When the ground falls.

Today has by far been to most painful day I’ve experienced in a while.

On Tuesday’s I spend the beginning of my day in counselling. I’ve been having sessions for just over a year now and has always been a bit iffy from the very start.

I guess I never really wanted to see a councilor, in fact I fought it for a long time. In my eyes, only depressed business people saw counselors and that you would be sitting on a lonely couch in a sterile room as some shrink asked you how you felt when your cat died last year. None of this sounded appealing to me in the slightest.

But when I went to see my GP about my eating issues she had to refer me on to an organisation called CAMHS, the NHS’s child and adolescent mental health service.

Those of you who live in the UK will know that the mental health services are bursting at the seams and have very little funding to help the increasing about of people who are in desperate need of their help, so because they are so stretched they tend to offer a bad service. So I was less than pleased to hear I was being referred to this service that I’d heard people slate in the past. I was so upset that when they called me up to book my initial appointment I tried to bargain with the receptionist that I really didn’t need to go to them, she saw my apprehension a mile off and in the end got one of the clinical psychologists to come and talk to me and spent the next ten minuets convincing me it was just an assessment and  had no need to be worried.

My mum’s job also meant that she dealt with this service and was not pleased that I was being referred to them. So for this reason she got a leaflet for the counselling service that is linked with my college and gave it to me, knowing that I’d been seen faster by them and have a better time.


My assessment lasted a grand total of 4 hours and if I’m honest it did more damage than good. Revisiting past memories and having to explain to complete strangers why I wasn’t eating was hard and really hurt, especially when the nurse came in. As part of the assessment they needed to know what my physical health was like, so blood pressure, BMI the usual stuff. That bit was the hardest and I didn’t need that. Especially to be told that I wasn’t really that underweight only minuets after being told that I had anorexia. Who even does that?

But at the end of it all, I presented this leaflet to use as a bargaining tool. The 4 hours had cemented my views that I did not want help from the service and I wanted a way out. So counselling it was.

If I’ honest it didn’t take much convincing. They already had said I wasn’t ‘bad’ enough for help, so I knew it wasn’t going to be hard. So with the promise that I’d see a counselor, I revived a phone call two weeks later saying that the service had decided not to take on my case and help.

I was over the moon.

So, less than a month later I attended my first counselling session.


I really want to tell you all that my first session won me over, that that wasn’t the case. It’s rare you get paired up with the wrong person, you’re asked questions and have to fill out a whole sheet before hand to explain what issues your having. From this information your are paired up with the counselor they think will best suit your needs. However, I was just paired up with the wrong person. She really was a lovely lady but she just didn’t get me, nor did I like her methods. For this reason my first 8 months or so were unproductive and I got worse as I was constantly lying to people y saying that my sessions were going well, whilst in reality I was really struggling.

I was too apprehensive to tell anyone that I was having a bad time with the person I was speaking too, but slowly I couldn’t hide it anymore as I relapsed into my ED. It was only then I started to open up that I just wasn’t getting on well.

I then took a short break from my sessions and spoke to the person who run the service. It took a while, but eventually she manged to find me the person who I’ve been with since, who I name S on here.

So that brings us up to today.


Today I got a message saying that S wasn’t going to be able to make the session today and that it’s going to be a long term problem so other arrangements will need to be made.

In other words, S isn’t coming back for a long time and I’m going to have to start the whole process again and have a 3rd counselor.

I really got on really well with S, we made so much progress because they understood me.

I was devastated, to the point where I ended up crying my eyes out in a public toilet for close to an hour, standing over the toilet unsure if I was about to throw up from weeping or I was about to venture into the grips of bulimia.

I wanted to tell someone exactly what state I was in but the only thing I could manage was ‘I’m really sad’.

It really felt like the ground had been pulled from under my feet. After struggling with the wrong counselor for such a long time, I was finally getting into true recovery. I was getting the right help from them and the people closest too me. So to have my help taken away in a matter of seconds hit me harder than I’ll admit on here.

S would celebrate my recovery more than anyone else. To the point where I eaten ‘safely and normally’ for 21 days, what’s my record and a massive step, and they had a big part to play in that.

For those of you who have never had a counselor, a good counselors, you won’t understand my pain today. A counselor isn’t just some person you sound board off, they’re not a cold clinical doctor and they’re not quite a friend either. They’re the definition of trust and safe.

Their job is to build a very strong relationship with you very quickly, and that’s that S did for me. They don’t give you the answers to your problems, they give you a safe environment to explore them and come out stronger the other end.


So why am I telling you all this?

Last night I spent some time prying before I went to sleep. What I was asking God for was simple.

Show me something that’s bigger than myself.

I feel like an inwards looking Christian. Sure I post on here about what God is doing but is it really having an impact? I love blogging, I know I’m only a small blog with very few followers, but I can not tell you how much you kind words and comments mean to me. So I’m not going to stop blogging. However, I want to do more.

I want to be a part of something that is bigger than me. I want to do something along side Jesus that keeps me humble and an outwards facing Christian.

I don’t know why S was taken away from me. Why that branch of help was suddenly taken away but throughout the whole thing this morning I had one song on repeat running through my headphones, You Never Let Go by Matt Redman, check it out if you have time.

I really have no idea what’s going on at the moment, but God hasn’t let go of me. For the first time, instead of holding on to the thought of having a counselling session with S where I can talk about what’s wrong, I’m holding on to God.

I’m sad, but my God is the creator of the universe. He knows my name and He calls me Daughter.

If that’s not reassurance, I don’t know what is.


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