What happens in #counselling? In five steps.

An early reel (2019) on what happens in #counselling. I’m ambivalent about sharing it but, as a client, I want to see who I’m dealing with and what they’re like: will they get me? Do I want to spend time with them? Can I trust them?

So here’s my take on counselling, and how we might work together. PS you might hear me say ‘Kava’, short for Kavyasiddhi, my Buddhist name I used from 2004. I went back to using ‘Louise’, which is easier for everyone.

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Louise Mulvey
Relaxation and why we resist

Relaxing - it's not as simple as it looks.

The benefits of relaxation are known - to enter the rest and digest state by deliberately turning off the threat / alarm system. But what if our brain doesn’t want to? Will we be okay, if we stop worrying? Can we learn to trust that we CAN relax? (Clue - notice your environment, don't 'switch off' if you're driving.)

What else might we feel, if we turn down the anxiety?

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Louise Mulvey
If you feel that your efforts aren't acknowledged, you could be the person to notice them.

Image by Tri Vo on Unsplash


If you feel that your efforts aren't acknowledged, you could be the person to notice them.

If you want acknowledgement, can you give it to yourself? All those daily, weekly actions that you think no-one notices or cares about - showing up when you didn’t feel like it - do you see them? Do you witness and really take in your efforts? It’s important that we acknowledge what we do and who you are in the world and try to see accurately.

You could argue that people who come to counselling can judge themselves harshly (I’ve been accused of being my own worst critic - fair point!) but, if you come to counselling then you believe in change, and on some level you believe that change starts with you.

Acknowledging our efforts is a good practice to counteract an inner critic, as well as feelings of being unappreciated. Making an inventory helps us feel grounded and confident, because we look at facts, rather than react from feelings. Try looking for the evidence and witness your own efforts.

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Louise Mulvey
Look for the light, look for life

It’s December, it’s frosty. When it feels like things are bleak or hard, we may need to search for the smallest piece of sunlight you can find. But if we look, we can see that some things are growing, some things are gorgeous and glossy - and in fact they may be highlighted by the crisp edging of frost.

Need a hand to find the warmth and hope? Or companion in the darkness? Get in touch.

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Louise Mulvey
This week in counselling, want to change? Take a pause.

This week in counselling, our brain is so quick judge and label when we 'get it wrong' but, if we want to change, we need to sloooooow down to see *why* we do what we do. That pause may be uncomfortable,, possibly more painful than habitually shouting at ourselves - but that is how we can change.

Bonus video of geese (and a water rat!) - how do we act in a group https://youtu.be/MY0FPVuntGU?si=6jS4nhFS6rOpOJjY

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Louise Mulvey
Do I need this rule in my head?

Part of counselling is listening out for rules we have, that are out of date and get in our way. Often established when we were young, perhaps they've been there so long we don't notice them anymore. Perhaps they were set when we were frightened, so it feels threatening to challenge them. But now they stop us doing things and we feel trapped, without knowing why.

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Louise Mulvey
A rush of joy

There is a thrill, a rush of joy when we make something happen, whether that’s a breakthrough in a session, or fixing a problem in a script. It’s hugely liberating to find an aspect of ourselves that was waiting to be discovered. But how do we approach that? How do we integrate that new part of us?

Here I discuss the process and the challenge of standing on the edge of learning, and making something fresh.

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Louise Mulvey
A creative response - “Before, I wanted to be anonymous but, with lockdown, I missed seeing the same faces. I needed roots.”

“You have to see this”

In front of us, a flight of stone steps runs left to right, backed by a brick wall. Ann-Marie shines her phone torch onto the breezeblocks at the foot of the (grade two listed) steps – which originally ran between buildings, and then were closed in. The December chill seeps through; it’s one of those moments when I question the wisdom of following someone I’ve just met into a secluded and eerie place. But she’s not the murderous type.

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Louise Mulvey