Structure makes for safety
Contents
Chapter 1 (cont.)
Addition for the m/other-us-all
Introduction
I am assailed by doubts. Last month’s post was excruciating to write. What am I doing? These posts are meant to be about Theraplay and how it can inform all parts of our working lives, but where is the Theraplay in what I am writing? Is this just all self-indulgent stuff? And am I conning you, as well as myself, in suggesting that I am conducting research and offering you the fruits of my tacit knowledge accessed via Heuristic Inquiry?
In a world that feels like it is falling apart, where self-interest reigns, the way to get things moving is to belittle, ambush and argue, and a ‘masculine vibe’ seems to be in ascendancy in places of power, should I continue sharing my strange pieces of fiction and the idiosyncratic reflections that accompany them? Can I wobble and be ‘not sure’, and know that is an honest strength?
Welcome to the starting places of deep inquiry into a profound question - how do we make caring for others the centre of our world?
I write these posts because I want to share my desire and hope that this world can be a place where people caring for other people is seen as the highest order of work. I dream of a world where that ethic of care, and the practical structures by which we organise our communities and businesses, are the default position. A world where the pursuit of monetary gain and the wielding of power for personal advantage are so extraordinary that we question the very validity of that ‘knowledge’.
I am reminded of the post I wrote in December 2023, in which I referenced our curate, who challenged us all by asking: “What would you do if you had faith and weren’t afraid?”
A place of contrasts
The outside of the service station seemed constructed of almost as many shades of indistinct grey as her memories. It had certainly seen better days. The clear windows of the bridge linking the north- and southbound parts of the service station, spanning the six lanes of motorway and the place where she thought her five your old self must have squatted and watched the traffic, were now greyed out. The paint, or whatever was coating it, was cracked and wrinkled. In places, it looked like gaffer tape was holding the whole structure together.
The outside of the squat, single storey building at the foot of the bridge was grimy. Leaves that had blown off of the trees made the ground dark, slick and cluttered. There was a sharp gust of wind as they got out of the car. It made them both shiver a little, stirring the leaves in an ominous rustle and bringing more down from the trees.
Graham looked up at the sky. “Looks like rain.”
The sky was glowering, solid steel grey, as if the earth was using the last of her strength to hold the water up in the sky, but her knees were buckling.
“Let’s get inside,” Graham said to Val. She nodded and headed with determined direction to the entrance.
The inside couldn’t have been more different than the outside. As if they’d stepped into another planet, the brightness was discombobulating. After the intense grey of outside it hit the eye like an arrow, painfully intense, layered with a weight of noise.
Immediately inside the door, a bank of cut flowers leered towards them, a coffee shop clowning to the right and a mini supermarket seductive to the left. A room of electronic games gave a background soundscape of groans and blares and gratings. Val strode on past it all, partly due to the pressing nature of her bladder, partly as the sensory overload after the calm of the car was too intense and too unsettling.
As she walked, she scanned for the toilets processing the visuals for what she needed to see. She passed the entrance to a food hall on the right. There were banks of screens to order your food before being called forward to collect it. It was as if the place had done all it could to minimise human interaction. There was no one around to ask, but as she strode forward, she could smell the urine and knew she was heading in the right direction. Past the men's, into another space where the smell was less, round a wall that broke the line of sight from the main thoroughfare, and into the ladies.
There were banks of floor-to-ceiling stalls on either side of a central aisle that seemed like a corridor. Intense in a different way to the noise and movement she had just left. Quieter. Different full-on sights.
Not the first, nor the last. The habit was ingrained to a point where she didn’t even know why she always picked one of those in the middle. One with a door open and where she could see there was no toilet paper strewn on the floor. She locked the door behind her and hung her bag on the knob of the lock to make sure she didn’t have to put it on the floor.
She glanced around, noting again that the walls were tall - not quite to the ceiling, but high enough, and they went right down to within a centimetre of the floor. There was nothing she could see that looked like it could be a camera disguised as a discarded pen, or.. whatever. No peepholes drilled in the wall. She sighed as she pulled down her trousers and pants and sat on the seat, bothered that she no longer had the strength to hover over the seat in a squat while she peed. But still, the relief of letting go was profound, despite the awareness of possible vulnerability, even behind the walls and locked door of a public toilet.
Graham was standing by the magazines, browsing titles, when Val emerged from the toilets. He watched her before she noticed him. Her posture was now more upright, her shoulders softer, and her gaze - he wasn’t sure what word to put to her gaze. She was less harried, as if comfort in her body allowed her to engage with the world more.
Why wouldn’t it?
Pain came in all shapes and sizes. He knew from his work that physical pain made animals pull back and hide, or attack if approached too hastily. From Val, he’d come to realise that emotional pain was the same. The shame she carried all the time, but hid so well, in turn pained him, and he wished he could free her from it. But he knew it was a scar that went deeper than just the years she’d lived and that it wasn't in his gift to provide her with that freedom.
She spotted him and her smile was spontaneous. It lit up her face and her hand raised to acknowledge him wholeheartedly, without restraint. He knew his face smiled in response. The contrast between the daily distress he knew she carried and this vibrancy of life in their connection never ceased to amaze him, puzzle him, and disorientate him.
They moved to each other, meeting just outside of the newsagent area - not a shop, but a space whose boundary was marked by a change in the colour of the floor tiles.
“Do you want a drink before we go?” He asked.
She smiled again, shaking her head. “How far to the next services? I don’t think I can make you stop again.”
He didn’t smile back. He felt a forced brightness in her, or thought he did, as her shame rattled again. But maybe it was just him not wanting her to feel that way.
“Anytime, Val. Anytime you need us to stop, we can stop.”
But she had already turned away, back towards the door and exiting this place of sights and sounds and smells and consumption - he didn’t think she’d heard. He set off after her.
The sky was still heavy when they stepped out of the door. Both breathed deeply, both noting the coolness and the freshness of the air after inside, even petrol fume laden it seemed more vitalising than that inside.
“How long do you reckon it will take us to get there?’ she asked.
He’d checked it on his phone while she was in the loo. “About three hours.”
“You okay doing the first bit?” She asked. “I’ll take over just after Oxford.”
“Perfect.”
They spotted the blue roof of the car and headed towards it, weaving between other parked cars and being mindful of the continually shuffling traffic. Everything moved slowly as people reversed into and out of spaces in a constant tide of comings and goings. They only saw it when they were right on top of the car.
“Oh,” Val said.
“Oh,” Graham responded.
The tyre on the front passenger side was fully deflated.
They looked at each other, one of those moments when it would have been easy for Val to fall into the historical expectation of the man taking over.
“Oh,” she said again. “Do you know how to fix it?”
“No,” Graham said. “That’s what breakdown services are for.” He paused. “You do have breakdown cover?”
Val felt irritated, again hearing Graham's voice through the veil of the patriarchy, scolding or implying she was stupid. She pushed that to one side. She knew she didn’t have to hear it the way, and, if Graham really were judging, well, that was on him.
“Of course,” she replied, knowing she was working at keeping waspishness out of her voice. “I’ll call them. I’ll call them from the car, it’s quieter than in there, and the details are in the glove compartment.”
“I’ll go back in and get us some tea,” Graham said. “It’s bound to be a while before they can get here.”
Val nodded in agreement, and they parted ways: Graham back to the building, Val pressing the button on her key fob to hear the reassuring click-bleat of the car unlocking. She slipped into the passenger seat and opened the glove compartment.
As she took out the details of the breakdown cover, the first drop of rain thudded heavily on the windscreen.
Not a priority
Call centres were frustrating.
Mobile phones weren’t made for people like her.
Or people like her weren’t made for mobile phones.
She’d wanted to do this from the car so no one could see her fluster, and so she could concentrate on trying to hear instructions without the distraction of light and sound.
She realised she needed her glasses to type in her policy number. The phone number had been printed in large type, so she had managed without rummaging in her bag for her glasses case. After entering the number, a recorded voice instructed her to answer questions verbally. Inevitably, the digital tones responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” feigning human connection when she remained silent because her answers didn’t match their questions.
By the time she finally reached a human - after some tinny music that massacred Canon in D - she felt she was losing the will to live. Dehumanisation undermined her so quickly. She could feel tears in her eyes and had to soothe herself with her own words: it’ll be okay, just one step at a time, there’s no rush. All the time her mother’s voice pressing at her as if to know why she hadn’t sorted it out yet, why she was being so slow and so incapable. She had to remind herself that it was a person who finally spoke with her, a person who probably also felt dehumanised by the process, obliged to follow the script.
“Are you on your own?”
“No.”
“Who are you with?”
She wanted to answer none of your business, but knew now was a time for politeness. “A friend.”
“Male or female?”
“I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t stop that one coming out, astonished.
“We want to prioritise your call,” the voice came back.
“Male,” Val answered, obedience kicking in before her head could get her to question such a way of prioritising.
“It is the end of half-term, and we are busy at the moment. We estimate we can be with you in 3 hours. Is this the best number to message you on when we are close to you?”
“Yes,” Val responded, too disheartened to question whether the wait time would have been shorter if she had been a woman alone - or even with a female friend. She was caught between gratitude that the vulnerability of a woman alone, or even of women in pairs, was recognised and simmering rage that such a reality existed at all - and that insurers made decisions and rationed resources based on it.
Another pellet of rain hit the windscreen and she jumped, pulled back to the reality of now. Well, at least they could sit inside and watch the world go by them while they waited for someone to come and change their tyre. She patted the dashboard of her car.
“I’ll be okay”, she said. “We’ll take care of you.” It was always easier to speak kindly to an object she owned, that were sometimes extensions of herself, than it was to be kind to herself in these pinch point moments. She levered herself out of the car, noting just the few centimetres difference in height: getting out into a car park rather than onto a pavement made it just that bit harder for her.
She closed the door, pressed the key fob, heard the click-bleat, and nodded with satisfaction knowing she’d made her car as secure as she could. She trotted towards the building, ears and eyes alert to moving cars but keen to get out of the drops that were now falling steadily. Keen to get to Graham and companionship.
Structure makes for safety
Until now, my writing and self-exploration have focused on how we, as Theraplay practitioners, might address the fear that our clients hold within themselves. Fear that makes it difficult for them to accept the care we offer them in sessions. However, reflecting on this new fiction, I am realising that I am mostly addressing the fear inside myself as a practitioner. Fear that prevents me from living by the faith I have that humankind is, at its core, kind. This fear leaks into all parts of my life and practice as a therapist, therapist educator, researcher, and manager.
When I began training as a psychotherapeutic counsellor, one of the significant influences on me was Mearns and Thorne and their person centred counsellors' creed.
They say that “the person centred counsellor believes:
That every individual has the internal resources for growth;
That when a counsellor offers the core conditions of congruence, unconditional positive regard and empathy, therapeutic movement will take place;
That human nature is essentially constructive;
That human nature is essential social;
That self regard is a basic human need;
That persons are motivated to seek the truth;
That perceptions determine experience and behaviour;
That the individual should be the primary reference point in any helping activity;
That individuals should be related to as whole person who are in the process of becoming;
That persons should be treated as doing their best to grow and preserve themselves given their current internal and external circumstances;
That is it is important to reject the pursuit of authority or control over others and to seek to share power.” (Mearns and Thorne, 1988, p.19)
Despite the pressures in academia (and other work settings) to innovate, use current literature, and prioritise ‘progress’ above all else, this creed or statement of core beliefs about humankind anchors me. It is part of the internal Structure that I hold. It is a Structure that gives me safety through the cultivation of identity as the kind of professional I wish to strive towards becoming. What I do in my work now may look very different to what I did when I first trained, but how I wish to be with others remains the same. It is about attachment, and as we talk about in primary caregiver/infant experiences, there is rupture - I get it wrong/fail - and when there is subsequent repair, resilience grows and my desire to identify as a person who cares gets stronger with that.
When I capitalise words like Structure, I do so deliberately, drawing from Theraplay theory, where ordinary terms take on specific meanings. Do see the Glossary for definitions.
The Structure I am holding onto in this research is the research methodology of Heuristic Inquiry, and the method of writing fiction under pressure so my thinking brain is offline and I am writing through my senses, then trusting that the fiction production has enabled me to access the tacit knowledge that might address the questions I am struggling with. These pressing questions are the ones that arise in a world where I can’t bear to hear the news - yet know I must if I am to stay connected to my fellow human beings who are suffering. As a person who cares, I want that connection; but it costs.
It is, I would argue, the same dilemma we face in the clinical room, regardless of what sort of therapy we have been trained in: how do we stay in touch with the pain brought by the people we work with, and use our empathy to make it possible to be alongside them with an undefended manner so that we can create those core conditions for change? As I seek to operationalise our m/other tongue - this ‘more than we can say’ of our tacit maternal knowing - and explore what it means to be Theraplayers in all aspects of life, the same process informs me beyond the therapy room; how does empathy and the desire to be a person who cares guide me in my choice making?
In last month’s fiction, Val was caught out by personal memories intruding and making it difficult for her to respect herself. The autonomy of her body was ignored to the point where she felt shame. Not only is she unable to respect herself, because she can’t respect herself and has internalised that she is shameful, she can’t accept that the kind man beside her respects her. She then misses out on the attachment-promoting experience of that respect.
Graham cares for her in a way that is neither demeaning nor exploitative despite the power he reluctantly holds (as a white male who is professionally qualified and well-educated and that he has partial consciousness awareness of). This messy state, held between them in the largely non-conscious and often unconscious field, means they miss the loveliness of what their relationship could be. Here I am using the term unconscious in the psychodynamic way - material that is not available to the conscious mind because it is too painful and too destabilising of a person's sense of self to be available in awareness. It just makes its presence felt through actions that make no conscious sense.
This month’s fiction, however, is less about an interior rupture of care, illuminating some of the societal structures that also perpetuate Val’s fear of MEN. I’m capitalising that because I am aware that when I am writing about MEN, it isn’t about real people who identify with the male gender. It is a reification of a type of behaviour, taking something abstract and making it concrete in the use of a word. The fiction made me debate with myself whether such expectation of male-to-female violence/female vulnerability in turn leads to the perpetuation of the white supremacist capitalist patriarchal driver that, if unthought about, can still be the organisational imperative in choice making, particularly the organisations depicted in the fiction that are founded on the fiscal imperative to make a profit for shareholders.
Firstly, we have the service station, built in the 1960s. Once modern, space age and sparkly, it is now showing signs of age and inability to cope with the increase in demand on it, at least from the outside view. The inside is trying (pretending?) to keep up with ‘expectations’ of fast, colourful, places to spend and consume as a balance to the weariness of being between places, and for companies to make a profit out of a captive audience. Val and Graham find the contrast disorientating.
Even the most private moments, that of attending to the bodily functions that are common to every human being regardless of gender or status, is filled with a sense of potential threat. Val (and many of us?) have become so accustomed to this that she no longer knows why she takes certain actions even in these private moments. Has choice been removed from her? Are her actions sensible or paranoid? Even in these situations of everyday felt threat, the body gets on with what it needs to do and there is some relief through bodily action and function (not of cognition and planning). Such is the perpetual conundrum of just getting on with life against a background hum of threat that has become so normalised it isn’t even questioned, barely noticed.
Again and again, Val keeps walking into her own inner positioning of the male as the one with power, despite being a skilled and experienced psychotherapeutic practitioner, having engaged with training and personal therapy, and working with so many children who have been impacted by trauma. It's still a blanket assumption on her part, all men are MEN and MEN are bigger, stronger, and more powerful. The facts and reasons for this lived experience are lost, and probably would be absurd if resurrected and made conscious. The felt sense of male supremacy is the legacy of intergenerational expectation. At the root is shame and fear, which prevents meaningful change for both Val and for Graham.
Graham is no more adept with a car jack than Val is. Expecting that he would be is not an assumption, suggesting that there is some traceable element to the formation of this position. But I think it goes far deeper than that, deep into the organisation of Val’s reality that comes from the organisation of her mother’s reality, and the reality of generations before that, which is why Val struggles so much to eradicate the impact of misogyny and patriarchal limitations on her.
Stern (1998) talks about how experiences are averaged and represented pre-verbally as RIGs (Representations of Interactions that are Generalised). I see these as stories within stories within stories across generations. Val has just avoided them by not having lasting or meaningful relationships with males. The complex intertwining of these personal, familial, and cultural threads is too much for her to disentangle. Positioned as being shameful, Val feels it is all her fault and down to her to untangle ‘everything’ to reestablish ‘perfection’. She cognitively knows this is impossible, but still feels that if only she was good enough then ‘it’ (what ever ‘it’ is) would be resolved, so her only option to avoid internal destruction is to not contemplate relationships with men. The very lack of definitions binds her into an ongoing entrapment, an invisible control that leaves her submissive to the patriarchy, hobbled by her inability to act on her autonomy.
While Val feels the dilemmas are from her failings, the call to the ‘help line’ shows how these are not purely her constructions of reality, but that the constructions of the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy also drive choice making in large organisations. Val’s inner reality is reflected sufficiently by outer reality to make any personal change she might start difficult to sustain.
Like the background hum of threat, such constructs have become ‘normal’. The world is sustained by trade and profit. We don’t critique those constructs outside of theory because they ‘just are’. Planning how such critique can be morphed into different ways of doing things that are more humane feels like changing a whole world order, which is daunting and frightening. If we do notice something is jarring and ‘complain’, that desire to care, rising from ground level up, meets the fiscal imperative of capitalism and neoliberalism coming down.
At this crunch point the ‘complainer’ is dehumanised (don’t be so silly, that's the way things are, we’ve got to live within our budget even though it breaks my heart are the voices that come into my head). On such ground either moral injury occurs when one is required to work against one’s own moral code, or retreat is required to preserve any sense of self that can be congruently respected. These feel the only responses to preserve a coherent sense of self; you buy into the dominant culture or withdraw from it. But there is still shame that the dominant culture is cruel, and there are times, like when the tyre goes flat, that neither retreat or complaint is available.
Val is unsettled by how her call is prioritised on the basis of her gender and the gender of the person she is with, not the situation she is in. She ends up expressing her care toward an inanimate object which seems more responsive to her than the phone call with another human being who is, probably, having to stick to a script prepared by someone else. Such pseudo-connection is driven by the need for companies to, at the end of the day, be profitable, but is the ground for moral injury.
This is the coming storm in my world. How do I care without it destroying me because care is entangled in the false premise of systems that purport to care but actually disenfranchise the very people who would like to care by providing them with scripts that then forbid the messiness and specificity of attuned care? It might look like a structure for safety and predictability, but fractured from meaningful human connection, the structure becomes authoritarian and patriarchal, not authoritative and able to make flexible and contingent decisions.
This is not relational Structure as a Theraplayer might use it in combination with Engagement, Nurture, and Challenge. Institutional application of structure prioritising ‘caring about’ coupled with the use of power over people rather than ‘caring for’ and the use of power in the service of the other, prioritises challenge to manage fiscal issues (either to make profit or in public services to do more while, at best, not increasing budgets).
Big ideas, but we are individuals in our own places of work with the families we serve and probably have little influence on those big structural issues. How does this help us be Theraplayers?
I have to remind myself, this is still the start of a 5-year project to make sense of how to operationalise our m/other tongue. I think I am, like Val, still so consumed by the fear of being visible (as written about last month) that I can’t hear the voices of kindness and relationship that I am hoping (you dear readers) to bring to the joint endeavour of making the embodied knowledge that comes from being a mother into a theory that informs our professional work.
Such tacit maternal knowledge does grow in private. It comes from intimate moments of care. This knowledge coalesces in safe moments, where there can be sensitive and explorative reflection, understanding, and development of the theory that can grow from the meaning of the mothering relationship. Although in the fiction Val has not experienced the intimate moments of breastfeeding, or changing a nappy, or finding she has leaked urine as her pelvic floor is shot, there is still a need to wonder about the yuck factor. At least this is my reflection on why in the fiction I ended up writing about Val’s bodily needs and the threat/fear/shame aspects of this.
The physical messiness of motherhood becomes a rubric for sense-making of the earthy entanglement of taking the mother/infant experience as knowledge and applying it as professional wisdom, the operationalisation of our m/other tongue. The yuck factor has to be integrated to address the annihilation of thinking that can come if such knowledge from experience is lost to shame. Shame needs to be faced and digested for our m/other tongue to be spoken of and heard. I need to address my internal barriers of shame for my knowledge to be spoken of and heard. Step by step, shame can turn to fear. Fear can turn to rage. Rage can turn to energy to start a process of change. Shame changes when Structure, in conjunction with the other dimensions, shows that I am not too much.
It is like that for me. Is it like that for you too?
Last month I was so overwhelmed by the fear of making myself visible, that you would see my shameful lack of knowing what the answer is, that I didn’t even remember the Structure that I’d set for myself, that of adding a question to the m/other-us-all each month to create a handbook to operationalising our m/other tongue.
In terms of being a Theraplayer, the dimension of Structure is the one that makes it possible to transform shame, face our fears, and make visible the wisdom we hold in ourselves that leads to us, as carers, undertaking our roles with humanity and kindness. Structure in this context is always relational - I hold the structure of these posts, for example, in relation to you. I try to remain purposeful. I use the fact that this is a five-year research project to manage the internal voice that tells me that because I don’t have the answers fully formed right now, I should be silent. But what I am taking from the fiction this month is that unless the unspoken and invisible constraints of patriarchal capitalism and neoliberalism can be exposed and spoken about, how can they be questioned as the values on which we want to base our professional practices as therapists, therapist educators, researchers, and managers of services that care?
Structure makes for safety within the process of living and working. Structure does not make for safety of outcomes. New discoveries that come from living as a Theraplayer through the four dimensions and nine core concepts remain scary. Through courageous adherence to Structure, visibility can happen and old structures that are no longer fit for our purpose can be challenged. The painful butting up against such structures shows us what could be changed, but making such changes means breaking away from old patterns. And if we integrate Eriksons (1995) ages and stages of growth, to have the autonomy to challenge these old structures, first the experience of shame has to be resolved.
In finding my addition to the m/other tongue handbook from this month’s fiction and reflection, I am drawing together the challenge of ‘what will you do if you have faith but no fear’ with the position ‘that persons should be treated as doing their best to grow and preserve themselves given their current internal and external circumstances’. I am afraid, and at the same time I have faith in humankind that if we can allow ourselves to be visible in our kindness, to confront the shame and fear that holds knowledge back, we can progress towards communities where the primary driver in decision making is that of caring for each other and choosing to use our power in the service of the other.
Addition for the m/other-us-all
What is my fear making me hesitate from doing? Should I challenge that fear? If I challenge that fear and take action, is that for my benefit or for the benefit of the people I am working with? Or both? And whatever the answer, how do I honour and respect that answer?
Research update
What you can do to be part of this research
Writing these posts costs me about £80 per month, and that doesn’t factor in the time given to constructing them. I am determined to do my bit of resistance to the fiscal drivers of what knowledge gets out there in the world by ensuring these posts remain free to access each month, but it would help the process if I can recoup some of the financial cost to me. I am, therefore, going to publish the first year of these blog posts as a book, available as both an eBook and a paperback. It is getting close to being ready, and you can help by sending me some quotes to go onto the back cover.
If you find these blog posts interesting, helpful, or thought-provoking - if they are meaningful to you in some way - please send me two or three sentences that I can use on the back cover. If there are enough, I may put some inside the book as well.
These quotes should be about how the posts help you in your practice, whatever that may be, and why you’d encourage others to read them. When you send the quotes, please say what name you want to use and what professional identifier you would like me to add to your name e.g. Fiona, Theraplayer, or FP, Psychotherapeutic Counsellor, or Dr Fiona Peacock, Certified Theraplay Therapist, Trainer, and Supervisor. You can use the comments section or email your endorsement to me.
And of course, when the book is published, purchasing a copy will help me keep producing these posts!
Bibliography
Davey, N. (2023). Finding joy: Radical collegiality and relational pedagogies of care in education. Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004547520
Erikson, E. H. (1995). Childhood and society. Vintage.
Jernberg, A. M. (1979). Theraplay: A new treatment using structured play for problem children and their families. Jossey-Bass Publishers.
Mearns, D., & Thorne, B. (1988). Person-centred counselling in action. Sage.
Noddings, N. (2013). Caring: A relational approach to ethics and moral education (2. ed., updated). University of California Press.
Stern, D. N. (2006). The interpersonal world of the infant: A view from psychoanalysis and development psychology. Karnac.
Thank you for these comments. My hope as always been that what I write can stimulate discussion about how we as practitioners, researchers, therapist educators and leaders of organisations that care can function in a world where power and money are so intertwined that to me it feels like the world is being brought to the edge of an existential crisis.
I appreciate being asked to reflect again on why I am going to publish the first year of these posts as a book and how, within that, I will ethically and kindly choose to use my power in the service of the other. I find it fascinating that these comments are so on point with the whole dilemma at the heart of this months fiction - what do we do when we can’t (or don’t want to) either back out of the money/power issues of providing care-full services or fully join in with the way things are being done currently, where profit drives the agenda. As I start to do the graft of the craft of constructing next months post these challenges are informing my thinking, hopefully you will see the fruits of your Challenge to me next month (to use that in the Theraplay meaning of the word).
Part of deciding to pull the first year of posts together as a book is that I see them as a foundation - but who goes back to look at old posts in this format of writing? Substack seems pretty ephemeral. My editor (one of my hidden costs) would insert links to the posts where I have said the kind of stuff to address some of the issues you both raise but I am a techno twat, I need my editor to manage Substack, without them there would be no posts. They also tell me when I write twaddle so I don’t inflict it on you (one recent comment was 'I’m not reading any more of that stream of conciseness, I’ll read it when you work out what you are saying' or words to that effect. Ouch). And they make sure I have all my spellings and punctuation correct. It is an invisible work of care that I pay them for at a rate that I think is fair given their qualification and commitment. And there is my PA who frees up time for me to focus on this part of my application of professional knowledge - writing. She is far better at doing the invoicing and following up appointments and generally making sure my business runs smoothly than I am. And because I am not writing invoices, I can write these words. These are the costs - not tangible in many ways but a cost of caring about this knowledge and trying to put it out into the world to deepen and challenge thinking of experienced people, to go beyond the 'how to' of a guide book to the 'why to'.
Everyone already has the option of donating to these posts if they feel they are contributing to their professional questioning in some way. See the tip jar button if that way of contributing feels more transparent to you. I took the view that having an object in the hand felt more transparent, something tangible for your money.
I take the point about marketing - that is a challenge to me. How will I market with care and commitment to using my power in the service of the other? As I’ve said in posts, as a senior person and a therapist educator, it is a funny contract because although I care deeply about the practitioners I educate and supervise, the Challenge and Structure elements of that kind of work are based on the fact that the persons cared for are the children and families practitioners go on to see (or research with or manage services for). Such is the dependence/interdependence interplay of our work, and I am now thinking also part of this writing process. I don't know how I will take this forward, but I will take it forward with much consideration. I'd value other people contributing to the debate.
As we say as Theraplayers, resistance is fertile! Me feeling a bit of discomfort is good as it suggests a window of tolerance is being pushed, a question needs to be addressed. This is the nitty gritty of taking this theory off the page and thinking so how do we make compromises in real life that don't cause moral injury to self or others? How do I do my very best to encourage all of you to be thoughtful, rebellious, independently minded, experienced professionals who care for others, people who can say ‘I don’t want your book!’. Perfect! Take your power and use it! You are magnificent! I feel uncomfortable about power and money too, and I don’t want to back away from sharing my ideas if I think in some way it can help others with the process of steering the world in the direction of care. I think I have the 'why to' share. You've both challenged me about the 'how to' share. Thank you.
I for one am excited for the book version! I’d love to have these blog posts as a physical something to hold. Sometimes it can be hard to navigate the Substack if I want to find a specific segment, I would find it easier if I can just flick through a book. I also prefer reading in print.
I disagree that it would be better to have your posts as subscription only - then all of your work is paywalled, and therefore people would *have* to pay to access it, creating far more pressure. Recommending someone read your blog would *require* them to pay. Instead, I see this book as an optional add-on for those who want it - kind of like buying merch. Not required but there if you want it.
I can see in your tip jar that you’ve only received two tips over what? Two or three years of writing? You give so generously of your time, I don’t think it’s unfair to open an option for people to give back if they wish. Making it not required is the most ethical way to do it in a capitalist system, I think.
Plus selfishly, I find the book a more attractive way to support the blog as you get something physical out of it that I will find useful and enjoyable. A win-win, as they say!