Therapy in my Underwear

My counsellor lives 200 miles away from me and we've never properly met each other. Sounds odd? We haven't met in person but we've had near weekly calls since April, making this the most successful period of counselling I've ever had: my previous record was 5 sessions with a counsellor. I struggled to find the right fit with a counsellor much like the struggle to get the perfect skinny jeans: slim in the legs without going baggy over the knees or suffocating my hips. I've had counsellors that have made a good first impression only to end up being disappointing, didn't fit well for long, appalling quality (I'm really stretching the jeans analogy) and over-all a waste of my money.


Over the years I've seen counsellors at college, I visited university talking therapists, I attempted to use a phone service recommended by my doctor when I was at uni (it was appalling) and I've seen some private counsellors too. I took breaks in between because I was left feeling deflated and even more helpless than when I started. After one last attempt at NHS counselling, I decided to search for someone who would hopefully be a good fit for me. But my choices were limited by my location and at the time I was also restricted because I couldn't drive due to severe anxiety.


I decided to widen my scope and look into Skype counselling. If you check out the online counselling directory here you'll see that you can search by location but you can also specify qualities of the counsellor that would be ideal for you such as gender, age and for my search I selected to see those who offered Skype sessions. I found someone whose website really impressed me and fortunately they were just as impressive.

If you live outside the UK an alternative service available is Modern Therapy. They are based in the USA offering counselling services in person and online depending upon your preferences and location. They even offer a free consultation to new clients to help assess what you are looking for from therapy and to assign a counsellor who could be a good fit for you. I really admire the service they are offering. As much as we'd all like to be able to receive free counselling, we often can't stand the wait on the never ending lists. Modern Therapy offer a quality service without charging beyond a patients means. Check out their charming back story here.


FYI I've never actually done a session remotely whilst sitting in my underwear (!) but one of the many advantages of Skype counselling is that you totally could do that. I got so tightly wound when I sat in cold, bland counselling rooms with minimal furniture. I never really managed to feel comfortable. Whereas with this I can be fully dressed or in my pyjamas, sans make-up if that's what I need that day, sat on the sofa cuddling a pillow with a glass of water and a cup of tea in front of me. There's also the bonus that I don't have to avoid eye contact; I never knew how long I should hold it for and there was never anything hanging on the walls that I could look at instead. The only shortcoming with this kind of therapy is that sometimes the internet cuts out and the picture freezes but that's easily fixed. Just ensure that you test out where your connection is best in the house before you start having regular sessions so you can avoid any major disruptions.


I know that having counselling privately isn't possible for everyone but if you're able to spend a bit of money on it each week or once a fortnight it can be worth it. I did spend a lot of time on waiting lists for NHS talking therapies but I was in such a bad way: I needed to get some help urgently not in x amount of months time. The convenience of the setup has been transformative for my progress with counselling as I no longer get into an anxious and stressed state over travelling to my appointments or sitting in waiting rooms. I'd highly recommend it if this sounds like something you'd be open to considering and if you can afford to spend the money on treating your mental health.

Breast Intentions

During my recent working vacation I had some breakthroughs. Most notably with my GP, if you follow this blog you may remember me referring to a particularly brutal doctor in the past. After inducing a breakdown, being too anxious to attend appointments and generally feeling beaten down by their words, I decided enough was enough. I either had to cease treatment with this doctor and find another one, something which I was reluctant to do, or address this doctor's shortcomings and failures in dealing with me. Despite talking about my mental health more than ever before, it's still very difficult for me to discuss my problems with GPs. I've been through a few doctors now, I understand that some people struggle to talk about mental health and that they might not understand it or may even dismiss depression as an illness all together. Is it so wrong to expect that your GP would be sympathetic and understanding of mental illness? I don't think so. Perhaps it's an area that's skimmed over but covered enough so they have a general understanding of mental illnesses. Either explanation is still unacceptable. 

I decided to face the problem head on, albeit through a letter. I'm not especially eloquent in person, I stumble over my words, stutter and rarely get my point across in face to face conversations. It's not as if I don't know what I want to say, I can go into a conversation having rehearsed every potential scenario in my head, stressing over the details, ifs and maybes are my forte after-all! To compensate for this I decided to write a letter to my GP explaining my thoughts on their treatment towards me. Essentially, several comments were made on my personal life and how I choose to address and treat my mental health conditions. If I couldn't proceed with any further appointments with them I at least hoped to highlight ways they could alter their behaviour for any other patients they might have with depression. Fortunately they responded well, and we've agreed to continue our doctor-patient relationship. I could have easily rolled over on these issues, I could have allowed them to believe that I'm a particularly sensitive individual and that they need to treat me accordingly. This doctor does have a fairly forceful nature in the hopes that they can push patients towards getting better. I know that they have made a real effort to understand every aspect of my life, they've accepted that for now I do not wish to seek the help of a counsellor.

I wasn't sure how they'd react to my letter, before I received their response I was convinced that I was going to have to search for another doctor. Fortunately bridges hadn't been burned. At the end of the letter I decided to address something I'd been too nervous to discuss in an appointment. The addition of which turned the one page letter into a three page essay! It's something that I have previously discussed with other doctors only to be shot down with their personal opinions. During the height of the bullying I experienced, I turned to food for comfort and up until that point I'd never really understood the term 'comfort eating'. I suppose I just felt some immediate satisfaction and happiness after each forkful of cake, cheesecake or whatever else I was sneakily shovelling in after school. This routine soon took it's toll on my body, and without realising I had become 2 stone heavier and had gone from a B cup to probably around an F cup. I was mortified, I didn't want to have my breasts measured properly to reveal the true extent of how big I was. I received even more attention and scrutiny. I was called out on by my P.E. teacher in the changing room because my sports top was now "inappropriately tight", cheers for that. I avoided P.E. lessons when our group of girls was suddenly mixed with the boys because of bad weather. At that time I favoured getting a 'no kit' mark against my name rather than bouncing on a trampoline in front of the boys and giving myself black eyes.

Six years on and not much has changed. I still avoid getting measured properly as they are still growing. I've had breakdowns in changing rooms because of them and would rather avoid crying in front of a lady with a measuring tape and enormous bras. I managed to lose most of the weight I had gained, but I never regained the confidence I once had nor the pleasure of buying and wearing clothes that made me feel good, and I certainly haven't lost the other two things I gained *ahem*. Since I was 16 years old I've wanted a breast reduction, for many many reasons. I've been told that I should be grateful for what I have, that I should flaunt it and that they really "aren't that big". I've also been told that due to being severely depressed I was "a suicide risk and it would be a waste of NHS funding", and yes that comment was made by a Doctor! GPs haven't exactly been my biggest cheerleaders on the matter. I understand that it's a slightly controversial thing to get funding for, but it's not for cosmetic purposes. My quality of life isn't what it ought to be because of how much I am limited by having a big chest. I am going to be turning 23 in January. I feel like I haven't even had a chance to feel like a young person, a young woman. During these years I haven't developed a personal style, I don't experiment with clothes or have fun with them. I simply hide my large chest and feel quite frumpy.

If you want an extensive list of all the reasons behind me wanting and needing a reduction I will happily provide it for you. I'm prepared to fight my case for this. Usually I wouldn't think I was worthy of anything, I'd think that there must be people worse off than I am. For once I'm saying "sod it, why not me?"and finally I have the support of the doctor I thought would sack me in as a patient. They are in my corner and ready to do battle with the NHS board of referrals, it might be a long battle but for me it's worth it.

Seeing Red

Last month I donated blood for the first time, something which I never thought I would be able to do for a number of reasons. I think I inherited my mum's feeling about needles (!) and developed a preference to being horizontal whenever having a blood test. However, after spending some time in and out of hospital in 2012, I had surrendered myself to endless tests and needles in a variety (ahem) of places. For some reason it never occurred to me to give blood. After talking about emergency end of life measures and organ donation with Robbie, I decided that blood donation was something I could see myself doing. At this time in my life I can't see myself registering to be an organ donor due to certain beliefs I have about what happens when we die. Perhaps these views will change with time and if I ever know someone requiring a new organ at some point in my lifetime. An unfortunate aspect of depression is that I spend most of my days feeling rather useless. I experience my symptoms to the degree that some days I'm terrified of leaving the house, the thought of filling out forms for a job or even volunteer work bring me out in a sweat and if my phone starts ringing I have to push it away from me and hide. Its quite difficult to find your purpose in life when most aspects of life bring you out in hives. The thought of becoming a blood donor made me feel useful, its something that if planned in advance I can make myself get up and out of the house for. I'm not saying I've found my purpose in life in the form of a full time blood donor (!), that's just not practical, I need some blood to fill my face up with.

When registering to become a blood donor I was suddenly struck with the panic that perhaps I couldn't help people in this way. There are still some ridiculous ideas surrounding mental illness, some people back away when they realise you have one, its not contagious! I found myself questioning whether depression affected the blood, could my illness be passed on in that way?! Obviously not, but I was having a crisis of confidence at the time. I couldn't bare the thought of giving someone this horrendous illness when they're either already unwell and in need of a blood transfusion, or unknowingly receive blood after being in a traumatic accident. It is worth baring in mind that if you have a mental illness or any illness that might require medication, you should inform someone on the donation team if you experience any side effects from taking the medications to control your condition. It is possible that these side effects could be passed on through the blood.

Overall my first time giving blood was really positive. Its very easy to register, you can make an appointment online to give blood at a local session. These sessions run fairly regularly and you shouldn't have to travel to far out of your way to donate. The give blood website provides loads of information on what to expect including a video of what to expect when you go to donate. The video in particular helped me to attend my session as I was fully prepared and roughly knew what to expect in terms of questions with a nurse, a small pin prick in the thumb for an iron test and an example of what it looks like when sitting down to give blood. They are fully aware that donors have fitted their session into their busy days, so they aim to get you into the donation chair within 20 minutes of you signing in. Obviously certain times may be busy when sessions have walk in donors as well as those with appointments. There may also be a longer wait if someone has trouble giving blood or if the world starts to go sideways when they move you up from the horizontal position to sitting upright, i.e. ME! If the latter happens to you, don't worry at all, just be honest with the nurse and they will tip you upside down like a bat and may even tend to you with a nice sweet drink and a straw! Most people have no problems donating, but I did see a few people with their feet in the air when I walked in for my appointment! You can find out everything you need to know about donating and registering to donate blood in the UK here. It is a very worthwhile and easy thing to do. It's easy to forget where blood comes from in an emergency, there isn't an endless store of it somewhere. Blood donation doesn't discriminate against gender, ethnicity, age, religion or sexual orientation and preference, at some point in our lives it's possible that we or someone we love could need a transfusion, you could well have the rare blood type needed in an emergency situation. It's a really worthwhile thing to do, plus you get stickers to declare to the world "I'm a badass, I donated blood today"...OK perhaps that's my suggestion for a sticker, but they did have one saying "be kind to me, I donated blood today". Perhaps I could start a range of stickers and badges for people with anxiety and depression...

Time To Talk

A counsellor's office is thought to be a safe place, somewhere you can surrender all of the thoughts that have been recycled over and over again in your head. Perhaps those thoughts and feelings can also later be aired in attempts to help others or to let people know that there are others out there just like you, facing similar problems, someone who can empathise. I hope I can be that someone, so I've decided to share my experience of the first time I said it out loud, three words. I have depression.

I hope that it is already apparent that I'm an advocate of talking about mental illness. It matters, many people experience these conditions and yet there are very few conversations being had about it. For those who have recently realised they have such an illness it can take a while to be able to talk about it with others. I was one of those individuals. It took me three years to fully understand what I was suffering with, and to discover the full extent of my condition. I went through a process of wanting to find out everything I could about it, I probably could have written a dissertation with the amount of research I did! There was also a long period of denial, and eventually acceptance. Perhaps my circumstances were unique in some ways, so please do not fret, it doesn't take everyone that long to realise whats going on and to seek help. I wish I could say that realising what I had was the hardest part, but for me saying it out loud was extremely difficult. I wasn't aware of anyone in my life whom had experienced anything like what I was going through. Perhaps that's because others were afraid to speak up too.

I sought the help of a counsellor at my sixth form college, a service which wasn't well advertised and I had to go searching for. I took advantage of being able to communicate through e-mail. Initially I wanted to know what kinds of problems they could help with. Eventually I let go of what I was holding on to, I wrote about everything that had happened and was still happening to me. I continued e-mailing the counsellor for months, sometimes I'd e-mail daily updates because things were so bad and the counsellor wanted to be informed of anything that was occurring in my life good or bad to help them help me. Eventually I scheduled an appointment only to cancel it after a restless night thinking about it or sometimes I'd cancel it the morning of the session. After a while I managed to make the walk towards the door of the counsellor's office, progress, except I'd then continue walking past the door and would be firing off a quick apology e-mail. Unfortunately stigma against mental illnesses was present within the sixth form, I'd even heard such stigma voiced by someone in my friendship group there. The counsellor's office was in such a public, well-used space with students flowing through and meeting people nearby. Eyes were everywhere and I was very conscious of that. Eventually I found a time when the area was quieter so I could quickly dash into the counsellor's office. The door I'd be so afraid of passing through, turned out to lead into a room akin to the size of Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's house. An ideal place for a highly strung, anxious, fidgeting individual, not. I really hope they didn't encourage claustrophobics to go see them there.

After all of the months of deterring the one-on-one session I said my piece only to receive many "mmms", "mhmms" and "how does that make you feel?" in exchange for my heavy burden. I left crying and headed into the nearby staff toilets to vomit and come face to face with an initially stern member of staff, I think my appearance made them reconsider scolding me and they scurried off. I washed my face and returned to my friends in the library with the lie that I'd been meeting with a staff member about areas for revision. And so I returned to the facade that all was well and the impression that I was "cheerful Chelsea' remained intact.

I don't mean to deter anyone from seeking the help of a counsellor, talking through problems really does help. The first time will always be the hardest, and unfortunately one counsellor does not fit all. Sometimes people get lucky and the first person they meet with will be a perfect match. Unfortunately some people will give up after trying one counsellor that just didn't quite understand them or didn't provide them with the type of help they were looking for. Frustratingly the wait list for meeting with counsellors on the NHS is long and slow, but making the move to get on a list is positive progress and hopefully it means you are one step closer to beginning your recovery. I was initially put off counsellors after my awful session. I never went back to see that counsellor and it took me a long time to accept the amount of help I needed. Sometimes people can pick themselves up on their own and carry on with life. Others struggle a bit more and need to raise their hand and say "I'm stuck here, I could use some help". Ask for help and usually it is given, I certainly like to think there are more good people in this world than bad, and since I started writing this blog I've found those people all over the place. So give it go, take a deep breath and let all of it out.