So we had a residential at work this weekend. The main objective I guess was to complete a lot of work with the new head of department – now known as the CDL (don’t ask what the acronym stands for! “Ciddle�) So the Ciddle, the rest of the English department and I set off for the most gorgeous and exotic location that Teesside has to be pampered and preened during our 48 hour residential.
Prior to the trip we were informed, by the Ciddle, that we’d be spending the weekend with a psychoanalyst who would be assessing how we work as a team and help us resolved some “unresolved†issues. After this had conjured up images of lying on couches talking about how we were never loved enough as children, or that many of us suffered from the Freudian “penis envyâ€, we were all very apprehensive.   But what happened behind closed doors is far, far worse…
Put together years of working with the same lovely people but having it taken away from you in an instant, insecurities about new staff, menopause, hormones and English teachers…
When I have come out of therapy I’ll write about it!Â
Assalamu alaikum sister. I really enjoy reading your blog (when you do post). Please do write about the therapy when you get a chance to — I look forward to reading about it!
Ok sorry to mislead you, the thing about therapy was a joke! Maybe this is one of the cultural nuances of the English lamguage; I actually meant that the whole experieince was SO traumatic I need therapy!
Anyway, good to know I have a fanbase!
Ah, I missed the joke at the end. I thought by therapy you were referring to the sessions with the psychoanalyst. I was expecting your recounting of the experience to be humorous, although possibly insightful about the field of psychoanalysis.