”. It was a delight. I wish I’d gone sooner than I did. But I went in the end! The two figures are the same head with different lighting. It is an interactive part of the display where one can control the amount of light shining in the booths. It picks up on one of the central themes about Light and Shadow. (You can see why this interests me as a psychotherapist!) The exhibition has a quotes from Da Vinci writ large on one of the walls. It says “He who avoids shadow avoids what is the glory of art.” I wanted to change it to “He who denies shadow avoids what is the glory of humanness”. 

Freud observed that the point of psychoanalysis is to make conscious the unconscious. Jung suggested that “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making darkness conscious.” The work of therapy isn’t necessarily to make us happy. It is to make us conscious. Or as Freud so cheerfully put it “To turn neurotic misery into ordinary unhappiness.” Having spent many years of my life trying be Good and a Christian and to allow that I might be “a miserable sinner”, it is now a great relief to simply get on with being Human. One of my many difficulties with Christianity was that I never could see myself as a Sinner. (And, mostly, not as a miserable one!) I always found this a most unhelpful idea. Particularly when working in mental health where so many of our patients were already feeling beaten and persecuted by Life. To then come along and pronounce them “Sinners” always seemed at best unhelpful. At worst, cruel.

So, where does this link with Da Vinci and the lovely exhibition of his painting? Simply the awareness of the value of both light and shadow. It is not possible to have one without the other. Light gives Shadow. Shadow gives Light. The interactive heads are fascinating because as one changes the light, so the head appears different. As the light increases or decreases, aspects of the head change. As does its shadow. It is one of the challenging elements of the work of therapy. We all enjoy hearing about our generous, healthy, loving side. We less enjoy hearing about our greed, our rage, our hatred. Yet the task of a therapist is to bring to our patients’ awareness both sides of their personality. (It’s one of the reasons why, as therapists, we all have to have had our own time in therapy. It can be painful, distressing, liberating, healing, but in any event, absolutely essential!)

I recently quoted the pilgrim father, John Robinson’s words to one of my patients. We were reflecting on the work they have so far done in their therapy with me. Robinson said, of the Bible: “the Lord hath more light and truth to break forth from His holy word.” I commented that this seemed like a good description of our work together and of our future work. They agreed. 

If I had a glass in my hand I would now propose a toast “To Light and Shade!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eeyore and the Psychiatrist

After a very long wait, Eeyore finally had an appointment to see a psychiatrist about his depression. (He didn’t know he was depressed. He thought he was just Eeyore. And Eeyores are prone to be a bit gloomy. 

But Pooh, Christopher Robin and Owl had all decided that he was more than a bit gloomy. 

“We all have gloomy days. Even me.” said Christopher Robin. 

“And me.” said Pooh. “But I just hum a happy hum and I feel better. Of course, hunny helps as well.”

“I don’t think Eeyores eat honey” said Eeyore. “But thank you for thinking of me. Not many people do.“ 

Christopher Robin nodded. “That’s just why we think seeing a psychiatrist would help you. He could help you think positive thoughts.” he said with a smile.

“Why would I want to do that?” asked Eeyore. 

“Because… because… because…“ tried Pooh.

“Because people who think positive thoughts live longer. It’s a well known scientific fact.” said Owl.

“No one ever told me about that.” grumbled Eeyore. “I can’t change how I think. Besides, I wouldn’t recognise me if I thought differently. I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be somebody else. And I don’t want to be somebody else.”

Owl sighed. This wasn’t going as he had anticipated. He thought Eeyore would have been pleased to be taught to think differently, to think positive thoughts not negative ones, to see that his glass was half full, not half empty. He’d said this once.

“But Eeyores don’t use glasses. Hooves aren’t made for holding things like that. Besides,” Eeyore continued, “knowing me I’d probably drop it and it would break. Then there’d be no glass at all.”

Owl thought explaining that the glass was a metaphor. But wisely said nothing. Simply nodded.

So it was that our friends arrived at the hospital with an appointment to see Doctor Sajiv. After nearly an hour’s wait they were collected by the doctor who apologised to them and explained all about government budget cuts, poor staffing levels and the dire state of the NHS. 

“But never mind all that. Which one of you is called ‘Eeyore’? You young man?” he looked hopefully at Christopher Robin.

“No. It’s my friend here who’s Eeyore” smiled Christopher Robin, “We think he’s depressed and want you to make him better. Please.” 

So Eeyore and Christopher Robin followed the doctor. Down a long windowless corridor until they came into a small windowless room.

Eeyore was shaking his head in a worried fashion.

“Can we go back, now, Christopher Robin? I’m worried that somebody might steal my home whilst I’m here. I know it’s not much of a home, but it’s the only one I’ve got. And I’d hate to lose it.”

Christopher Robin was about to ‘Say Something’ about Eeyore being anxious but wisely didn’t. 

Instead he said “Don’t worry Eeyore, I’ve asked everyone to go round and look after it for you.”

“Oh.” said Eeyore uncertainly. “I do hope they’ll look after it. It may only be a pile of sticks to some people, but to me it’s my home. And I should hate to have to build another one.”

Before Christopher Robin could answer, Dr Sajiv had moved some books and papers off two chairs and invited them to sit down, which Christopher Robin did. Eeyore just stood where he was. (Didn’t this doctor know that Eeyores aren’t built to sit in chairs? For a clever man, he thought, he’s not very bright. But being a well mannered creature he said nothing, but stood quietly, waiting to see what would happen next).

“So tell me, Eeyore, how are you” asked the doctor.

“Not very.” replied Eeyore

“Not very what?” asked a slightly puzzled Doctor.

“Not very how” replied Eeyore. “Not very how at all.”

After 50 minutes Dr Sajiv cleared his throat, looked at Christopher Robin and Eeyore and shook his head. ”I don’t think CBT will be of much help. Have you tried your local vet?”

Eeyore goes to Therapy

It was a lovely day in the Hundred acre wood. Pooh Bear was strolling along humming a happy tune. Tigger was being extra bouncy and even Piglet was managing to be braver than usual. Everyone is happy. Well, almost everyone. Eeyore is his usual melancholy self. Pooh wanders across to say “Hello” to him. 

 Pooh smiled his best Happy Smile

“”Hello Eeyore. I just came across to say “Good morning”

“Really. I doubt that. Something will come along and spoil things. Always happens.’ Eeyore was not going to be so easily persuaded.

“Oh!” said Pooh. not expecting this response from his gloomy friend. “Oh!”  And having no better idea about what else to say, he wandered off leaving Eeyore sitting under his own big, black cloud. 

The next person Pooh bumped into was his friend Christopher Robin.

“Hello Pooh” he said cheerily. “Isn’t this a splendid morning. It make you glad to be alive, don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes” said Pooh. And paused. He frowned, which was an unusual thing for a bear of little brain.

“What’s wrong, Pooh?” asked Christopher Robin. You ;look very serious.”

“Do I? I suppose I was thinking…”

“Thinking…” echoed Christopher Robin.

“Yes.” said Pooh slowly. “Thinking…”

“Thinking…” echoed Christopher Robin. (Christopher Robin had done a counselling course. In it they told him that “reflecting back” was a Very Good Thing. “It tells your patient that you are listening to them. but without imposing your own agenda on them..”  His tutor had constantly told them. So Christopher robin was delighted at this chance to use his new skill  on his Friend.

“What were you thinking about?” enquired Christopher Robin after Pooh had said nothing for quite a long time. 

“Honey” said Pooh.

“Honey.…” echoed Christopher Robin.

“Yes. honey, but before that, i was thinking about Eeyore. 

“Eeyore…” echoed Christopher Robin. 

“Christopher Robin, stop repeating everything I say. You sound like the cave where the heffalumps live.”

“Where the… “began  Christopher Robin. But he had the good sense to stop himself. Instead he asked “What were you thinking about Eeyore?”

“I’m worried about him. He never seems happy. Bad things always seem to happen to him. He loses his tail, his house  is blown away, Tigger always jumps out at him and scares him.And if I say to him ‘How are you, Eeyore?” He just shakes his head and says “Not very how.. I don’t seem to have felt at all how for a long time.” 

Christopher Robin thought for a moment. quite a long moment. Then “I think we should talk to Owl. He knows about thee things.”  Which is how Christopher Robin and Pooh went to Owl to ask about their friend Eeyore. 

And what happened next is another story for another time. But it involves EEyore going to see a psychiatrist and learning all about CBT. But that’s a story for another time.