Back home...

OK, well, The Black Box blog  was a nice interlude!

I'm being ironic. 

I may have said this before - that I fell in love with my therapist? 

And I tell the story of what happened here: LINK.

Spoiler alert: Not a happy ending. But, it was an interesting experience, taught me lots.

So, back home, back to the sense of my life as being me running rings around the moon, or ripples from a stone thrown into a pool, the image of the moon becomes rings that slowly, slowly calm back into a coherent picture.

All in all it is OK, I've done good! I have done what I set out to do! In 2015 I picked up on an expression that passed over my son's face that gave me the heads-up that something was going very wrong, and I listened to that intuition. I followed the narrative to the coroners court and resolved to become the kind of therapist who isn't like 'your mom's friend'. I wanted to work with young men who are suicidal. I wanted to become someone who knows how to engage with psychosis, who knows how to truly be on someone's side when they have gone beyond reason and logic.

This is my work now.

And the last episode?

The therapist?

Learnt a lot from that too; about denial (in it's highest form it becomes an ARG), about epistemic injustice, and I've possibly learnt a few things about me...

So, the black box has been opened, the crash has been described, the errors and the failures now point me in another direction, away from counselling and into conflict resolution. 

So?

So, here I am - beware, this will be my think space! 

It wont be uncensored - but it will be honest.