I’ve graduated with a Masters in counselling - it’s a long, long way from my lowest point
As happy as I was to leave my breakdown behind me - the darkest, most difficult and most despairing time of my life - I made a promise to myself about that period. I vowed to always keep the memories and the feelings I lived with very close. Keep them fresh. Not to bury them. Not to put them in a locked box in my mind and hide them in the cupboard, under the stairs in my head.
This was a time when living felt harder than dying but I told myself I must never forget how it felt. I wanted to keep those memories alive.
I didn’t ever want to forget the experience and take for granted that it was over and I was in a happier place. I wanted to honour the pain I had felt.
The agony. The tears. The many, many tears. The unbearable sadness that engulfed me. The loss of hope. The fear of the world all around me. The worry that I wouldn’t be able to function again - never, ever again - or find joy in the things I once loved. The worry I would never be able to go back to work. The worry that anyone would have me back at work. The constant anxiety. The constant certainty that my best days were behind me. The constant darkness.
I wanted to remember because I wanted never to forget how I got out of that darkness and gradually, day-by-day and slow-painful-step-by-slow-painful-step, I emerged into the sunlight. A sunlight that was made possible by the love of my wife, Aileen, who has been the sunlight in my life since I met her sixteen and a half years ago. And a sunlight that has been made brighter and warmer by having our darling daughter in my life: a sunlight that is now full of the purpose and meaning of having someone who looks to you every day for help navigating the world and for safety and love. Every ounce of love Miss J has given me has made my recovery stronger and more critical to me, day-by-day, ounce by ounce.
With all that in mind, something important happened on Monday this week.
It was a big day for memories for me. It was a day to recall those bitter reminders of the past and to make new memories to sustain me in the future. It was a day full of emotion. Monday meant a lot to me.
It was my Masters graduation ceremony. It was the day that I donned a gown and hat, and had my name called out in front of lots of people: my name called out because I was someone who had graduated with a Masters degree in Counselling and Psychotherapy Practice from Liverpool John Moores University.
It is the final step on a journey which began long before I first entered a classroom in September 2020 - a virtual classroom as our first year of teaching was done exclusively online due to COVID and COVID restrictions. This was a journey which began with my breakdown in December 2014 and had many ups and downs. For me, the challenge of being back as a university student for the first time in 21 years - writing essays and including references (aka writing hell on earth for me!) - was tough enough, without other things that conspired.
A once-in-a-hundred-years global pandemic; the incredibly tough nature of a counselling course, which required me to go deeper into my own history and triggers to help me be ready to help others and manage my own mental health and wellbeing in practice; the conduct of some academics and their dogmatic positions on some political and social issues were difficult to stomach; I also had some issues with one tutor, which caused me huge discomfort and at times great distress; and, I was trying to do all this whilst working full-time, be a good husband and dad, and trying to manage my ongoing recovery.
It was not easy. At times, it was too much to manage.
Without Aileen, I wouldn’t have finished the journey - I know that. I also know that the support of my own therapist, Anne, and my fantastic supervisor, Pam, were invaluable especially in the times when I felt unsupported - at times worse than unsupported. I am grateful also to Ashleigh and her colleagues at Formby High School Sixth Form, who gave me the opportunity to do my training placement with their students and provided me with such a brilliant, supportive experience.
But, I did finish the journey. I did stay the course. I did walk across that stage on Monday, in front of the two most important people in my life, in one of the finest buildings in the world. A building that means so much to the city of my birth and will now always have a place in my heart.
Monday was also important as it was the anniversary - the 35th anniversary - of the Hillsborough disaster. A day that I recall most days. A day those of us affected by the unlawful killing of 97 of our brothers and sisters will never - can never - forget. It has been important to me to teach my daughter about Hillsborough and the unimaginable pain suffered and the unimaginable courage shown by the families and friends of those taken to fight tirelessly for truth and justice. These include many, many more than the 97 - people who have been lost to suicide and had their lives cut short for many other reasons linked to the trauma they experienced as a result of our darkest day.
Amidst the joy, pride and gratitude I felt on Monday, I was deeply moved that as a family we could pay our respects inside Liverpool’s incredible Anglican Cathedral: joining hundreds of others in a minute of silence. A poignant moment, in a poignant place, on a poignant day.
It was a day to remember for so many reasons.
A day to count blessings.
A day to remember those who were on the journey.
A day to remember past pain and suffering.
A day to pledge never to forget.
A day to never walk alone.