Professional Documents
Culture Documents
The Story So Far Play Therapy Narratives
The Story So Far Play Therapy Narratives
of related interest
Children’s Stories in Play Therapy
Ann Cattanach
ISBN 1 85302 362 0
Play Therapy
Where the Sky Meets the Underworld
Ann Cattanach
ISBN 1 85302 211 X
The right of Ann Cattanach to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by
her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
www.jkp.com
Introduction 7
Ann Cattanach
Contributors 231
Subject Index 233
Name Index 237
Introduction
Ann Cattanach
This book describes the work of nine play therapists through the narra-
tives of children and adults who come to play or play therapy to tell their
stories. First and foremost they describe therapeutic relationships and
within the relationships, the power of narratives and stories as a means of
communication for those people whose voices are not often heard.
To me, the major message, which shines through all the chapters, is
the sensitivity of the relationships between therapists and clients. In the
busy world there seems little time to sit and listen to what children, young
people and adults have to say about their feelings, emotions and their
understanding of the world. It is also the quality of the listening and the
importance that the therapist places on what children and young people
have to say which creates trust and belief in the relationship. It is about
people talking, empathic understanding, sharing creativity – not power
and control centred on the therapist. Perhaps the ability to listen and
accept other perspectives, other worlds, could change the way we all live
with each other.
The stories and narratives in this book concern complex life events
like change of family, abuse, illness, death so are multilayered with many
meanings.
The encounters between clients and therapist are co-constructions.
The child plays, and tells stories about the play and the therapist listens,
perhaps asks questions to clarify meaning, and contextualises the story
around the social circumstances which exist for that child in their world.
7
8 THE STORY SO FAR
Some children and young people need explanations from the therapist
about their social circumstances and this is often incorporated into the
narratives and play. If play therapy is sometimes a rite of passage for a
child from one state of being to another, then sometimes the therapist
takes the role of an elder who can explain the rules and meanings of what
is happening in their society. Perhaps this is especially true of children in
the care system.
The stories are not often direct narrations of life events but concern
imaginary lives. These imaginative stories contain similar life changes to
the reality worlds of the children and adults. Complex life events cannot
always be understood through talking about what happened in reality
talk, because the full impact can only be described and contained
through metaphor, imagery, myth and story, or sometimes play without
words. For example: children explore their understanding of themselves
in vivid ways. So Jenny aged 4 presented me with her self-reflection
which she described as her map of life. It was a drawing of her face across
which were a series of roads.
The first road led from a green blob of slime placed on
the picture at the top of her head.
This was the earth.
The road led to her nose marked with another blob of
slime.
This was the hot planet.
A blob of slime in the left eye was the train.
The mouth was the star
And the ear the moon
And the rest of her body was the earth.
This was Jenny’s construction of identity. She saw herself as part of the
world and also part of a bigger universe. She wanted me to keep the
picture so I could think about her. When I think of Jenny I do think of her
world and her part in it, her resilience, the stories she told about adults
and, above all, the quality of her imagination.
There are many such stories of the bravery of children and young
people in this book and how they come to terms with life events. In
Chapter 1, Sally Hanson describes the way children use messy play and
INTRODUCTION 9
Slime worlds
Science is now revealing how much of this world’s early existence was
spent covered in slime (Zalasiewics and Freedman 2000). It is suggested
that for 300 times as long as the dinosaurs roamed, a slime world ruled
over the earth. This sticky mucus dominated the planet, before more
complex life forms began emerging from this bed of oozing, sludgy,
slimy mud.
In my work as a play therapist I have seen many worlds whose begin-
nings were a very sticky, slimy affair. I have found Zalasiewics and Freed-
man’s suggestion a very reassuring thought that amidst the slime, and
beneath this all smothering mass, lie the makings of new life and the
creation of all things as we know them. So now sometimes in play
therapy sessions, when we are grappling within the murky depths of
slime worlds, I remind myself that this is the way all worlds begin. These
qualities of slime worlds, seen as part of the creative process, are the focus
of this chapter on play therapy.
13
14 THE STORY SO FAR
The need to begin at the beginning, to explore what there was before
there was anything, to see how nothing becomes something, are
common themes when seeking to make sense of our experiences and
existence in this world. Science, art, religion and ancient myths, have all
endeavoured to describe the process of becoming, of creation itself.
In the beginning the world was slush for the waters and the mud
were all stirred in together.
All was silent, there was no sound. It was cold.
There were no birds flying in the air. There were no living
things.
At last the Creator made a little wagtail and sent him down
from his far place in the sky.
‘Produce the earth,’ he said.
The bird flew down over the black waters and the dismal
swamp.
He did not know what to do. He did not know how to begin.
He fluttered in the water with his wings.
He ran up and down in the slush with his feet trying to trample
it to firmness. He beat on it with his long tail, beating it down and
down.
After a long time of treading and trampling, and treading and
trampling, a few dry places began to appear in the big ocean.
The wagtail had created the earth. The islands of Ainu, he had
created the world.
It is no different for the child in play therapy, for here too the child is part
of a creative process. It is through creating a world in play that they begin
the process of defining a sense of themselves. But creating a world is no
easy mission, as this myth makes known. This is mirrored in the child’s
experience in play therapy. They may spend some time submerged in the
slime world.
stretched and slipped from her hands. As she pulled, the more it
stretched, separation still eluding her, a fine hair of slime holding
together the two blobs which remained in her hands. Still one
mass, it reached the floor in a gaping loop. The slime on her fingers
had begun to follow the flow, thickening the thread which, by
now, was trickling and circling around in patterns onto the mat.
On retrieving the slime, Linda held it high in her hand, watching it
make its way back to the floor. Shaking her hand, she saw the
slime quiver in response, a ripple undulating down its length, her
movements became marked out, solidified as the slime reached its
destination. She skipped around the mat, the slime following,
tracing her steps. This became an intricate dance between herself
and the slime on the mat, her feet placed carefully to avoid treading
on her slimy trail. She is beginning to create her world in play
therapy.
Play worlds
A child comes to play therapy. We make a world together. It is
shared, negotiated, kept safe by the therapist, but belongs to the
child. (Cattanach 1994, p.26)
In the Developmental Model of Play Therapy described by Ann
Cattanach, she suggests that in play children make fictional worlds as a
means to make sense of their experiences in the real world. She believes it
is this myth-making capacity that helps the child to heal the real hurts
they have experienced. In this method the emphasis of play is on its
creative and social qualities; its development is seen as emerging through
its social context, in relation to another. The therapist holds the play
space safe through structure and boundaries, but the meaning of the play
becomes a shared understanding between therapist and child. This is
negotiated through playful interaction and exists between them, rather
than being hidden in the threads of the unconscious for the therapist to
unravel.
I have found that messy, sensory materials, such as fingerpaints and
slime, are a source of much pleasure and intrigue with many children who
come to play therapy. In this chapter, by focusing on how children use
16 THE STORY SO FAR
them, I shall show that it is not only with words that we can give children
a voice. These materials can enable children to express themselves, their
feelings and the way they experience the world. But to listen to children
in this way we have to begin at the beginning of both the playing and the
creative process.
For adults, slime and fingerpaints may trigger all the worst fears and
dread of mess. In Joshua’s family such messy play was definitely deemed
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 17
impossible. They have had to develop a rigid routine to cope with the
needs of Joshua’s autistic sister. Her demands limit Joshua’s play: order is
paramount to maintaining the family equilibrium. With the knowledge
that these sessions were to be his time, it was towards the slime and messy
play that Joshua was first drawn. This play seemed to satisfy a need
previously denied and provide a means of self-expression unattainable in
his home environment. The qualities of the slime and paint opened up a
channel of communication in which Joshua felt more able to release
anger and frustration, and explore different ways of being. The mess was
an important part of the message. In Joshua’s sessions the ability of the
play space to accept, hold and contain the mess were an important aspect
of the interaction. The fact that we were in this mess together made it all
the more appealing. My participation in the play was seen as my willing-
ness to listen and converse in the language of his choosing. This was a
means to hear and share experiences in a world of his making.
In play therapy, children from complex situations come to express
and to make some sense of their experiences. It is through the play that a
narrative for these emerge; a medium through which to tell their stories.
This is an intricate process in which many levels of meaning may exist at
the same time, co-constructed between child and therapist. Some of these
meanings live in the moment, in the doing and being – their sense held in
the here and now, contained within the play experience itself. As Joshua’s
play suggests, here is where communication can be multilayered, with
experiences illustrated through movement, sound and shape. This gives
the children the wider vocabulary they need to express themselves. These
are the first narratives of experience, where the child first gains a sense of
self. Joshua’s wish to begin this exploration with the fingerpaints demon-
strates a child’s need to begin this process in this sensory world through
the sensory experience.
In my own experience of children in play therapy, many do begin
with the slime, or with making murky pools of paint with their fingers.
The elusiveness of form, slime’s resistance to holding shape or structure,
seem to attract a child to these gooey substances. Seen as a creative
process, it makes sense to begin with the chaos, a sense of ‘nothingness’,
in order to acknowledge the possibility of ‘somethingness’. This becomes
a means to gaining understanding and experience of the process of
18 THE STORY SO FAR
forming and sculpting different ways of ‘being’. I have often noted that
much attention is given to the later stages of the journey, to the symbolic
worlds children make and stories they tell. However, for many children,
this initial stage entails a long and arduous struggle to which we often
return: a developmental process through which we move back and forth.
In this chapter, I aim to follow and describe aspects of this play; to
give more recognition to the sensory nature of play, the non-verbal
qualities of play interactions, and to look at these as the place where
meaning and the narratives begin; to explore the process of how children
begin to make and create their world through play.
Sensory worlds
Sticky, sludgy, slippy slime, the sloppy ploppy creepy kind. (Cole
1985, pp.1–2)
In early childhood infants first gain a sense of themselves in the physical
world, through their senses, in their immediate environment. Much of
this happens in a space held and shared with their carers. This space
between them is where creative play begins. Early playful interaction is
not through the language of words, but eye contact, facial expression,
movement and sound. A non-verbal interchange develops in which a
shared understanding of the experience is created. Mother and child
follow and initiate an interaction with each other, responding in relation
to one another, so that the meaning is co-constructed, created between
them within the play experience. It is here that infants can discover where
their body begins and ends, their relationship to their physical world and
the space they take up within it. In this preverbal world, a sense of self is
created and held within the act of experiencing it.
Many children who come to play therapy have missed out on these
early experiences for various reasons. Cattanach (1992) describes how
the development of creative play can be seen to begin in the sensory
world. In play therapy, these play experiences are called Embodiment
Play, the first stage of a developmental continuum, where the mess and
slime can recreate the preverbal universe of the infant. As with infants,
children in therapy need to explore their environment through their
senses; to establish a sense of their physical self in relation to the play
space – where they end and the rest of the world begins.
For many children coming to play therapy, building a clear picture of
their world and a sense of self within it, has been difficult in their
previous fragmented, chaotic experiences. Their self-image has become
distorted and bound up in their past.
The slime, and other sensory materials, are ways in which children in
play therapy can enter this world and use their senses to begin a journey
of self-discovery. Starting with the physical world, this process enables
the child to shape and form a sense of ‘self ’ in relation to the play space
provided in the session.
20 THE STORY SO FAR
The child must first become familiar with this world of play, be given
a safe space where their creativity can develop. This space must be
separate from the real world, so new worlds can be imagined, free from
the restraints and responsibilities children have experienced in their lives.
I introduce the play space in play therapy by providing a mat similar to
that outlined by Ann Cattanach in her first book, Play Therapy for Abused
Children (1992). We sit on the mat together. Between us is the space for
playing, which defines a clear boundary of where the play can begin and
end and also separates it from the rest of the world. In this space between
us lie the toys and slime which support the child’s creativity in play
(Figure 1.1).
I bring a variety of toys to each session, and have found Slime and Gak a
very popular choice, especially with children first coming to play. As their
names suggest, the main aim of these gooey substances seems to be to
epitomise bad taste or taboo subjects. Each is packaged in garish pots,
shaped and coloured to hint at the gruesome nature of its contents. I pride
myself in having collected a good selection of the best these – toilets,
monsters and vampire heads. When opened, all reveal substances of
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 21
Therefore as the above poem suggests, these are a favourite topic of play
and humour in children.
In Stacey’s first session she sat on the edge of the mat. Her arms
folded, she appeared reticent and unsure about being in the space. I
began to explain the rules and purpose of our time. Her stance
22 THE STORY SO FAR
This first session took place in a women’s refuge where Stacey had been
living for three months – her longest resting place for over two years.
There was a vast trail of different places where she had stayed in her
mother’s attempt to keep one step ahead of her violent partner’s rage.
Making, breaking or trusting relationships were issues in the forefront of
much of Stacey’s experience in life. The opportunity to feel safe enough
to play was limited. It is important in play therapy to begin where the
child is and for some the issue is whether they feel able to begin at all. The
slimy, sensory materials appeared to provide a medium for interaction in
which Stacey felt more able to engage, a means to explore the safety of the
space and relationship.
Assessing the child’s – and your own – limits when introducing
messy play is a vital necessity to ensure the safety of the child, the space
and the sanity of the therapist. The slime and mess is a means to test these
aspects of the space, play and relationship.
For Rosie, the slime appeared to affirm this was her space – a place
where farting noises and disgusting things were accepted. After
five minutes of reciprocating exclamations, voicing our disgust, but
admiration, of the grossness in which the slime could sit and revel,
our rapport moved to intermittent resounding slurps and farts
(created with the slime!). We each praised the other’s triumphs,
which were achieved by wriggling and compressing the slime with
our fingers in its pot. Once this form of repertoire was established,
it was with the playdoh that she chose to go on to explore the
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 23
pile of squidgy things say more adequately than words that this is their
time and play space.
It is the therapist’s responsibility to provide a space into which the
child is able and can choose to enter. In early infancy, mother and child,
through subtle synchronicity, negotiate the context and content of their
interaction. Similarly, in the first few play therapy sessions, these issues
are being explored through the play medium that the child chooses
which suits their present situation.
Nothingness
Nothing testifies more clearly to its ambiguous character as a ‘struc-
ture between two states’ than the slowness with which slime melts
into itself. (Sartre 1966, p.607)
Cattanach (1994) sees one of the values of slime as lying in its purpose-
lessness. She suggests that, for a child coming to therapy, this serves as a
means of relief from expectations of attainment experienced from adults
in other contexts, such as school. It provides a medium in which ‘noth-
ingness’ is okay; a permission for existence in a formless state.
Much of my work has been with children who have experienced
domestic violence. This raises many issues about how, when and whether
one can begin a therapeutic intervention. As with Stacey, many of these
children may remain in limbo for a long time. They experience many
moves and changes, lengthy stays in refuges or transitory places – a long
sequence of temporary homes, lives and relationships.
Though Stacey has now remained in one place – the refuge – for
more than four months, she has watched many other families come
and go; some arriving or disappearing, amidst much fear and
confusion, in the middle of the night. This is a constant reminder
that the refuge is only a temporary solution. Her play after six
sessions continues to be mostly with slime. Much time is spent
pouring it from hand to hand, or container to container, watching
with wonder and admiration its ability to stretch and fall, merge
and separate. A constant movement which seems never ending.
This was the world we created in play.
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 25
Somethingness
He fluttered in the water with his wings. He ran up and down in the
slush with his feet trying to trample it into firmness. He beat on it
with his long tail, beating it down and down.
In the therapeutic play space, where the boundaries are clear and
constant, the child can begin to experience a physical sense of being. In
this slimy world, the concept of where one begins and ends can start to be
explored through the qualities of the material. The sensory nature of the
play brings out an awareness of a physical self, a means to experience me
and not me, the properties of ‘being’ and ‘not being’. From the movement
and formations in this physical world there can emerge a more tangible
sense of self. The sensory play acts a constant source with which to expe-
rience the physical self in relation to the play space.
Linda’s play in therapy revolved around the slime for some time.
Every week her ritual was to take out all the pots of slime. With
each one she opened their lids, then after poking it with an explor-
atory finger, she would judge its sticky properties and slimyness.
The pots were carefully placed in a row between us, each pot’s
position an indication of its quality in relation to its neighbour. She
pondered for a while. Which one will we take out today? It’s the
pink one, stickier and faster flowing than the others. (Different
colours have different consistencies you know!) Many sessions
have been spent watching the slime ooze, stretch and spread
26 THE STORY SO FAR
around Linda’s body and the mat, reflecting, marking out Linda’s
movements and form. This time, sitting down, she let the pink
slime first trickle over her legs. This required her to sit quite still as
it followed the contours of her knees. She watched intently as it
slowly outlined the shape of her body. Next, she poured slime
around the perimeters of the mat, marking out our territory of play.
‘You mustn’t cross this line,’ I was told quite firmly.
The slime’s consistency and tactile qualities were a means for Linda to
experience a sense of being in the physical world, through her senses.
The clear boundaries of the play space allowed Linda to feel a sense of her
bodily self in relation to the space. This enabled her to explore through
the slime different ways of being held, supported and contained. With
this play in slime her focus has been on form and shape, their relationship
to the space in the play world. In this world that she has created in slime, a
sense of a separate self emerges, an identity not so bound by the chaos and
mess that exists in her real life.
Linda too has lived with domestic violence all her life. She is now in a
‘safe’ house, but her mother and father’s conflict continues to be a
prominent part of her world (‘when does his injunction expire?’). Her
brother is in and out of care because of his outbursts (‘just like his dad’).
The ability to be contained and invisible has been a necessity for
self-survival with Linda. The slime is the perfect malleable, transitory
medium with which to begin to explore physical shape and form to a
possible self that can emerge in play, experienced in the here and now, in
relation to the play space, a world separate from the real world.
I can recall many instances of children’s play which seem to demon-
strate the ways in which children use these sensory materials, moving
them around in relation to their body and creating external maps of their
experience. When looking at Linda’s exploration of slime’s ability to
bend, twist and fold, its capacity to fit into any number of shapes and
spaces, nooks and crannies she could find, it would be easy to interpret
and relate the play to her past experiences. However, it would be
dangerous and inappropriate for me to place such deeper meaning to
these play interactions within the session and a breach of the rules of play
worlds. Its safety exists because of its distance from real worlds. More
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 27
importantly, these are not the words Linda used to describe those experi-
ences in play, nor the meaning that was created between us.
Such connections do not need to be made for the child as part of the
therapeutic process. However, the symmetry between their play and real
worlds can give validation and recognition to a child’s perceptions of
their worlds: the play a means to express them. It is usually in retrospect
that the way children have used the slime can be seen to reflect aspects of
their lives and experiences within it. It is all too easy to stifle the child’s
own process and creativity through our haste to make sense and meaning
of the play.
For some children like Linda who are coping with domestic violence,
play is a means to acknowledge their abilities and coping skills rather
than make sense of past events. Their safety has been reliant on their
ability to maintain a fluid, flexible state. In the play space is the opportu-
nity to express these aspects of his or herself, and begin to explore their
individuality as a separate entity from the confusion in their real worlds.
The sensory play world enables these children to create and look at
different ways of being, many of which may not as yet be realised or
possible in the outside world.
In slimey worlds
In the beginning the world was slush, for the waters and mud were
all stirred in together.
For some children, the task is not to make sense of past turmoil, but to
experience a sense of themselves in the here and now, in a way in which
they are enabled to take charge of what happens. The advantage of these
messy materials is their instantaneous response to the child’s handling,
the immediate gratification in their ability to yield to command. The real
world may be too chaotic, with little opportunity to be still enough to see
the consequences of their own actions. These experiences can only
happen in a space separate from the confusion, made possible through the
boundaries and safety of the space held between us. In the slime is the
chance to be master of the world they have created.
Containment
Ideally, therapeutic work begins when trauma is past. But in reality, as in
cases I have described earlier, the situation is often more complicated.
Experiences of past and present are hard to disentangle and, at times,
equally hard to live with. For these children, an appropriate time to begin
play therapy can seem impossible to realise. What is meant by ‘stable’ or
‘safe enough’ – bound by an adult perception of safety and stability
perhaps? For many children, uncertainty has become a consistent
component of their lives.
Stacy entwines the slime around her hands, faster and faster she
goes, until her hands are covered in fragments of slime. Blobs and
strands cling to her fingers. Carefully, she picks them off, wiping
the bits onto the rim of the container. Gradually, as the size
increases, it slips down the side to the bottom of the pot. Even-
tually, she manages to remove and disentangle all the slime from
her hands. She ensures it is all returned to where it belongs. The
container’s lid is quickly snapped on tight.
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 29
When living with much chaos and confusion, it is hard to contain events
and experiences when their existence remains so fragile and fragmented.
It is impossible to order or make sense of these experiences when past,
present and future may merge and separate on a daily basis. At these
times, to hold and maintain a coherent sense of identity can be a constant
struggle. But in many circumstances, this is the existence that their world
necessitates. This play is a means to acknowledge their containment.
It is now common practice for children in foster care to continue
contact with their birth family. In some cases this can be difficult,
bringing back painful memories of the past and an enigmatic dynamic in
the here and now. Messy play can be used to narrate the inability of past
experiences to be ordered or fashioned into a more manageable form; to
narrate the way they may fade or re-emerge, or be a constant dynamic
that encroaches on aspects of their present world. Play with slime, and
similar materials, can be an enabling experience to help them cope with
difficulties they may be facing in the real world, and to explore different
ways to cope and contain feelings.
visit with his mother, our play in the session returned to the slime
world, the place we had first visited some time ago. He squeezed
the slime in his hands, harder and harder. The air trapped inside
the slime bubbled up, the globule expanded and popped, leaving
only a slimey trail on his thumb. His mother’s escalating promises
had yet again ended in nothing. Harder and harder he squeezed
the slime. We watched its ever-changing form slipping through
his fingers. He repeated this process several times. The slime
escaped capture, no matter how tight he clasped his fingers. His
mother had not kept the contact arrangement. Not a word about
the visit was uttered in the session, the real world was much too
painful. The slime movements said it all. Rowen moved on to the
paints, the fingerpaints. His hand dived into the red pot. Red paint
was soon vigorously being moved around the paper. His anger at
the failed visit was scooped, expressed and released onto the paper,
externalised but contained within the confines of the space.
Being
After a long time of treading and trampling, and treading and
trampling, a few dry places began to appear in the big ocean.
The wagtail had created the earth. The islands of Ainu, he had
created the world.
I feel it is no coincidence that in creating both play and real worlds, slush
and slime are the place where we begin. Just as in the real world, where
life is believed to have emerged from slime, so, when children are ready,
from the play with slime there also emerge more complex life forms.
Their worlds can begin to contain a more symbolic narrative of their
experiences. The wading in the slush and slime is an important part of
WHEN ALL THE WORLD WAS SLIME 31
this creative process. From delving into the chaos and disorder, a sense of
being and meaning can develop. The children often then move on to
other toys to decorate and illuminate their fantasy worlds.
When children have created a play world in therapy and their present
circumstances are relatively secure, a sense of themselves can be explored
that is not so bound up in past trauma. The paints, clay, playdoh or slime
can begin to be a symbol or metaphor, and a means to bring some order
or sense to experiences. The emerging narrative is first held together in
the act of doing, seeing, being – the immediate world experienced
through the senses.
Joshua in later sessions began to tear all the playdoh into small pieces,
spreading them strategically over the mat, then squashing them back
together again. This process would be repeated many times. One week,
after ripping up the playdoh, he chose some pieces which he began to
squeeze together. He did this until he had three different quantities of
dough. He squashed the largest piece flat and rolled out the other two
into sausages, which he proceeded to bend and place on each end of the
previously flattened lump. ‘That’s you and me on the mat,’ he explained.
He tore the boy figure up. ‘He’s broken.’ He then placed the pieces back
on the playdoh ‘mat’. He squashed this mixture together and then banged
and flattened it down again. He took out the gingerbread boy cutter and
pressed it hard into the smoothened dough. He spent some time carefully
pulling away the excess pieces from the edge of the shape, then pressed
the playdoh boy out onto his hand. ‘See, now he is whole again,’ he said.
Not all children are able to narrate so eloquently the way in which
they use the materials to gain some sense of themselves or their process
within the play. But for many it gives them a means to explore and express
themselves, to experience the process of ‘becoming’ and begin to develop
a sense of their individuality as a separate identity. Joshua’s family had
begun to recognise his needs, making time to play with him away from
his sister.
In the dictionary, alternative words to messy are careless, untidy or
dirty – which probably sums up the average adult view of such play activ-
ities. But for a child in play therapy, a very different perception can be
constructed. Within our interaction meaning is created, though it exists
often only in the moment. ‘Mess’ can be seen as a necessary beginning of
32 THE STORY SO FAR
various ways to make yet another possible structure of ideas, only to find
them all to easily retracting, merging back into their original state – a
formless mass – just like slime.
From this stance, I can resonate with the child’s first taste of the
creative world in play therapy. Finally, I hope I have given their percep-
tion of such experiences some life.
Maori
From nothing the begetting
From nothing the increase
From nothing the abundance
The power of increasing
The living breath.
(Gersie 1997)
References
Cattanach, A. (1992) Play Therapy with Abused Children. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Cattanach, A. (1994) Where The Sky Meets The Underworld. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Cole, B. (1985) The Slimy Book. London: Picture Lions/HarperCollins.
Gersie, A. (1997) Reflections on Therapeutic Storytelling. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Patten, B. (1985) Gargling with Jelly. London: Viking, p.119.
Sartre, J.P. (1966) Being and Nothingness. Trans. Hazel E. Barnes. London:
Methuen.
Zalasiewics, J. and Freedman, K. (2000) ‘The dawn of slime.’ New Scientist 2229,
30–33.
2
Take the tale in your teeth, then, bite till the blood runs, hoping it’s
not poison, and we will all come to the end together, and even to the
beginning: living, as we do, in the middle. (Le Guin 1980 p.29)
During my time as a play therapist, dramatherapist and social worker I
have worked with many children and young people and have long been
fascinated by the stories that are told and shared within the safety and
security of the therapeutic space. It is a magical place where anything can
happen and where most things do, and over the years I have witnessed
stories and enactments that have been beautiful, moving, terrifying and
sad. We live in a world of stories that run through our personal, social and
institutional lives – a narrative stream that at times can be fast flowing and
ever changing and at other times slow and meandering, carving out
patterns in our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
This chapter tells the story of Daniel, a confused and anxious child
who was referred for play therapy because of the complex emotional dif-
ficulties he was experiencing within his family, and particularly within
the relationship with his mother. It is a metaphoric tale of hope and
despair as revealed through a narrative sequence which provides a
window into an internal world inhabited by powerful monsters, creatures
which threaten to overcome his very self. My reason for writing about
Daniel and the process of his play therapy has emerged from my interest
35
36 THE STORY SO FAR
recounting earlier events of the day. Children in this sense act as their
own narrators, providing a running commentary on their play. In the
context of the play therapy space, these narratives become spontaneous
collaborations created through the interaction between child and
therapist.
In this sense then, one of the fundamental processes of play therapy is
the facilitation of the child’s expression of narrative identity, in that they
are enabled to explore relationships via the symbolic and metaphoric
imagery that is co-created during the course of their play. The natural
inclination to story personal experience, which is so much part of the
human condition, allows for a richness of symbolism and metaphor to
develop within the healing process of play, and the healing narratives
themselves become embedded within the relationship between child and
therapist. So narrative frameworks are constructed which allow children
to begin to sequence, order, predict and make sense of the complex
feelings that can exist as a result of trauma and abuse. This capacity for the
storying and narratisation of human experience was emphasised well by
Barbara Hardy:
We dream in narrative, remember, anticipate, hope, despair, believe,
doubt, plan, revise, criticise, construct, gossip, learn, hate and love by
narrative. In order really to live, we make up stories about ourselves
and others, about the personal as well as the social past and future.
(Hardy 1968 p.13)
As we know, children who have experienced abuse often have great diffi-
culties in forming and maintaining healthy and positive relationships.
Their narrative identity, their way of making sense of their abusive expe-
riences, can involve personal constructs of blame, guilt, depression and
anger, resulting in a perception of themselves as bad and worthless. By
addressing the stories and narratives which children present in therapy it
is possible to reframe these abusive experiences and so reconstruct an
ongoing narrative for the child that is less influenced by their internalised
feelings of self-blame and responsibility. The transitional space that
occupies both the playroom and the relationship between child and
therapist provides a rich and fertile ground for growth and change, a
space where ghosts from the past can be safely conjured with and con-
38 THE STORY SO FAR
trolled and where new narratives of hope can begin to develop and
flourish.
In seeking to establish some form of definition for the term narrative
identity as I use it within this chapter, the family therapist William Lax
(1992) helpfully stated:
The narrative view holds that it is the process of developing a story
about one’s life that becomes the basis of all identity and thus chal-
lenges any underlying concept of a unified or stable self. (Lax 1992
p.71)
Lax suggests that the development of a narrative becomes a process of
defining who we are in interaction with other people’s perceived under-
standing of us. Through narrative we forge and shape the world in which
we live, creating our own subjective realities within the context of a social
community of others. Lax proposes that narrative identity, or a sense of
self, arises not only through discourse with other people but is our
discourse with others. Within this narrative model of identity there is no
hidden self to be uncovered or interpreted and indeed, as Lax states: ‘We
reveal ourselves in every moment of interaction through the ongoing nar-
ratives that we maintain with others’ (p.71). Essentially then, narrative
exists within a context of interaction between people. In the course of
play therapy a child reveals their social text in conjunction with the
therapist, in the role of reader and co-author. The stories and narratives
which emerge during the course of a play therapy session belong then
neither to the child nor the therapist, but are the result of a
co-construction between them both.
A narrative model of identity maintains the view that the act of telling
a story is equally an act of creating one’s self, a construction of life
through stories that change depending upon the moment of interaction,
the purpose of the telling or perhaps the audience or listeners to the story
itself. Ricoeur defined narrative as something that ‘makes identity
somewhat unstable, insofar as many stories can be woven from the same
material’ (Wood 1991, p.4). It is this dynamic, transient and con-
text-driven essence of narrative that I believe to be so valuable in the
provision of a model for describing the play therapy process.
THE SELF IS A TELLING: A CHILD’S TALE OF ALIEN ABDUCTION 39
what the resulting text might reveal about Daniel’s narrative identity and
the extent to which his sense of location within his personal, social and
physical system was discursively displayed. Rom Harre (1994) proposed
that ‘the mind of any human being is constituted by the discourses that
they are involved in’ and so it could equally be seen to be revealed
through this same process.
I was also interested in how this sense of personal narrative related to
the overall picture of Daniel’s play therapy, and to this end I have also
included in this analysis a story that Daniel told, and in fact dictated,
during the course of his therapy. From the inner to the outer, the micro to
the macro, two co-existing world views of a child in therapy are explored
and I shall discuss the contrasting nature of this process in greater detail
later. But first I should say something about Daniel and the story that
brought him to play therapy in the first place.
Daniel
Daniel was a 7-year-old boy living at home with his mother, father and
younger sister. Daniel’s mother had a background of chronic childhood
sexual abuse and associated long-term mental health difficulties, marked
by periodic admissions to psychiatric hospital departments, triggered by
emotional collapse and related ‘hysterical’ physical manifestations, for
example, loss of use of legs, stomach pains and unexplained fits. She had
attempted suicide on a number of occasions and a diagnosis of
Munchausen syndrome by proxy had been slowly, and somewhat hesi-
tantly, established over a number of years due to both Daniel and his sister
being presented to health professionals with a number of unexplained
injuries and health problems. Consequently, Daniel has spent periods of
time throughout his life in local authority care both on a voluntary and
involuntary basis.
The relationship between Daniel and his mother was characterised by
her extreme mood swings, explosions of anger and contradictory
messages of love and rejection. Her ability to meet the emotional and
physical needs of her children appeared inextricably linked to her own
state of mind. Whilst professionals had noted that she could at times
present as the ‘perfect’ mother, she has also in the past talked of wanting
42 THE STORY SO FAR
Long long ago when the dinosaurs lived, there was some certain
dinosaurs which this story is about. There were Tyrannosaurus
Rex’s, one Pterodactyl, four Dinonycous, six Diplodocus, four
Triceratops, one Stegasaurus. I really can’t tell you all their names
because there are too many of them.
Now let’s begin. This story starts when the mother of the T.
Rex was having a baby. It was a girl T. Rex who was very kind
THE SELF IS A TELLING: A CHILD’S TALE OF ALIEN ABDUCTION 43
because her mother was very kind. Of course when she grew up
she grew up to be kind.
Now the bit of the story when she was born. She was so cute
when she was born that she was not called T. Rex, she was called
Holly Rex. ‘Oh you are such a lovely baby,’ she said. When Holly
Rex grew up, when she was three, she made lots and lots of friends
and they were all the ones I told you about at the beginning of this
book. She played lots and lots and lots of games with them and a
lot of games they played with her.
One day there was a strange noise when Holly Rex was playing
with her friends, a ‘woo woo’ and then a ‘chuff chuff chuff ’. Holly
Rex said, ‘What’s that?’ in a whispering voice, and then there was a
strange voice and something appeared on the rails. ‘I am the Super
Train. I have come to save every dinosaur from the evil T. Rex,’ and
then there was a great big ‘ROAR’.
And then the T. Rex came up and said, ‘I will eat you’ and the
Super Train ran out on the rails and said, ‘Oh no you won’t, these
are my friends. I will turn on my wings and turn into a bomber and
drop bombs into your mouth.’ And then suddenly there was a great
big BANG. There was a puff of smoke and the T. Rex disappeared.
‘Thank you,’ said Holly Rex. ‘You saved us from the evil T. Rex.
We didn’t know about it.’ ‘My pleasure,’ said the Super Train. ‘I
would really appreciate to run my rails all over the land,’ said the
Super Train. And then there was a puff of smoke and the rails went
all over the land, under the volcano, through the forest, over a big
bridge over the sea, and then suddenly he vanished out of sight but
the rails were still there and they could still hear the ‘chuff chuff ’
and ‘woo wooing’. And then, when Holly Rex got back to the cave
she said, ‘Mum, I’ve seen a Super Train.’ ‘A Super Train, what on
earth is that?’, and Holly said, ‘A Super Train can turn into
anything in the whole world.’
D: Pretend I’ve written it. Because remember I’m telling the
story aren’t I.
T: You are telling the story. It’s your story.
44 THE STORY SO FAR
D: Long long ago when the dinosaurs lived (comma), are you
writing it in my language?
T: I am doing my best to write it like yours.
D: Well, I hope mummy can read it though because I am going
to take the writing home. If we don’t get the writing done
today, because I’m going to write as much of it… Long long
ago when the dinosaurs lived (comma), there was…there
was…some certain dinosaurs which this story is about,
because we are telling about the story on this page, there was
three Tyrannosaurus Rexes.
T: Alright, three Tyrannosaurus Rexes.
D: Three…the number three, not like that.
T: You want me to write it as a number and not a word?
D: Yes. The next time you do a number do it what it looks
like…the number.
T: Right, O.K., I will do that next time.
D: One pterodactyl.
T: O.K.
D: Four Dinonycous. That is a very long word.
T: Can you say that one again?
D: Dinonycous.
T: Dinonycous.
D: Because that makes sense because Dinonycouses wouldn’t
make sense would it?
T: No, I guess it wouldn’t. You like to get your words just right
don’t you?
D: Yes.
T: So, we’ve got three Tyrannosaurus Rexes, one Pterodactyl,
four Dinonycous.
D: Six Diplodocus. The number.
T: Sorry.
46 THE STORY SO FAR
D: And do you know what? Do you know how tall its things
are, the ones on top. Probably about as tall as this playroom.
T: What does it look like, this alien?
D: It’s got all different coloured spots and it’s white and it’s got
long pointed teeth and do you know how big they are?
T: No I don’t.
D: As big as me. As big as me. It’s so big it could swallow the
smallest planet. What’s the smallest planet?
T: The smallest planet is one called Pluto. It’s very far way.
D: Well, if it’s Pluto it could swallow good aliens, but he is the
king, so it would get all the aliens of there first and then it
would swallow it, so it could come to Mars. And do you
know how it…how it…could…this is their friend but the
baddies have more guns, they’ve got them all over the place,
in fact they are covered in guns, and their guns are in shields.
T: Is the alien the king of the bad aliens or the good aliens?
D: Well, he’s king of the good aliens so he is ready for the
baddies because…do you know what, he has actually got
claws, and do you know where?
T: No I don’t.
D: He’s got claws on his eyes!
T: Claws on his eyes?
D: Yes. And he’s got claws all over his face and all over his…in
fact he’s got claws everywhere.
T: That is a very funny place to have claws
D: Yes.
T: So does that help him to protect himself or are they for
fighting with?
D: It’s for fighting with and whatever…whenever anybody
who touches him will get…do you know how many people
he can kill?
T: No I don’t.
48 THE STORY SO FAR
Perhaps an appropriate starting point for this exploration into story and
narrative would be to look at some of the differences and similarities
between the two as presented by Daniel, with the aim of defining some of
the key elements inherent within both structures so that a distinction
between the two forms can be made.
A fundamental element that makes a distinction between story and
narrative possible is one of intentionality, in the sense that a story is com-
municated intentionally and is governed by certain formal rules of
structure and content. Clearly, Daniel’s story ‘The Dinosaur and the
Super Train’ contains the classic elements of protagonist, plot, adversary
and outcome and has a well-defined sense of beginning and end.
Narrative, on the other hand, can be viewed as being embedded within
the conversation or interaction between people and is not formalised in
the sense that a story is and not necessarily experienced as a story by the
listener.
Daniel, in the process of telling his story, shifted into an unintentional
and spontaneous narrative sequence facilitated through his play with a
‘transformer’ toy. Whilst his fictional narrative contained some elements
of character and plot, for example, the King Alien’s battle with the
baddies, it occurred informally within the dialogue between me and
Daniel and was neither signalled by him as a story nor communicated
with that intent. Indeed, it had no formal beginning or end, but simply
existed for a brief moment in time before being swallowed up within the
safety and security of structure and form.
It is interesting also to note the differences in grammatical structure
between the story and narrative. There is a strong sense of self-assurance,
50 THE STORY SO FAR
image indeed and it was only after reading through the transcript several
times that I was struck by its significance. I recalled that one of the
impressions I was left with after meeting Daniel’s mother was the
intensity of her gaze, to the extent that she brought to mind the expres-
sion ‘staring daggers’. I could imagine that both the use of her eyes and a
voice that could spin quickly out of control formed a central strategy in
her attempts to manage and control Daniel’s behaviour. His image of an
alien monster with clawed eyes presents a vivid picture of how he experi-
enced these interactions with his mother. Daniel goes on to to say of the
alien that ‘whenever anybody who touches him will get…’ and the
implications contained within these hanging words can only leave one
guessing at what might have actually happened had anyone gone as far as
to touch the claw-covered creature. Once again, there are possible con-
nections to be made here with a mother who, because of her own experi-
ence of childhood sexual abuse, found physical contact and the giving of
affection almost unbearable. It seems that Daniel’s struggle to understand
and make sense of the complexity of this relationship is central to the
symbolism contained within his fictional narrative.
Daniel’s depiction of the alien continues, of a monster that can kill
2000 ‘baddies’ at the same time, which eats their vehicles to prevent them
escaping and which is ‘such a fast runner’ that each of its feet is the size of
the playroom. The alien is even in possession of two voices, one ‘kind’
and one so ‘gruff ’ and loud that it can smash a wall to tiny pieces. In its
entirety, Daniel presents us with a vision of an alien creature which is so
vast and so powerful that it is essentially omnipotent. Although (after
some hesitancy) he establishes its credentials as ‘good’, the alien is intro-
duced at the beginning of the sequence as ‘such a dangerous danger’. This
sense of ambiguity over the possible temperament of the alien reveals
further the frightening element of unpredictability that Daniel has to
negotiate.
The alien itself is given by Daniel the capacity of being able to distin-
guish between good and bad, so removing any sense of control that he
might have had over this process, and so further creates an image of an
all-powerful, barely containable creature moving through space and
making indiscriminate judgements about who should live and who
should die. Even if the alien succeeds in eating all the ‘baddies’, Daniel
54 THE STORY SO FAR
moves from the narrative sequence back into the story of the Super Train
with the final reminder that ‘there’s always baddies, because baddies
come from different countries, not just our country’. This again conveys a
stark sense of helplessness and the feeling that the alien creature, with all
its power, strength and size, will ultimately be unable to kill off the sur-
rounding badness. In terms of narrative identity, this image of badness
raises issues about Daniel’s own personal constructs of blame and guilt
and how, through his dependence upon his emotionally and physically
abusive mother, he has had to internalise the feelings that have resulted
from his abuse. Children often survive these situations by internally
reconstruing events, so blaming themselves for being bad and imagining
their carers as good. In this sense it could be suggested that Daniel has
sacrificed his ‘self’ in order to maintain the image of a good mother and
constructed a false ‘bad self’ in order to survive. So Daniel’s narrative
identity has been abducted by the metaphorical alien and the creature
inhabits an internal psychological landscape into which Daniel has
allowed a fleeting glimpse.
An integral element within the whole narrative sequence is the rela-
tionship between Daniel and me, in the sense of its co-creation within the
context of our interaction. Daniel clearly dominates the dialogue in terms
of word count, but I was struck by the extent and nature of his checking
out as he developed the images within the sequence. Did I know what the
danger was? Did I know how big the alien was? Did I know how big its
teeth were? Did I know where its claws were? Daniel is continually devel-
oping, constructing and re-evaluating his narrative imagery, a process of
co-construction through the reflective (reflexive?) backdrop provided
through the relationship between us. My interventions, although
minimal, created the reflexive loop within which the metaphoric
narrative could be developed. In this sense the whole of Daniel’s narrative
sequence with its rich and startling imagery could not have existed
outside the context of the therapeutic relationship.
This brings us back to the notion of hermeneutics and the way in
which it can provide a model for understanding the therapeutic process.
The art therapist Deborah Linesch (1994) described a model of the ‘her-
meneutic spiral’ as a concept that reflects the ‘unending dialectical rever-
berations of the process of understanding’ and which in the context of
THE SELF IS A TELLING: A CHILD’S TALE OF ALIEN ABDUCTION 55
References
Andersen, T. (1992) ‘Reflections on reflecting with families.’ In K.J. Gergen and
S. McNamee (eds) Therapy as Social Construction. London: Sage, pp.54– 68.
Derrida, J. (1972) ‘Structure, sign and play in the discourse of the human
sciences.’ In R. Macksey and E. Donato (eds) The Structuralist Controversy: The
Language of Criticism and the Sciences of Man. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Press.
Hardy, B. (1968) ‘Towards a poetic fiction of life: an approach through
narrative.’ In H. Rosen Stories and Meanings. Sheffield: NATE Papers in
Education, p.13.
Harre, R. (1994) The Discursive Mind. London: Sage.
Hoffman, L. (1992) ‘A reflexive stance for family therapy.’ In K.J. Gergen and S.
McNamee (eds) Therapy as Social Construction. London: Sage, pp.7–24.
Lax, W.D. (1992) ‘Postmodern thinking in a clinical practice.’ In K.J. Gergen
and S. McNamee (eds) Therapy as Social Construction. London: Sage,
pp.69–85.
THE SELF IS A TELLING: A CHILD’S TALE OF ALIEN ABDUCTION 57
Le Guin, U. (1980) ‘It was a dark and stormy night; or why are we huddling
about the campfire?’ In H. Rosen Stories and Meanings. Sheffield: NATE
Papers in Education, p.29.
Linesch, D. (1994) ‘Interpretation in art therapy research and practice: the
hermeneutic circle.’ The Arts in Psychotherapy 3, 185–195.
Polkinghorne, D. (1988) ‘Narrative knowing and the human sciences.’ In J.
Bruner (1990) Acts of Meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
p.115.
White, M. and Epston, D. (1990) Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends. New York:
Norton.
Wood, D. (1991) On Paul Ricoeur: Narrative and Interpretation. London:
Routledge.
3
She sat on the chair, sitting as if she wasn’t there, not looking, not
speaking, hoping I would not see her. That is how our story began
together. I did not know then that stories would help her find her voice. It
began that first session with me reading to her a children’s story and for
the first time she looked up in response to the sound of my voice reading
about a far-off land. I cannot remember how she came to tell her own first
story, just the excitement as the words came flowing out of her mouth, the
mouth of a woman who had been labelled as learning disabled through-
out her education. She started to illustrate her stories with small pencil
drawings and the stories just continued to flow.
Lisa
For Lisa, an 18-year-old black young woman, stories provided her with
the dramatic distancing that fiction can provide and enabled her to
describe tragedy, abandonment, love and sometimes resolution. She
interwove elements of her own life story into the stories she told. She was
then able to receive my comments of empathy and dismay at the
treatment which the child had been given in the story. These expressions
of her own worth, if directly conveyed to her at this stage in the therapy,
might have been too overwhelming. She was able to absorb them from
59
60 THE STORY SO FAR
me as her audience. She revealed the low self-esteem in which she held
herself as a black woman through the telling of a tale of twins where one
was fair and beautiful and the other dark and ugly. The ‘dark’ twin ran
away at the age of 8 because of the unfair treatment she was receiving
compared to the sister. The mother did however care enough about her
to search for her in the story, found her and returned home with her. The
story ended with the comment that the mother loved her in spite of the
fact that she was ugly. The story bore some similarity to the girl’s own life
in that she was removed from home at the age of 8 with her sister who
was white. She had been sexually abused by her stepfather and rejected
and disbelieved by her mother. She was then subjected to sexual and
racist abuse by her foster carers. The story was told at the point that she
was in a caring foster home which had had a positive effect on her, but
her poor self-identity as a black woman was still apparent.
This young woman continued to ‘make’ stories in the sessions,
sometimes needing no prompts or structure other than the play materials
available, using the figures or the puppets to tell the story. Sometimes I
would select a story which I thought might resonate with her because of
the themes of rejection, brutality and abandonment, but which included
some hope and resolution. She never actually told me her story in the first
person, but we both knew she had told it in other ways. She ended her
therapy by writing a story for other children who came to see me. This
story described a girl who had been abused and who told her mother. She
believed her, comforted her and informed the relevant agencies, ending
in the abuser being imprisoned for a very long time. This story could not
have been more different from what had happened to her, but I felt the
story she told was the one that she knew should have happened. There
was comfort, belief, punishment and adults taking responsibility for
ensuring there was justice for a vulnerable child. She had developed a
sense of fairness despite what had happened to her. She wanted to make it
right for herself. This was the story she wrote:
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 61
Once upon a time there was a young girl called Moesha who felt
very lonely and pretty much in the dark. She was feeling hurt and
pretty much unloved, hurt and ugly and dirty. She thought that
nobody wanted to know her and was very scared and very fright-
ened. She had a secret but didn’t want to tell anybody because of
the way she was feeling and didn’t think anybody would believe
her anyway. She kept it to herself and just didn’t want to go to
school just wanted to stay in her room all the time like she was
imprisoned.
Figure 3.1
Her mother was pretty much worried about her and was
wondering why she wasn’t her normal self, like cheerful and
playful and loving.
She kept on asking her all these questions: Why she didn’t
want to go to school, why she was always sad and miserable and if
62 THE STORY SO FAR
there was anything she could do to help her, but Moesha didn’t
answer and her mother asked her if she wanted to talk. Moesha
refused and said everything was all right but really deep down
inside it wasn’t all right and she wanted to tell her mother very
badly but couldn’t as she was scared. Her mother then called up to
her and said everything would be all right. ‘Do you want a drink?’
she asked her.
Her mother knew there was something upsetting her as
mothers do know when their children are upset. Moesha said,
‘Leave me alone, I don’t want anything.’ But her mother refused to
leave her on her own. Her mother was curious to find out what was
wrong and would not leave her until she had got to the bottom of
it. Moesha still wouldn’t tell her mother what happened that day.
Her mother was getting really upset now as she didn’t know what
was going on. She shouted at Moesha, ‘Tell me else I can’t help
you.’
Moesha realised that her mother was only trying to help her so
she started to tell her mum what had happened. She told her mum
that her father had touched her where he shouldn’t have. Her
mother burst into tears and hugged her and then went and told the
police what had happened.
Figure 3.2
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 63
The End
Lisa had managed to transcend the distortions she had been fed and was
able to give voice to her own sense of knowing of fairness, through the
vehicle of storytelling. I think that this last story of Lisa’s shows that
creating stories can enable children to start to imagine other healthier
constructions of reality which they can be in control of, dissimilar to their
own lived life so far. Creating and thereby experiencing this reality can
have a beneficial effect on children who have experienced some adults as
brutal and controlling and received no retribution.
Once upon a time there was a dog called Jeffrey. She went for a
walk and saw Kristen, she tripped her up, trip, and then she went
back, and she told me to and fetch her so I went and fetched her
and picked her up and brought her back home, then my daddy
went to work and then he came back from work he took the dog
for a walk, so he went walking through the mud, he took him to
the park, then he took him back and then mummy came out, then
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 67
mummy went to buy some sweeties and then mummy came back
and grandma went for a walk with the dog again and the dog got
covered, so grandma went back and slipped up, so she went back
up and went to get daddy. She stayed there and she went to find
the doggy, ‘Doggy, where are you?’ And then we went back and
then mummy tripped up, so then we had to get mummy back up
and then Zara came and she messed, and Kristen messed the room,
messing up the room, and then Zara went down and to tell mum
and then Kristen got sent to bed and then they went to the fair, my
family, and then they saw a dinosaur and when they got there they
all fell over. And then there was the keeper and he picked them all
up and then he went back home and had a nice drink and they had
a very good time and the dog disappeared, and they couldn’t find
him and they saw a spider in her bedroom and so she went to her
bedroom – aaargh there’s a spider so the dinosaur came and ate it
and then he ate it, and then they went on holiday and they started
playing in the sand, Zara did, so she got the sand and buried
everybody up. They sent her to bed and went back home. It took
her half an hour to bury them all up. And when she had buried
them, she ran away and when all the sand got away they went to
look for her and couldn’t find her and then they went to a
policeman.
importance, grammar flew out of the window and it felt as if it was vital
for her to tell it. It took Kristen a painstakingly long time for her to
choose the figures and even though I told her the characters could be
imaginary ones she chose to name them after her family, but then
swopped the names around so it was all very confusing. Some dramatic
distancing did start to evolve though. She started as the storyteller in the
first person; ‘and then she went back and she told me to and fetch her, so I
went and fetched her’, and then she quickly moved into the third person.
This story illustrates well the idea of stories opening up alternative
possibilities. She describes two parallel sequences before deciding which
path to go down: ‘so she got the sand and buried everybody up…they
sent her to bed and went back home…and when she buried them she ran
way and then when all the sand got away they went to look for her and
couldn’t find her.’
Conducting the story in the sandtray offers the possibility of a
different texture and dimension to the story. The concepts of life and
death or almost death can be conveyed. The underworld beneath the sand
can be used to express feelings of safety when hidden, or helplessness
which may be a reminder of the feelings evoked when your body has
been colonised by someone who is bigger and stronger than you. The
near-death experience can be shown as well as surviving against all odds.
This was vividly expressed by another child in one of her stories, where
the sand both literally through the therapeutic value of its sensory
elements and metaphorically contained the tiny almost imperceptible
seed of hope and survival:
Once upon a time there were animals, who could not stay in the
water for too long or the sand as they would die. When they are
older they can choose where they live so they don’t have to keep
moving …
Then there was a storm and it went on for three days. It
stopped. All the animals were nearly drowned, the trees have gone,
only the goose is still alive as it’s on the pond.
The next night there is a storm again. The animals are now
drowned but a couple of years later they are still alive as there is
food under the sand…
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 69
The burying in the sand in Kristen’s story could be interpreted as the jus-
tifiable anger felt by the protagonist in the story towards the adults.
However no logical reason for this is given in the story and although the
police, representing justice, agreed she was justified in her actions and
blamed the adults, this could not be explained satisfactorily in words:
‘they went to look for her and couldn’t find her and then they went to a
policeman’.
S: And what did the police have to say?
K: The police said it was their fault.
S: Why was it their fault?
K: For letting their child go with them.
The meaning I placed on this following the dialogue I had with Kristen
whilst she was still immersed in the story’s meaning was that the burying
of the adults had some emotional meaning for her. In relation to her own
life we could speculate that she felt angry with the adults around her for
not protecting her from the abuse, which can be a commonly held feeling
by children who have been sexually abused, regardless of the mother’s
actions. At this point in Kristen’s life, her relationship with her mother
had deteriorated to such a point that her mother was not able to say
anything positive about her and described her as aggressive and
unhelpful.
The terrain of the sand also enabled Kristen to convey the instability
and precariousness of life events through the persistent tripping, slipping
and messing that went on in the first part of the story. Did the ground no
longer feel solid for Kristen after her traumatic experiences? There was
no one in this landscape that the main character could rely on, hence the
ending of the story with the main character going off to live with her
grandmother who just appeared magically at the end of the story. Again
through dialogue with Kristen about the ending I got the impression that
she felt that the only resolution at the moment was to have this fantasy
ending in order for her needs to be met:
S: Could anyone say anything to persuade Zara to live back at
home?
70 THE STORY SO FAR
K: Grandma could have asked her why she wasn’t back with
her parents.
S: Could there be another ending?
K: No.
I found that trying to enter into a dialogue about the story the following
week or even when it had just been completed was usually met with
patient but disinterested responses, the authenticity of the answers being
somewhat dubious. It was another reminder for me about how the need
to know can impede the therapeutic process. Staying with my interest
about one of the characters in the story had much more resonance for
Kristen. Linesch (1994), in her article on exploring the role which inter-
pretation has within art therapy, states that we should ask the question:
‘Where does the imagery point us? not, What is behind the imagery?’
(p.191).
This question reminded me to maintain a focus on exploring shared
meaning between Kristen and me rather than deciding on an interpreta-
tion and selecting data which confirmed this – the process then defining
which meanings are more acceptable and thereby silencing the child’s
voice. Linesch encourages her client to expand on her metaphor of a
house through image making and conversation and demonstrates how
the client was able to reconstruct her personal meaning of self through
this process.
My overall impression was that the story seemed quite confused and
chaotic with no coherent close relationships being described between the
adults and children except for grandma and Zara, which is conjured up in
the last few sentences of the story. The dog seemed to be an anchor in the
beginning of the story, having a relationship with most of the characters,
whereas they were all quite separate from each other. The first disappear-
ance of the dog resulted in bringing them altogether to look for it. The
final disappearance of the dog was linked with them all having a good
time together: ‘and they had a very good time and the dog disappeared’.
I wanted to know more about this dog, who he was and what
meaning he might have for Kristen, and she was eager to tell me. Again
she became immersed in the story and it was obvious that Jeffrey had a
meaning for her of emotional significance. I was reminded again of the
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 71
My Dog Jeffrey
There is also no clear ending which I thought may reflect Kristen’s con-
tinuing need for his presence in her life at that time. She viewed him as
her protector and through the actual telling of the story she begins to
show a lessening need for him, an example of how the actual creating of
an imagined reality can begin to have an effect in itself. We start off
telling how things are and then by the telling it changes in front of our
eyes. I think Jeffrey gives a vivid example of how stories not only reflect
children’s inner worlds but can then transform them. The dialogue with
Kristen later demonstrates this.
There is a clear linking between cause and effect in the description of
a hero whose purpose is clear and who has intentions behind his actions
which result in certain consequences. Bruner (1986) describes these
ingredients as important in the narrative mode: ‘If Jeffrey hadn’t barked
we could have had things stolen.’
The story overall appears less chaotic than the first story she told.
There are fewer characters and their relationships to each other are easier
to understand. Kristen continues to tell the story in the first person. She
started the story being very clear about what kind of dog she wanted: ‘I
had a list of names and they told you about what they were like.’ I specu-
lated that Kristen wanted the dog in her story to externalise the fierceness
that she was showing towards other people in her life at this time: ‘He was
fierce to people and he was really a nice dog to me so I bought him.’
I wondered if the aggression was a coping strategy to prevent anyone
getting near enough to hurt her again. If you did not know who to trust,
then barking at everyone seems like a good idea. She needed him to be
very close to her when she first got him. He slept in her room: ‘and when
it was time for bed me and Jeffrey went to bed’.
No one could get into her room without him barking and waking her
up. I wondered if the intruders in the night could be representing her not
feeling safe. It was even scarier if you did not know who the intruders
were. Feelings of generalised anxiety and fears can be common effects for
children who have been sexually abused:
But in the middle of the night he’d still wake me and bark and bark
and bark. He was barking at people who came up the stairs. But
when we went downstairs we didn’t know who it was.
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 73
I wondered whether Jeffrey going off and having his own life and
separate relationship and family represented a lessening of a need for him
to protect her as much as he had done, that she was feeling less scared in
her life than she did. She still needed to know however that he was
available to her just in case she needed him: ‘and then Jenny went to live
with us and Jeffrey and then he had his own room to his self. But in the
middle of the night he’d still wake me…’.
I explored the meaning of the story for Kristen about two months
after she told it. She told me that she had been ‘very, very, very scared
before Jeffrey came…and I feel a bit happier now’. She corrected the age
she was when he came to 10 rather than 19. She told me the people had
been coming up the stairs to steal Jeffrey.
I introduced the idea of Jeffrey as a talking dog in order to check out
my interpretations of his meaning for her:
S: OK so is there anything else you think Jeffrey would say.
What would he say now?
K: That he was glad I was starting to get happy.
S: Right. That he was glad that you were getting happy [K
saying yeah]. So he’s noticed has he that you’re getting
happier? How could he tell that then?
K: ’Cos, every night when I go to bed he comes and gets me to
sleep and that, and I started to get really happy.
S: Oh.
K: I don’t need him.
the same structure as I had for the first story, giving her the same figures
without suggesting a theme. She then told her last story:
K: Once upon a time there was a mummy called Sue, a daddy
called Mark and a little girl called Sinead and they had four
horses and three cows and three ducks and they had people
used to come and visit them, and one day when they all three
went to the park they went to meet a friend, and they went to
go to the shop.
S: And how did they get there, to the park?
K: They went out the house, go through the back, gone out the
gate, go through there and to the shop. And then they went
to buy some bread from the shop to feed the ducks and then
they went all the way to the pond and they gave them all the
stuff and chucked some bread. And the ducks kept eating
them until they found out all the bread was gone, and when
they got home they had some supper.
S: Who makes the supper?
K: Dad makes the supper.
S: What does mum do whilst dad’s making the supper?
K: Putting the bath on for the baby – Oh, we haven’t got a
bath?
S: Shall we have this as a bath?
K: Yeah.
S: I’ll put baby in the bath shall I?
K: Yeah.
S: And mum’s over there bathing baby and dad’s making tea.
What is he making for tea?
K: Cornish pasty, and when they ate their dinner, baby went to
bed, and when baby went to bed mummy washed the pots,
whilst daddy read a story. And when he read baby a story,
and when he finished he came downstairs and then mummy
and daddy always watches TV and when they watch TV the
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 75
Kristen locates the beginning of the story in the home followed by a trip
to the park to return home where the dramatic high point of the story is
developed, similar to the second story. This story follows conventional
time and logical sequencing, all of the story taking place within 24 hours.
Although she still uses the names of people in her life for the characters in
her story, on this occasion she is clearly in the role of storyteller.
Although Kristen starts with a lot of potential characters, four horses,
three cows, three ducks, a mummy, a daddy, a baby and a friend, the
central characters soon become the mummy, daddy and baby. Although
the mummy and daddy are shown to have a relationship with each other
separate from baby, mummy is clearly paired with baby. This is the first
time that this relationship has been to the forefront in Kristen’s stories.
Another striking feature for me was that within the story there were
activities from the adults in relation to the child which were focused on
satisfying the child’s basic needs. The child’s emotional needs were being
satisfied through doing something child centred altogether by going to
the park to feed the ducks. She was being comforted and stimulated intel-
lectually through being read to by her father. She was physically cared for
by her father making supper and her mother bathing her. Her safety was
being considered by her mother checking on her in the night whilst she
slept. Hodges and Steele (2000), in their research using story stems, have
commented on the description of ordinary domestic pleasures being
more prominent in stories told by children from non-abusive homes or in
adoptive homes compared to the ones told by children who had been
abused.
In the second part of the story the theme of intruders in the night
reappears, but with some important differences. There’s no sign of Jeffrey,
so I wondered whether this might reflect Kristen’s increasing ability to be
able to trust adults to protect her and keep her safe. This time the child is
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 77
supported by the mother and they get up together to pursue the intruder,
seeking help from the police.
In dialogue with Kristen about the story she said it was a happy and
scared story. She liked the character of the mother best and thought that
the baby was the most scared. She thought daddy was happy and brave
because he could beat up anyone. I pointed out that he was sleeping
whilst mummy and daughter went off in pursuit. She said that they
thought it was the girls’ turn not to be scared!
In analysing them together the following headings emerged: main
characters, themes, sensory experiences, endings, intentions. I have
therefore grouped examples from the text under these headings in Table
3.1.
Needs
One of the striking changes in the stories was the way that the main char-
acter’s needs were met. In the first one they were met outside the family.
In the second, they were met through the form of an animal and in the
final one all the basic needs of the child were itemised: food, shelter, stim-
ulation, love and health and met by the parents. This progression was also
reflected in the mother and daughter’s relationship through the period of
therapy, so providing some external evidence that children’s stories do
reflect their reality.
Relationships
In the first story there were many characters who acted independently of
each other with some shared activities. The way that Kristen set them out
was in a long line looking outwards, with none of the figures facing each
other. In story two there is a combination of shared activities and separate
activities. In story three all the characters have relationships with each
other and as a whole group. The progression of the stories reflects an
increasing appreciation of relationships as varied and nourishing and
finally displaying a balance between autonomy and interrelationships
which are satisfying.
78 THE STORY SO FAR
Intentions Mum will miss her Dog needed less Girls can be brave
when she’s gone now to keep her safe too
JEFFREY THE DOG: A SEARCH FOR SHARED MEANING 79
Fear
Fear in the night is common to stories two and three. In story two the
intruder was unknown which could be more scary. The way that the
intruders were dealt with seemed to be different: in story two the intruder
was unknown and perhaps therefore this is more scary and she had to rely
on a dog to scare them away. In the third story the mother and daughter
joined forces: the intruder was imprisoned and therefore the object of the
fear was known and dealt with, so not leaving residual anxiety of further
intrusions.
Sensory experiences
Sensory experiences are prominent in all Kristen’s stories but the full
range of all the senses is present in the final story: taste, touch, sight, smell
and hearing. Fahlberg (1994) states that if a baby’s expression of discom-
fort is not responded to by a carer that tension continues for the baby and
their capacity to perceive the outside world is reduced. That Kristen did
have a general appreciation of the sensory experiences in the world
coupled with other observations indicated she had a secure attachment to
her mother, but the trauma of her experiences had temporarily affected
their relationship. When Kristen started coming for therapy she was
showing signs of her distress through her behaviour, but her mother did
not know how to comfort her. Using this hypothesis we can see that as
her ability to describe the sensory experiences in her stories expanded, so
her ability to receive comfort increased and her mother’s ability to give it
to her. As the tension and fear in her inner world had less of a grip she was
able to relax and enjoy ordinary domestic pleasures again.
Endings
The endings of the stories also seem to reflect the themes already high-
lighted. In the first story the main character ends up living outside the
home without an idea about how this could change. In story two the res-
olution is achieved through the introduction of a protective character. In
story three the fear is dealt with and removed outside the home.
80 THE STORY SO FAR
New meanings
Stories offer a way of organising events when nothing seems predictable
any more. They provide a grain of hope where there has been a famine for
the last seven years, which when planted flourishes and replenishes itself.
The power of being able to scare your audience and for you to decide
when and how it will end is good, but is there something more? Perhaps
it is to relinquish a little control and give the other a small part in the
drama just as long as they do not take over. After all they do seem to be
interested in your stories, even the gruesome ones. Gradually that need to
be right because the world can be a scary place no longer dominates all
the time and it seems much more fun again to have someone join in, even
if they get it wrong sometimes.
Kristen was able to show me the chaos in her world where the rules
about fairness and justice were incomprehensible and you have to invent
your own endings and protectors to tackle the demons in your life. The
stories reflected the past and the present and she was able to try out
possible solutions to see how that felt. She was able to express her
feelings through the fierceness of Jeffrey and started to experience a
feeling of safety within the story. This in turn seemed to enable her to
absorb the care and protection that was there for her in her life and for
those who cared for her to be able to respond more warmly when they
were not being kept at a distance by her aggression.
Of course these are only my interpretations, but they are backed up by
Jeffrey in places, so perhaps it is more fitting that we end this chapter with
the words of Jeffrey and Kristen:
S: What would he [Jeffrey] say now?
K: That he was glad I was starting to get really happy …
K: I don’t need him.
change. They tell us but in a way that we’re still not quite sure. The child
continues to hold the key and that is the magic as this last dialogue with
Kristen shows:
S: So do you think I’ve understood this story properly then?
K: Bits of it.
S: [Laughs]
K: I think you did.
References
Bettelheim, B. (1976) The Uses of Enchantment. London: Thames & Hudson.
Bruner, J. (1986) Actual Minds, Possible Worlds. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Buchsbaum, H., Toth, S., Clyman, R., Cicchetti, D. and Emde, R. (1992) The
Use of a Narrative Story Stem Technique with Maltreated Children. USA:
Cambridge University Press.
Fahlberg, V. (1994) The Child’s Journey through Placement. London: BAAF.
Gardner, R. (1993) Story Telling in Psychotherapy with Children. Northvale, NJ:
Jason Aronson.
Hodges, J. and Steele, M. (1999) ‘The Effects of Abuse on Attachment
Representations: Narrative Assessments of Abused Children.’ Journal of
Child Psychotherapy 26, 3, 433–455.
Lahad, M. and Cohen, A. (eds) (1997) Community Stress Prevention. Israel:
Community Stress Prevention Centre.
Linesch, D. (1994) ‘Interpretation in art therapy research and practice: the
hermeneutic circle.’ The Arts in Psychotherapy 14, 1, 77–84.
4
They found the treasure but they did not live happily ever after.
83
84 THE STORY SO FAR
By the 1970s there was a drastic drop in the number of young white
children available for adoption. This in part was explained by more
effective contraception methods, the legalisation of abortion and also in
part the result of changing sexual mores. In Britain it was increasingly
socially acceptable for a single parent to raise a child. The availability of
state welfare benefits now made it financially possible for some single
parents.
By the 1970s awareness was growing of the thousands of children in
either residential care or foster homes who had no realistic possibility of
returning home to their own families. These were not the children tradi-
tionally seen as adoptable. They were older, some with physical or mental
disabilities, some of mixed race, some had siblings and many of the
children came from a background of abuse and neglect. These children
came to be known as ‘special needs’ or ‘hard to place children’.
Happily, both in the UK and USA, projects demonstrated that these
children could be found adoptive families, and there was a shift to finding
‘families for children’ as opposed to ‘children for families’. This resulted
in broader definitions of suitable family placements.
The children now placed for adoption have experienced difficult
childhoods and need help to deal with these painful and traumatic
memories of the past. The adoption worker needs to explore with the
children their ideas about a new family and their wishes, expectations
and fantasies about family life.
The decision to remove a child from his or her family and to find a
new permanent family is one that is not made lightly. It involves a great
many systems working to make the best decision where the child’s
welfare is paramount. In Figure 4.1 I have tried to give a sense of the
many systems involved. The reasons for adoption are many and varied.
The common theme is that the child is in care to the local authority, and a
decision has been made regarding the future, as to whether the child
needs short-term or long-term care. The decision to place a child for
adoption will be made, and then a search for a suitable family begins. The
move to adoption starts at the point when a suitable family has been iden-
tified and the local authority has made the decision that they can meet the
child’s needs. Introductions then begin from the foster family to the
adoptive family, and it is at this point that play therapists can play a part in
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD: THE ADOPTION PROCESS… 85
helping the child in the transition of leaving one family and joining
another.
Figure 4.1 The many systems involved in making the decisions about removing the child
from the birth family and placing in an adoptive home.
Van Gennep observed that the life of the individual in any society is a
series of passages from one age to another and from one occupation to
another. He states that there are distinctions between age or occupation
groups, with the progression from one group to another marked by
special acts, likening them to an old apprenticeship in the trades. Van
Gennep’s stages in the development of rituals are as follows:
• Stage 1: Separation and loss
• Stage 2: Transition or in-between
• Stage 3: Incorporation or reincorporation.
From my observation of children’s transitions from being fostered to
being adopted, there appeared to be a need for a ‘rite of passage’ which
would help the child make sense of the major changes taking place in
their young lives. As a non-anthropologist I initially wondered if one
could create a rite of passage for an individual going through this transi-
tion. However, I then thought that people, ordinary people like me, do
create their own rituals, particularly in times of crisis. This is supported by
the work of Turner (1982) who explores the links between ritual and
theatre, explaining the connections between ‘social dramas’ that
punctuate our lives both on the large scale and the small scale.
Jennings (1993) states that we place a ritualistic frame around certain
life events such as birth and death which enables a special form of
reworking to take place that is both collective and in the public domain.
She describes the concept of the healing ritual, which she maintains is
part of the passage through life, providing signposts which mark major
changes in status and relationships as well as life crisis or illness. We also
ritualise the aspects of our belief system in order to make symbolic state-
ments which affirm our beliefs. All of the arts are part of a ritual: art,
music, dance and drama. She makes the point that, no matter how impov-
erished we are, we have a basic need for the creative experience and
artistic expression. Theatre and ritual are essential for survival and allow
us to develop not only as individuals but also as communal groups. She
sees rituals as assisting us to know who we are and where we are, as well
as providing boundaries for the journeys of the dramatic imagination.
An important feature of ritualised events is that they are often
rehearsed, thus helping us to know what to expect. This then enables us
88 THE STORY SO FAR
and a feeling of disloyalty as they begin to form bonds with their new
family.
What Van Gennep (1960) illuminated is still valid: that this is a
process from one social status to another. He describes rituals which deal
with key life changes like coming of age, marriage, birth and death.
Whereas he was looking at existing cultures and subgroups, the child
moving to adoption and I create our own culture where the transition can
happen. There is no formal rite of passage for adoption.
Kate’s family
Kate is 9 years old and has been in care to a local authority for a number
of years. She is the second youngest of four children, having a brother of
20, who was adopted as a baby, a sister of 18 who was living independ-
ently and a younger sister of 6 who was placed with her (Figure 4.2). The
children were taken into care following the conviction and imprisonment
of an adult family member. As so often happens, the story of the family
was difficult to untangle, although there do seem to be instances of abuse,
unknown fathers and other incidences of sexual abuse.
Kate is a bright, intelligent and articulate child who loves reading and
creative play, but she is also watchful and suspicious of adults, in particu-
lar social workers. She has a tendency to be secretive. Physically she is a
striking looking child, with long black curly hair and green eyes.
Her social skills are a concern. She is finding it hard to make friends in
her peer group, tending to be overly bossy and controlling. Within her
relationship with her brother Peter, she is close to him, overprotective,
but also watchful in case Peter gets more than her or something she does
not get. Kate relates more easily to men than women and indeed is quite
flirtatious with men. She had a strong relationship with her older sister,
Gina, but contact was terminated because it was felt that Gina’s influence
through manipulation and self-harm was negative.
The aim of the intervention was to help Kate make sense of the transition
from foster care to an adoptive family. This meant helping Kate explore
the families she has known and answer the question ‘who is my family’ to
her satisfaction. There were 14 sessions of play therapy, which took place
over a period of eight months. The therapy began in the foster home with
four sessions. When Kate moved into the adoptive home I met her there.
Kate was free to choose whatever play materials she wished. There
was a wide variety of portable media including glitter glue pens, gold and
silver pens, puppets, miniature dolls and doll’s furniture, toy mobile
phones, toys, dressing-up clothes, dramatic role play, stories and poems.
Kate quickly established her favourites and did not use much of the
media. Her sessions soon developed a pattern and she enjoyed drawing
and dramatic play best.
I employed a multidimensional model of play therapy where the cen-
trality of play is acknowledged. It was important for me to assist Kate to
make sense of her chaotic world. In the play and storymaking Kate
created narratives, with me being part of that narrative, as opposed to me
making interpretations and being a reflective presence.
Kate’s entire life had been turned upside down. She had been
removed from her birth family and was in transition from foster to
adoptive family. Her life was in turmoil and everything known and
familiar was lost. In these circumstances, my question was whether Kate
would be able to create her own rites of passage, if given the opportunity.
Do rites of passage help a child feel safe, and would they help Kate deal
with her move to an adoptive family? For me, it felt like an act of faith.
Could we make rituals to mark the transition from one family to another?
If rituals were created and performed, could they become embedded
within the individual and continue to work as a positive structure to cope
with change? I was interested to explore whether Kate could be helped to
find her own healing rituals.
For Kate the play therapy process was an exploration via play, narra-
tives and dramatic role play. The form and content was decided by Kate,
and I was an active participant in that process, sometimes entering into
the play, sometimes expanding it by asking questions or clarifying
information, but also keeping the play safe. I was responsible for the
92 THE STORY SO FAR
their parents had been killed in a car crash. The children were not with
their parents in the car when it happened, but were home alone. They
were very frightened being on their own; frightened that someone might
come and knock on their door. They were worried that it might be their
mother’s boyfriend Robert, who is big and would hit them. The story
was accompanied by a gold and glitter drawing of Sarah and Dominic. In
the next part of the story, the children are with friends, one of whose
mother does not look after them or care. Then Kate told this story:
Chris was with the children. Sarah was good with children and she
loved looking after them. Sarah wanted to be an adult, so she could
look after the little kids.
One day it was Sarah’s birthday, people kept knocking at the
door in Grandpa’s house. It was her friend Natalie.
Sarah was pleased to see Natalie.
Dominic said, ‘Why are you here idiot?’
Sarah goes, ‘Why did you call my friend an idiot, you are the
idiot, you don’t know how to clean your teeth properly.’
After a few hours, Natalie had to go home because her mother
did not know she was there.
Her mum was not looking for her, her mother is never cross,
she doesn’t care.
Everyone else would be worried except her mum.
However, for me, the most poignant story was the poem Kate wrote about
her mother and sister who live on the bottom of a pond. This was the first
session after Kate had moved into her adoptive home. She began the
session with a drawing of the windows and doors of her former foster
home. There was no structure for the house, just doors and windows.
Kate had said she wanted to draw something from her past. She went on
to draw the garden and a golden pond with fish and water lilies, which
was the garden of the previous foster family. Then she wrote her poem
(Figure 4.3):
94 THE STORY SO FAR
Figure 4.3 Kate’s poem to her mother and sister, who live in the bottom of the pond
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD: THE ADOPTION PROCESS… 95
At the end of this session, Kate wanted to sit on her adoptive mother’s lap
whilst she read a story of Kate’s choice, ‘Tom Thumb’.
The hero was Mickey Mouse; he lives with his wife Minnie. He
wants to find the treasure, gold in a chest with a lock on it, in it
there are golden necklaces with love hearts on them, his wife is to
help him find the treasure.
Minnie Mouse spilt blood, ‘No it’s not blood, it’s tomato sauce
on her wonderful golden dress that has love hearts on it.’
Eventually Minnie and Mickey find the treasure, but they do
not live happily ever after.
In session five Kate describes apples which have gone bad because there is
a worm inside them, but there is also a love heart. It says ‘I love you’.
From session seven onwards love hearts appeared in every session,
always making an appearance towards the end of the session when Kate
would like to draw and I had to copy her exactly. She always drew love
hearts. I asked myself, what do love hearts mean to Kate? Are they part of
the safe status passage, a reassuring familiar symbol?
96 THE STORY SO FAR
Figure 4.4 Session four: Minnie Mouse split blood, no it’s tomato sauce on her
wonderful golden dress that has love hearts on it
Other themes
Control issues
A major theme was of control, where it would seem that for the first time
Kate had some control over her environment or situation. Her explora-
tion of this issue links with mothers. We see at the beginning harsh and
punitive mothers, but as the sessions progress we see her exploring a more
hopeful situation where mothers can become better.
In session six, Kate developed a story which we enacted. I was
Claudia and Kate was her mother. The scene started with mother
phoning Claudia, telling her off and complaining about her. Then
Claudia came home and mother dragged her to her room and hit her for
giving cheek. Claudia cried and cried and her mother got angrier and
angrier.
In session seven the dramatic play involved two children, a girl aged 7
and a boy aged 19. Their mum and dad are dead.
98 THE STORY SO FAR
Mothers
Another theme was mothers – harsh, punitive and unforgiving – who had
boyfriends who hit and frightened the children. The harsh mother
figured in nine sessions altogether. However, in session seven the mother
is trying to deal with a child in a better way, promising not to hit the child
any more, but later the mother threatens to put the child in a children’s
home for being naughty. In session nine the mother is making efforts to
be a good mother, but has difficulty when her son does not do as he was
told. In the later sessions the mother is having some success in relating to
the child and finally the mother is a good mother who keeps her children
clean and had their hair combed, and they have a teddy.
ALL THAT GLITTERS IS NOT GOLD: THE ADOPTION PROCESS… 99
Love hearts
A reoccurring symbol was love hearts that could change and adapt. They
were the transition, the vehicle that allowed Kate to move in a non-linear
way. With hearts you can go back, they can be love hearts filled with hate,
or gone bad, they do not have to be either/or.
The love hearts also provide a graphic illustration that can be easily
understood – the black heart and the golden heart. They were the engines
that allowed Kate to move back and forth in her uncertainty between the
stages of transition. They allowed a frightened child in a world where all
was changing to feel she had some control via a symbol that was familiar
and reassuring. Whilst this meant that Kate did not proceed along the
path in a straight way, it allowed her the freedom to return and visit an
earlier stage and so played an important part in helping her deal with the
conflicts of loyalties to the past, especially her mother and sister.
Closing reflections
For me the experience of working with Kate was an exciting voyage of
adventure, as I struggled to bring together the various theories of social
construction, narrative identity, adoption and its best practice, play
100 THE STORY SO FAR
Figure 4.5 Kate’s love hearts that turned black with anger – my drawing was not correct
References
Bowlby, J. (1969) Attachment and Loss, Vol. 1 Attachment. London: Hogarth Press.
Bowlby, J. (1980) Attachment and Loss, Vol.2 Separation, Anxiety and Anger.
London: Tavistock, Hogarth Press and Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Bowlby, J. (1980) Attachment and Loss, Vol.3 Loss, Sadness and Depression. London:
Tavistock, Hogarth Press and Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Cattanach, A. (1992) Play Therapy with Abused Children. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Edelman, M. (1971) Politics as Symbolic Action. Chicago: Markham.
Jennings, S. (1993) Playtherapy with Children: A Practitioner’s Guide. Oxford:
Blackwell.
Jewitt, C. (1982) Helping Children Cope with Separation and Loss. London:
Batsford.
Ryan, T. And Walker, R. (1985) Making Life Story Books. London: BAAF.
Turner, V. (1982) From Ritual to Theatre. New York: PAJ. Publications.
Van Gennep, A. (1960) Rites of Passage. London: Routledge.
Further Reading
Ainsworth, M.D.S., Blehar, M.C., Waters, E. and Wall, S. (1978) Patterns of
Attachment: Assessed in the Strange Situation and at Home. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.
Aldgate, J. and Simmonds, J. (1988) Direct Work with Children. London:
Batsford.
Burr, V. (1995) An Introduction to Social Construction. London: Routledge.
102 THE STORY SO FAR
Cattanach, A. (1994) Therapy Where the Sky Meets the Underworld. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Cattanach, A. (1996) Drama for People with Special Needs, 2nd edn. London: A. &
C. Black.
Cattanach, A. (1997) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Fahlberg, V. (1981) Fitting the Pieces Together. London: BAAF.
Fahlberg, V. (1991) Journey Through Placement. Indianapolis: Perspective Press.
Holmes, J. (1993) John Bowlby & Attachment Theory. London: Routledge.
Jennings, S. (1995) Theatre of Ritual and Transformation. London: Routledge.
Jennings, S. (1998) Dramatherapy with Families, Groups and Individuals. London:
Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Schon, D. (1987) Reflective Practise – Educating the Reflective Practitioner. San
Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Triseliotis, J., Shireman, J. and Hundleby, M. (1997) Adoption Theory, Policy and
Practice. London: Cassell.
5
103
104 THE STORY SO FAR
and fear about how to talk with the children, what to say and what not to
say. There was fear at how they as adults would cope with seeing the
children distressed. One member of staff left the room in distress. She
said afterwards that she found it too painful talking about death and that
it brought up for her painful feelings about personal bereavements she
had experienced. Several teachers were concerned that they should not
cry or show their emotions in front of the children.
For both adults and children alike sudden deaths are more difficult
to cope with. They leave no time for preparation on a mental level,
and the child’s sense of security in the world may be shattered. Such
deaths have a stronger impact on the adult world, with consequences
for how children’s needs are handled. In addition, such deaths are
often characterised by traumatic aspects that adults want to shield
the child from. (Dyregrov 1991, p.47)
Before commencing a therapeutic intervention I needed signed permis-
sion from every child’s parent or carer. The headteacher met resistance
and anxiety from many families about what was meant by the group
work: would it upset the children even more? Everybody eventually
agreed.
One of the integral aims of the intervention was to assess children’s
coping strategies and through processing and exploring their feelings
help to prevent the effects of post traumatic stress, which can and does
occur when feelings following a traumatic event get buried or are so over-
whelming because they have not been acknowledged or explored
(Oaklander 1978, p.247).
When I met class B they had all been told of their teacher’s death by
the head of the school and had also had some time at home experiencing
very different responses from families according to beliefs, cultures and
anxieties and the need for parents to want to protect their children from
such abhorrent reality. I met the 28 children, their substitute teacher and
their familiar classroom assistant at the end of the week which was to
mark the first weekend after the death of their teacher. A group interven-
tion was appropriate not only because the whole group was affected, but
also as a means of assessing how individual children were coping within
the group.
IN THE WAKE OF THE MONSTER: WHEN TRAUMA STRIKES 105
Story as a metaphor
Due to the very young age of the children, I felt that a story was an appro-
priate way to start as they were not ready to take in cognitive information
at that early stage. It would also offer a metaphor for their loss. Many
stories came to mind that would be fitting after a death, but this death was
very specific in that it was a sudden and brutal death of someone who was
not old or ill but the victim of a violent crime and someone who was
known to them in a very close capacity, and someone who had a huge
impact on their lives.
I chose a story from India, ‘The People Who Hugged the Trees’,
because it tells of a child who experiences a sudden and violent assault on
the tree that she loves. Despite attempting to save the tree, she is unsuc-
cessful and thrown aside to witness the brutal destruction of her beloved
tree.
Long ago in India there lived a girl who loved the trees. Her name
was Amrita. She lived in a village on the edge of a great desert. Just
outside the village grew a forest. Every morning Amrita would run
to the forest, her long braid dancing behind her, and find her
favourite tree. She would wrap her arms around it and feel its
strong rough bark. Amrita kissed her special tree and whispered,
‘Tree, if ever you are in trouble, I will protect you.’ The tree
whispered back with a rustle of its leaves.
Her tree shaded her from the hot desert sun and guarded her
from the howling desert sandstorms and wherever trees grow there
is always precious water. The village depended upon that water for
their survival.
In the hot sun Amrita would sit and read under her tree, sur-
rounded by its big branches. Sometimes she would climb up into
the tree, where she had a wonderful view over the forest. She
thought that her tree was the biggest and the most beautiful in the
forest.
One day just before the monsoon rains, a giant sandstorm
whirled in from the desert. In minutes the sky turned dark as night.
106 THE STORY SO FAR
Lightening cracked the sky and wind whipped the tree as Amrita
dashed for her house. After the storm ended, there was sand every-
where – in Amrita’s clothes, in her hair and even in her food. But
she was safe and so was her village, because the trees had stood
guard against the worst of the storm.
As Amrita grew so did her love of the trees.
One morning by the well, Amrita spotted a troop of men with
heavy axes. They were heading towards the forest. ‘Cut down
every tree you can find,’ she heard the chief axeman say. ‘The
Maharajah needs plenty of wood to build his new fortress.’
The Maharajah was a powerful prince who ruled over many
villages. His word was law. Amrita was afraid. ‘The tree cutters will
destroy our forest,’ she thought. Amrita ran to the forest and hid.
From her hiding place she saw the chief axeman swing his blade
towards her special tree. ‘Stop,’ she shouted as she jumped in front
of her tree to protect it. She hugged her tree with all her might. The
axeman shoved her out of the way and swung his blade. He
chopped and chopped until Amrita’s tree crashed to the ground.
Amrita knelt down, her eyes filled with tears. Her arms tenderly
grasped the tree’s dying branches.
When news of Amrita’s tree reached the village, men, women
and children came running to the forest. Wherever the tree cutters
tried to chop, the villagers stood in their way.
‘The Maharajah will hear of this!’ threatened the chief axeman.
But the people would not give in. As soon as the Maharajah heard
the news he was furious. He mounted his fastest horse. ‘These
tree-huggers will pay for disobeying me!’ Followed by many
soldiers, the Maharajah found the villagers gathered by the well.
Amrita stepped forward. ‘Oh great Prince, we could not let the
axemen destroy our forest,’ she said. ‘These trees shade us from the
baking sun, they protect us from the sandstorms and show us
where to find precious water.’
‘Without these trees I cannot build my fortress!’ the Maharajah
insisted.
‘Without these trees we cannot survive,’ Amrita replied.
The Maharajah glared at her. ‘Cut them down!’ he shouted.
IN THE WAKE OF THE MONSTER: WHEN TRAUMA STRIKES 107
children were coping and to look for any signs of children who may be
experiencing emotional difficulties, any signs of post-traumatic stress.
Using a story with a class of 6-year-olds was a way of getting their
interest and attention in a more indirect way than just talking immedi-
ately and directly about the death of their teacher. It also gave them an
opportunity not only to listen to the story, but also to choose roles and
enact the story, with the experience of embodying different roles and
characters. They were able to put what happened into an imaginary
context.
An important element from the story was the value put on remember-
ing and creating a ritual to celebrate and remember the tree and express
their sense of loss and grief. ‘It became a place where the villagers would
go and sit,’ it would not be forgotten. Whilst the story ends with a sense
that life goes on as the new shoots grow and there can be hope for the
future, that was quite far from where the class group work was at the
beginning. As with story the place to start was the beginning and the
beginning of the trauma for the children was the moment of hearing of
the death of their teacher.
sad news of Mrs X’s death, and that I was sorry for their loss. I told them
that I had a story that I wanted to tell them which was about a little girl
and something sad and shocking that happened to her. Everybody told
me their name.
I told the story of Amrita and her tree. The children listened intently,
the power of story holding their attention. Almost every child wanted to
choose a role in the subsequent enactment. The carpet area became our
stage and the story unrolled with brief bits of narration from me. Six
children played the little girl; many chose to be trees; two boys chose to
be her special tree; others were villagers or the maharajah and many were
guards and horses. Several children and the adults chose to watch from
the outside. After the enactment, we discussed the story and the feelings
and thoughts the children had. Several children linked her loss to their
own.
I arranged with the class in negotiation with the teacher and
headteacher that I would come back on a weekly basis for a few more
weeks, possibly until after the forthcoming half-term break.
tombstones; some drew pictures or words that they connected with Mrs
X. A group of about three boys drew pictures of footballers and football
matches and giggled with each other. It was interesting to see the
different strategies at work. Many children asked lots of questions about
the incident, what it meant, how it impacted on them and their families.
The issue of families and their very different approaches was raised a lot:
‘My mum says I can go to the funeral’, in contrast to ‘My mum and dad
say that a funeral is not a place for children’ or ‘My gran says I’m too
young to go to a funeral’.
A sudden loss will often traumatise the parental system. While
children are trying to grasp, understand and make some sense of
what happened, they often face parents who want to shield, shut out,
prevent and hide facts and feelings. Often information is kept
hidden from the child or it is manipulated before it reaches him or
her. Many family secrets have their origin here. (Black 1993, p.30)
After the children had worked in small groups on their drawings we all
came back together as a group and some wanted to share their images.
They also clearly needed an opportunity to share, voice and question
their thoughts and fantasies about the actual death: ‘How did it happen?’
‘How did she die?’ ‘Did she feel pain?’ ‘Where did her body go?’ I was
struck by the children’s directness and apparent uninhibitedness about
asking questions.
I felt that it was important to reassure the children that such a death is
rare. Most people do not die this way. We talked about the different
services that are available in emergencies: that very often the police,
ambulance and fire services are able to help and frequently do prevent
tragedies.
The fact that it was a group activity was helpful as some children
would have their questions answered vicariously, others hearing some
children ask questions had the confidence to ask a question of their own.
Hearing and sharing the shock was clearly beneficial. An acceptance of
tears and giggles, questions or silence was reassuring to the group that
their own individual feelings were valid and accepted.
IN THE WAKE OF THE MONSTER: WHEN TRAUMA STRIKES 111
The child who is helped to face grief will not only be better
equipped to cope emotionally from day to day but will also not be so
vulnerable to future loss. (McMahon 1992, p.140)
For a large majority of the children, their teacher’s death also connected
to previous bereavements and losses that they had experienced. Every
child that spoke shared another previous experience of personal loss.
Within a class of 28 6-year-olds there was already a substantial personal
experience of death and loss. In other subsequent interventions with
other school projects on the theme of bereavement, I noted that in every
class there was a sizeable amount of children who had experienced losses
within their immediate family. Many had lost grandparents or family pets
and in each case there was more than one child who had lost a parent or
sibling. One child talked about the baby that had recently died in her
‘mummy’s tummy’.
In small groups the children drew pictures of Mrs X and how they
would like to remember her. Inevitably this raised more discussion about
her death. We had discussion in general about practical differences
between life and death: what things you can do when you are alive and
what things you can no longer do when you are dead such as breathe,
sleep, eat, talk, etc.
Due to post-mortem investigations, the funeral had not yet been held.
It was to take place before our next session, which was to include the
half-term break. We agreed to have two more sessions after the half-term
break. As a class group we talked about who might be going to the
funeral and what a funeral was; what sorts of things happen at funerals;
who had already been to a funeral. There were also different cultural
influences and rituals that some of the children knew about or had expe-
rienced.
We ended this third session by talking about different ways of
remembering Mrs X. Following on from the story about Amrita and her
tree, the class decided that they wanted to create a tree of their own. The
children wanted to make a tree in the classroom that could remain there
for some time; a tree in which they could hang things to remind them of
Mrs X; a tree that would become part of the classroom.
112 THE STORY SO FAR
Children often tended to be left out of the family grief. They are
often not allowed to attend funerals and are sent away to play when
they really should be joining in the family rituals. (Black 1993, p.31)
This session came after the funeral and in the large group some children
wanted to share with the class that they had been with their parents to the
funeral. Others wanted to hear what had happened and what it had been
like. About five or six children had gone to the funeral while others had
not gone but their parents had. There were lots of questions about what
happens to the body and the coffin after the funeral, where does it go. We
talked about the difference between cremation and burial. Mrs X had
been buried. Some of the children were familiar with or actually went to
the church where she was buried.
In the second part of the session each child and adult had the oppor-
tunity to make their own individual leaf to be hung on the tree. Each leaf
was totally unique. Some children wrote poems on the leaf, some wrote
words. One of the adults wrote words of remembrance. Others drew
pictures, some decorated them. We had a large selection of art materials
available: feathers, beads, paint, crayons, felt pens, pencils, fabric, etc. I
noticed that one little boy was crying and one of the adults was comfort-
ing him. When I spoke with him, he was clear that he did not want to do a
leaf. He was upset because he had not got on very well with Mrs X and
said that he hadn’t really liked her. He seemed to have a mixture of
feelings. He needed to have his feelings validated equally. It gave us the
opportunity to talk about a spectrum of feelings that we experience when
someone dies. He decided that he wanted to decorate a leaf but said that
he did not want to hang it on the tree.
Another little girl cried quietly as she did her picture on the leaf. She
said that it made her sad to think about Mrs X being dead. In her small
group several children talked and shared times that they had cried about
Mrs X.
WEEK 6: ENDING
The journey towards recovery comes once we are able to help the
child play again. (Gersie 1987, p.47)
This was the final week of the project. We recapped the previous weeks,
going back to the story, remembering the reason for the project to share
and explore feelings around the death of Mrs X. The tree was now a part
of their classroom, with the leaves gently fluttering in its branches.
I gave every child their photograph mounted in a small green card
with a little leaf on the front. The children appeared happy to receive their
photographs. They had discussion among themselves about where they
would keep their pictures at home. One little girl said that she would keep
it under her pillow. Two children had chosen a photograph of the tree but
not with them in it.
114 THE STORY SO FAR
As a class group we discussed how long to leave the tree up and when
and how to dismantle it. It was agreed that the tree would remain up until
the final week of the summer term which would have been their final
week in that class with Mrs X had she been alive. They decided that the
class would do the dismantling themselves and that I would not go back
for that ritual. The children said that they would then take home their
leaves if they wanted to.
Inevitably the theme of this last session was change, memories and
the future. The class asked me if I would come back for the memorial
service that the school was to hold later that term. I accepted the invita-
tion and acknowledged that I would see them all again then. We talked
about the future and obliquely about the importance of hope and a sense
that life will go on, as in the story new shoots eventually appear at the
roots of the felled tree.
In the aftermath
When a death is sudden or happens in a traumatic way, the shock for
both adults and children can be enormous. The child in particular
can suffer anxiety, fear and stress which can affect their entire
emotional and physical well-being. The nature of the death and the
manner in which they are informed has a big effect on them.
(Furman 1974)
IN THE WAKE OF THE MONSTER: WHEN TRAUMA STRIKES 115
Due to the traumatic death of their teacher and the fact that there had
been media coverage, it was vital that the children were given as much
clear information as possible in order for them to feel empowered and to
enable them to have the time and space to grieve and find ways of making
some sense for themselves of a very shocking event.
It was also an opportunity for caring and informed adults to help
affirm and validate their spectrum of feelings. This requires that the adults
are confident in supporting and validating the children’s emotions, and as
a consequence have some awareness of their own feelings and what is
evoked for them in seeing children grapple with what they may experi-
ence as difficult feelings. It was a significant advantage that there were
also adult staff involved in the class group intervention. They were
mutually beneficial to each other. One of the teachers involved told me
that she had found it very helpful being able to ‘feel real’ with the
children and not having to totally suppress her own feelings in front of
them.
Professor William Yule of the Institute of Psychiatry and a world
expert in the field of childhood trauma describes in one of his papers
(1992) a 6-year-old boy who survived the sinking of the Herald of Free
Enterprise. The child had drawn many pictures of the ‘bad ferry’ and often
spoken about it in class with an understanding teacher. The day the
headteacher took the class she forbade him to talk about it again. That
night he began having nightmares and a few months later he tried to kill
himself by sticking a metal rod into an electric socket. He said that he
wanted to die to stop the pictures of the bad ferry in his head.
This illustration of the little boy demonstrates the devastating effect
that can result from a responsible adult’s attempts to silence painful and
traumatic images. There appears to be a convenient assumption that if
something is not spoken about or ignored, it no longer exists. It has been
my experience that after a certain length of time following a traumatic
event some adults are of the belief that it is ‘best to put it behind you
now’.
Very little hard research has been done to provide evidence in this
area with very young children and pre-school children. One is dependent
on information from adults, carers and parents. If they too have been trau-
matised, it is difficult to sort out direct effects of the trauma on the
116 THE STORY SO FAR
Stirring up feelings
A personal response
Evidence shows that many children, aware of how their parents feel,
proceed then to conform to their parents’ wishes by excluding from
further processing such information as they already have: and that
having done so, they cease consciously to be aware that they have
ever observed such scenes, formed such impressions or had such
experiences. (Bowlby 1979, p.404)
I have had a long-term interest in the affects of bereavement, especially
on children. When I was 6 years old I experienced the death of my baby
brother. For me his death was clouded in mystery and secrecy. I am aware
that his death and its effects have had an enormous influence on me and
my perceptions of death and loss. That wound was certainly part of the
foundation that influenced my journey to becoming a therapist and I feel
that it has also affected my choice of client group as children.
I have seen clearly with my own 3-year-old daughter when her
grandfather died that she was very aware of her father’s distress and of the
great sense of loss. When she saw him crying she said, ‘You are sad
because grandad died.’ I was greatly struck by her reaction at just three
and a half years old. It affirmed for me that at the age of 6 I must have
been only too aware of my parents’ grief. However, as an adult I have no
conscious memory of that period of my life. I am sure that my parents
went to great lengths to try and protect us from their grief and from what
they thought might be too much for me and my sisters to cope with. On
the day of my brother’s funeral my sisters and I were apparently taken to
the funfair by family friends. I know that my parents were doing their
best to shield us from the sadness and loss. Thirty-five years ago it was
certainly unusual for children to attend funerals. Even today in our
society many people still believe that it is inappropriate for children to be
involved in the funeral rituals.
years old. They were both fascinated and very curious about the entire
event. We had prepared them by explaining a bit about what to expect in
terms of the coffin, the church, etc. They were full of questions: ‘What is
she wearing in the coffin?’ ‘Are her eyes closed?’ ‘Will they lift up the
lid?’ ‘Can we see inside?’ During the ceremony they whispered
questions: ‘Why are the curtains closing?’ ‘Where is she going now?’
Although they had lots of questions and comments they were also
very respectful and had a natural sense of the dignity and seriousness of
the occasion. Outside the church as we looked at the flowers we
explained that some people are cremated and some are buried. We looked
at all the flowers and messages from people and they put their own
bunches along with all the others. My elder daughter wanted to read the
tombstones and to know who was buried under them and what their
names were.
In the car on the way to the reception, our elder daughter asked, ‘Do
you want to be buried or burned daddy?’ I felt a lump in my throat
hearing our daughters discussing their funeral plans, as one said to the
other, ‘We want to be buried next to each other.’ ‘Can we all be buried in a
row?’ I was also struck by their relaxed and healthy curiosity about the
very natural and unavoidable reality of death. Their questions and obser-
vations were uncensored and spontaneous, often things that I think we as
adults fear or are embarrassed to ask. ‘Do they burn the coffin as well?’
‘Will she feel anything?’ ‘What do they do with her bones and the bits
that are left?’
References
Ayalon, O. (1992) Rescue! Community Oriented Preventative Education. Haifa:
Chevron.
Black, D. (1993) ‘Helping young people grieve.’ In B. Ward and associates
Good Grief 1: Exploring Feelings, Loss and Death with Under Elevens, 2nd edn.
London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Bowlby, J. (1979) ‘On knowing what you are not supposed to know and feeling
what you are not supposed to feel.’ Canadian Journal of Psychiatry Vol. 24,
404.
Capewell, E. (1994) Systems for Managing Critical Incidents in Schools. Report to
Churchill Memorial Trust. Centre for Crisis Management and Education,
93 Old Newton Road, Newbury, Berkshire RG14 7DE. Tel: 01635 30644
Cattanach, A. (1997) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Dyregrov, A. (1991) Grief in Children: A Handbook for Adults. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Furman, E. (1974) A Child’s Parent Dies: Studies in Childhood Bereavement. New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Gersie, A. (1987) ‘Dramatherapy and play.’ In S. Jennings (ed) Dramatherapy
Theory and Practice for Teachers and Clinicians. London: Routledge.
Lahad, M. (1984) ‘Working with children under threat of shelling.’
Dramatherapy: The British Association of Dramatherapists 7, 2, 31–35.
Lendrum, S. and Syme, G. (1992) The Gift of Tears. London:
Tavistock/Routledge.
McMahon, L. (1992) Play Therapy. London: Routledge.
Oaklander, V. (1978) Windows to our Children. USA: Read People Press, p.247.
Shakespeare, W. (1967) Macbeth. London: Penguin.
Yule, W. (1992) ‘The Management of Trauma following disaster.’ In A. Lowe
and A. Millner (eds) Child and Adolescent Therapy. A Handbook. London: OUP.
6
For some children exceptional things happen which set them apart from
others. Jamie, aged 7, is one of those children. His story is one of struggle
as he fights the life-threatening illness of leukaemia where he has to
negotiate a painful journey with no escape from the invasive medical
intervention vital for his recovery.
To children diagnosed with leukaemia their world is now a frag-
mented and unsafe place as they become the main players in the drama of
their illness and face a potentially fatal outcome. The emotional impact of
leukaemia, with its severe threat over a long period of time, has been
referred to as the ‘Damocles syndrome’ as the sword of Damocles has
come to represent a persistent and paralysing threat of death (Koocher
and O’Malley 1981).
While advances in medical technology have heralded enormous
optimism, it is vital to recognise the tremendous challenge presented by
diagnosis of cancer for both the child and family. The expected safe
haven and innocence of childhood has gone as the child with cancer
enters the complex world of hospitals – an experience which Spinetta
and Spinetta (1981) have compared to being transplanted into an alien
culture. Life now revolves around frightening and complex medical pro-
cedures, while strange smells, sights and sounds can heighten feelings of
fear, insecurity and loss of control. All these fears can be compounded by
the anonymous power of the medical professionals.
123
124 THE STORY SO FAR
Whilst much depends on the age and maturity of the child, and the
willingness of adults to divulge information to them about their illness,
the child may have very little understanding of the necessity of essential
treatments and the likelihood of having to endure periods of fatigue and
distressing side effects from the very treatment meant to ‘make you
better’. Even with the most sensitive words of reassurance and optimism,
children can pick up parental fears and anxieties and hear medical termi-
nology more usually associated with aggressive warfare and military ter-
minology such as kill, attack, wipe out, invade, antibodies, cell counts,
resistance and defences.
Sontag (1996) points out that the patient’s body is considered ‘under
attack’ or ‘invaded’ by the disease, while needles and tubes become
probing channels for essential but toxic chemicals. The child’s body is
bombarded by chemotherapy, radiotherapy and steroids, enduring blood
transfusions, blood tests, bone marrow tests, bone scans and lumbar
punctures, to name but a few of the medical procedures which have now
become everyday words and experiences in a child’s scary new world.
This chapter invites you to follow the unfolding journey that Jamie
took in the matrix of play therapy. Frank (1995) found the concept of
illness as a journey emerges recursively as the ill person seeks alternative
ways of being ill: ‘The journey is taken in order to find out what sort of
journey one has been taking.’ This is the story of how Jamie, injured both
physically and emotionally, sought to reconstruct and restore the sense of
self that had been lost in the midst of his illness.
My approach is predominantly based on social construction theory
where play therapy is seen as a socially constructed process between
therapist and child. Drawing from a pool of creative therapies Jamie and I
co-constructed a space and a relationship that formed a safe and healing
place where together we explored themes of recovery and resolution.
Jamie, who played the passive role in a treatment that can be brutal and
traumatic, gained a sense of autonomy and safety in the gentle reflexive
medium of non-directive play. Through his play, narratives and stories
arose that gave shape and meaning to the ensuing chaos that had threat-
ened to overwhelm him: ‘There is the story teller and the listener, and the
story acts in the middle as a way to negotiate and share meaning between
the two’ (Cattanach 1997). Whilst I have found that some children are
THE WOUNDED HERO 125
living with the threat of the death of their beloved child. Many families
prefer to ‘protect’ their child from complex and threatening information
as much as possible. They fear this would cause unnecessary distress and
reduce the extent to which the child complied with treatment.
Jamie’s parents had faced this dilemma and chosen to deal with it on a
‘need to know’ basis without giving the full picture. Leukaemia is
obviously a huge shock for any family to cope with and a family’s
response to cancer is influenced by social and cultural factors. Jamie’s
parents held a strong religious faith that underpinned their decision. As
they told me their story, their distress was apparent; nine months on they
were struggling still to believe the unbelievable. Daily they witnessed the
difficult path that Jamie’s illness was taking as they coped with the
dilemma of having almost to force Jamie to accept the treatment. For him
not to have it was more than they could bear as they grappled with antici-
patory fears about the future alongside their deep religious beliefs that all
would be well in the end. They were also coming to terms with the unex-
pected death of Jamie’s paternal grandmother just months before Jamie’s
diagnosis. The social work team at the hospice offered a systemic
approach to all those touched by cancer, ensuring psycho-social support
via counselling, medical and financial advice and practical support to
Jamie’s parents alongside play therapy and beyond.
As I reflect on my first visit to meet Jamie in his home, my abiding
image is of devoted parents telling an abridged version of their story with
more positive connotations, so making it possible for them to give reas-
suring smiles for the benefit of their young family. Jamie and his two
younger sisters, aged three and five, were all seeking attention and con-
versation alongside three dogs and four cats in a room filled with toys. I
marvelled at his parents’ ability to dispense cuddles, cookies and comfort
to all, while managing to create an image of apparent normality in the
midst of the uncertainty of this illness in their lives.
Jamie was clear about the reason for our work together, but of course
there was an air of anxiety and caution at taking the new and uncharted
path of play therapy in a venue more associated with medical intervention
and illness; daunting for a child who had already been through so much.
To help alleviate these fears and aid a sense of control and autonomy I
invited Jamie to visit my playroom prior to the beginning of our work
128 THE STORY SO FAR
I was also aware of the fact that Jamie’s grandmother had died of a heart
attack and I acknowledged that it must feel scary to have a line right
inside his chest. He nodded, adding in an anxious voice that it was right
next to his heart, then shrugged his shoulders to indicate his lack of
options in this matter. I nodded too at the sadness of it all and in the
fullness of silence around us we continued to explore the painting which
was now the focus for our joint sorrow. Jamie suddenly lifted up his
football shirt. ‘This is my Hickman line,’ he said.
My reaction at seeing this device was genuine surprise, but not shock.
‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ I said. This physical manifestation of the illness
can impact on the child’s sense of identity: compounded with their own
130 THE STORY SO FAR
slime slithered and snaked its way over fingers and between palms. His
hands were quickly buried in its web of bright red wetness. He flexed his
fingers and circled his hands over and over each other for a long time,
almost lost in the sheer sensory pleasure of the slime, while continuing
his exclamations of disgust, though more softly now, almost to himself.
He then tried to shake it off, but with little enthusiasm. He sat quietly for
a few moments letting the slime drip onto his trainers and over the paint
board, then quickly gathered it up and stretched it back over his hands
again. He pulled a face of revulsion at having it back on his skin, yet it
was almost too scary to let it go.
He picked up the body-shaped container and said determinedly, ‘I’ll
get rid of this.’ Tugging and yanking the slime off his hands and trying to
squeeze it back into the container he shouted, ‘Go away, you’re horrible,
it’s horrible’ time and again as it flowed over the edges of the container
and back onto his fingers. He gave up then and looked at his slime
encased hands with the empty shell of the body-shaped container now
trapped between them and sinking in the mess. He turned towards me
holding out his hands as far as possible and asked me to help him get it
off. Together we struggled to pull and push the slime back into the
container where it belonged. This was Jamie’s construction of identity, a
visual narrative of his struggle to know his illness with its messy battles to
win in the war for remission.
The psychological impact of a blood disorder is immense for a child.
The aim of chemotherapy is to destroy progressively some of ‘the bad
blood’, allowing the good blood to establish itself and become dominant.
This is a complex issue for a child to grapple with; that their body can
simultaneously contain both good and bad blood (Eiser 1993, p.21). The
image of blood gushing, oozing and spilling out of bodies is frequently
portrayed as the ‘shock horror’ factor in books, films and plays, whilst in
nursery rhymes and fables Jack feared the giant smelling ‘the blood of an
Englishman’ and Dracula drinks the very fluid from the body that makes
the difference between life and death. Skin is stitched up, sewn together
to stop the body losing this vital fluid. In Orbach (1999), D.W. Winnicott
described the child’s skin as ‘a limiting membrane’: the child experiences
an inside and an outside, a ‘me’ and a ‘not me’. These are all facets that
add to a sense of frailty and entrapment. Through the vehicle of play
132 THE STORY SO FAR
towards the end only fleetingly. The sessions continued and Jamie fre-
quently returned to the embodiment and projectile materials as he
grappled to create some order in the chaos of his illness. There were gaps
in the visits to the playroom due to colds, admissions to hospital for treat-
ments, tests or potentially worrying infections.
During this period of uncertainty, one session was particularly
relevant. Jamie entered the room slowly and opened the bag of knights
and soldiers. He set the knights up in a fighting position in one half of the
sandtray, with the black knight leading the charge as in previous weeks.
However, this time there was no movement to set up the opponents. He
sat silently, fingers trailing in the empty half of the sandtray. Gently I
asked if the soldiers were going to fight a battle today. ‘Yes’ was the reply,
but still he sat. After a long silence he altered the knight’s position
slightly, moving it closer to the troops, and sat back on his heels.
‘Well, it looks to me like they are fighting an invisible enemy,’ I said
eventually. He seemed pleased with this description. Smiling he said
softly, ‘Yes, that’s right, they are fighting an invisible enemy.’ He pro-
nounced ‘invisible enemy’ slowly and distinctly. Jamie moved away to
other tasks, then came back to look again at the sandtray. Suddenly he
swiped his hand over them, knocking them all down in the process. The
resulting image was scary, all the figures lay defeated as if the ‘invisible
enemy’ had won (Figure 6.3). ‘Have they been defeated?’ I asked.
‘They’re just tired,’ he said. Jamie then buried the monster totally in the
sand.
This single image seemed to convey the nature of leukaemia – a silent
and invisible enemy within. These metaphors construct the experience of
illness; recovery or deterioration is now framed as ‘winning or losing’ the
fight in relation to the healing process. The treatment aims to ‘kill’ the
cancer, so the child is exposed to the message that a deadly war is being
waged within his own body. Today, fragile and vulnerable from yet
another bout of unexpected infection, he appeared like a wounded
soldier, weakened, worn out by the fighting. He seemed to have lost a
minor battle, to have had a setback, but the war goes on. ‘I guess they
need to retreat for a while,’ I said. ‘That’s what all winning armies did,
took time to recover, gathered their strength and planned their next
strategy for battle.’
THE WOUNDED HERO 135
‘Did they really? Which army?’ Jamie asked cautiously. I confirmed that
they did and racked my memory for an example. I recounted the story of
the D-Day landings with its elements of defeat, rescue, recuperation and
eventual victory. Jamie listened and asked me to go over the bit about the
rescue by hundreds of fisherman with small crafts who dragged wounded
soldiers off the beaches (which I have to confess contained much poetic
licence). Smiling now, he lay on the cushions and chose a book for me to
read him before he went home. He then casually mentioned a hospital
appointment due to take place the following week.
Jamie was fearful of having invasive procedures, particularly this
bone marrow aspiration biopsy, a painful procedure performed under
‘conscious sedation’ when the child is anaesthetised at the site of the
136 THE STORY SO FAR
one he had used before. He pulled and stretched it into long strips, then
folded it back up again and repeated the pattern for a while. Jamie then
asked me to pass him the box containing all the Action Man figures and
equipment which he had explored several times before. Jamie found the
small dagger and began stabbing the slime time and time again, cutting
and slicing into it as it hung limply from his hand. He changed the
weapon for a three-inch bayonet, now poking in the blade and twisting it
as he grunted with the effort of it all. He swung the slime around on the
end of the bayonet like a piece of meat on a hook. The slime hung power-
lessly against the penetrating bayonet and the image was of a piece of
flesh being pierced, poked and prodded time and again (Figure 6.4).
Sourkes (1982) recalled how a child described feeling like a piece of
paper that everyone cuts into whenever he was hospitalised. This was
certainly the impression that Jamie had presented. He pulled the weapons
out then and dropped the slime, but continued the attacking motions as
he shadow-boxed around the room with a weapon in each hand. Jamie
was able to vent his feelings of anger and helplessness at the invasive
treatment, acting the part of aggressor instead of victim and gaining some
essence of metaphoric autonomy. These actions are facets of his struggle
to maintain a constant sense of self and not lose himself to the illness in
his now fragmented world.
At the next session Jamie appeared stronger and more agile. He
wanted to draw, but could not decide what to do. I cautiously suggested
he drew a picture of himself. Jamie appeared keen but simultaneously
reluctant to start. He said I should draw him instead. I suggested we both
could do some if I were to draw around him for a life-size body shape. It is
important to note that by making this suggestion I used a more focused
approach with Jamie than I have previously done. This change in my
approach was made after careful assessment of his progress so far and in
the knowledge that, at this stage in his therapy, Jamie was beginning to
show an innate strength and resilience in the face of his illness. I would
not have suggested this task at an earlier stage as Jamie may not have been
able to cope with the impact of a full body drawing. If Jamie had showed
the least bit of resistance, then it would have been essential not to
proceed.
138 THE STORY SO FAR
Jamie liked this suggestion and we found large sheets of paper to stick
together with tape so I could trace around him. He giggled as I did so and
was surprised at his size. He thought that he was fatter because the
steroids pills which he had to take for one week each month made him
feel bloated and hungry. He moved to the paints and chose red and blue
pots and two brushes. I fetched the water and sat beside him as he started
to paint the chest and arms with the bright red. He then painted the
bottom part with blue. The painting seemed to confuse him as he sat back
to examine it. Looking at the blank face, he suddenly said that a mask
would look good on the painting. I agreed and found a mask form in the
cupboard while Jamie chose the colours to paint it with, slowly lining
them up before starting.
The final result was a scary red and green face, with large black scars with
stitching effects across them. He placed it on the body picture carefully
and stood up to see the painted body in full (Figures 6.5 and 6.6).
This image provided a vivid example of the body under attack, an encap-
sulated reality, shocking in its starkness. To witness an image of such vul-
nerability and aloneness was almost too overwhelming. It felt appropriate
to capture and hold the moment as we sat silently together looking at
Jamie’s body shape on the floor. Jamie sighed and sat back, staring
intensely at his painting as if confronting and examining his illness from a
whole new position. Through his painting Jamie conveyed the
ever-present threat to his body with its tainted blood. In his struggle to
know his illness he had created a literal image of its presence in his body,
symbolically giving characteristic form and colour to the task. This
140 THE STORY SO FAR
metaphor is his story: what it is like to live with this illness, just under the
surface of his skin, but always there, inside his body all day and every day
with the aches and pains caused by it and its treatments etched on his face
mask.
I had my own struggle to clarify what I saw. Jamie had confined the
red paint to the inside of the body’s outline, keeping to the boundaries of
his skin, unlike the second session when the wet red slime seemed to
overwhelm him as it flowed out of control. This blood-redness was
contained and Jamie appeared to be confronting and challenging the
source of the enemy within as his eyes explored the painting intently. The
mask was scary, but the facial cuts were closed and stitched, albeit
hanging by a thread with still a way to go before being fully healed. It felt
safe to speak now as Jamie smiled as if with a sense of achievement in the
very task he had undertaken.
‘Wow, this body looks like it has been through an awful lot,’ I said.
‘Ya,’ he said, as he nodded slowly and wiped his hands together in a
gesture of completion.
Themes in Jamie’s play so far reflected his fears, experiences and
fragile sense of self. His choice of tactile materials such as paint, slime,
clay and sand had enabled him to create images held deep inside, when
talking about them was still too difficult and painful. This series of
images had marked a shift in his struggle to understand his illness and the
trauma it causes, achieving insight through his own interpretative efforts.
Now Jamie was ready to narrate his experiences and, speaking in a
soft, gentle and deeply moving way, he narrated his story of painful
treatment, frightening episodes of infection, continuing tests and anxious
hospital visits that endlessly weave a thread which casts an unremitting
shadow over normal life. He told me about how sick he felt during che-
motherapy and how horrible it was losing his hair. The worse bit was
having needles pushed into him time and again. Even with the Hickman
line in position he had to have injections in his legs. He also feared going
to the hospital as he was never sure of what was going to happen to him
and he hated waiting for the results of the never-ending tests. ‘It must be
so terrible for you,’ I said. Nodding gravely, he agreed.
We sat side by side as Jamie told me his story and looked at the body
on the floor which still appeared vulnerable and alone. But leukaemia is
THE WOUNDED HERO 141
not an illness to fight alone and Jamie had shown strength and courage
by confronting the illness through his painting and in his narrative,
gaining a quality of resilience not in evidence before. Although still vul-
nerable, he had found ways of dealing with this vulnerability and thereby
reducing its negative impact. As a means of encouraging this resilience I
introduced the subject of football, which is a passion of Jamie’s. ‘Who’s
on your team here, Jamie, who’s on your side in this battle?’
Jamie caught the spirit of this metaphor.
‘Well, the doctors and nurses,’ he said. Then he went on to name
others and I suggested we list the people involved. When we had
exhausted the list of those who had been in his world since his diagnosis,
we moved on to list the medication and equipment and procedures used,
to the three hospitals involved, then the wider community including his
school, church and local community centre, currently fund raising in his
name to finance research for a cure for leukaemia. We explored his world
from the micro to the macro system and the list was extensive. To give this
task a more visual impact, I suggested we draw an ‘eco-map’. This
technique is used frequently for children in the care system to help clarify,
in pictorial form, people, places and moves that they have made (Fahlberg
1981). Jamie’s map provided a full and informative visual image of his
new world within the context of his ecological environment. We then
drew him in the centre, surrounded by all the resources fighting in his
team.
Jamie asked me to take a photo of his painted body for his folder and
sought reassurance that it would be safe in my cupboard until he took it
home. Malchiodi (1999), exploring the role of art with paediatric
patients, found that the ‘resulting image’ becomes important, not only for
communication of feelings and experiences, but also as a visible and
external record of the self. I gave Jamie the camera to take the picture.
Then together we gently lifted the body off the floor and reverently
folded it in half to fit into my cupboard. We placed the mask on top, as if
putting it all to bed then Jamie quietly closed the door.
Illness happens in a life that already has a story (Frank 1995). This
story goes on, changed by the illness but also affecting how the illness
story is told. As mentioned previously, Jamie’s love of football played a
major part in his world. Known as ‘the beautiful game’ or ‘the people’s
142 THE STORY SO FAR
game’, it was a passion encouraged and supported by his father and they
were both Arsenal supporters. This passion had emerged at our first
meeting and early on I confessed my own love for Arsenal and enjoyed
listening to Jamie discussing the results, players, manager and league
tables at every session.
In the next session Jamie arrived excited and eager to show me a pair
of football gloves given to him by none other than David Seaman, the
Arsenal and England goalkeeper, during a visit to the children’s ward at
the local hospital. (It was Bacon who said that ‘adversity is not without
comforts and hopes’.) I showed the envy and longing to touch them that
Jamie had hoped for as he laughingly put them on and jumped around
the room. He also brought an eight-inch plastic model of his team hero,
Dennis Bergkamp. We discussed the mid-week match results and I
suggested that as he knew so much about football he could write a story
about it. Jamie was reluctant because, having missed so much school, he
had anxieties about his literacy skills and didn’t like writing or making up
stories.
Using the ‘story stem’ technique, I suggested that I start off the story
and Jamie could continue it while I did the writing. Jamie agreed. I started
the story by introducing his football hero who has a back problem and
can’t play in a vital cup semi-final. Jamie carried on with the next part,
then the next, and in fact completed the story. In Jamie’s story Dennis
Bergkamp had to undergo chemotherapy to recover, then went on to
score the winning goal in the last moment of a penalty shoot out at the FA
cup final at Wembley, becoming the hero of the day (Figure 6.7). It was a
story of success and ultimate achievement, of triumph over adversity.
Even the battleground was an important factor. The hallowed ground of
Wembley, famously described as ‘a field of dreams’ with its ghosts of
heroes past and its promise of heroes made, set the scene for this dramatic
victory. The story had many parallels with Jamie’s own, but included a
magical ending, so far out of reach but one that held an essence of hope
and possibility for the future.
I read the story back to Jamie and we both got excited as we reached
the part when the goal was scored. Jamie decided to complete the story
with a drawing of the magic moment the goal went in. I then suggested
that we act out the goal-scoring part and Jamie fetched a gruesome red
THE WOUNDED HERO 143
plastic eyeball containing runny red fluid and placed it ready to kick as I
set up a makeshift goal of two cushions. Acting as commentator I set the
scene and Jamie charged forward, kicking the ball directly between the
goalposts. We cheered and shouted ‘yes!’ as Jamie paraded around the
room. I now set the scene for the presentation of the cup. We visualised
Jamie leading his team up Wembley’s legendary steps to collect the mag-
nificent cup which proclaimed him the hero of the game and he held up
144 THE STORY SO FAR
his Bergkamp model high above his head with pride. I took a photo for
him to take home as he posed with confidence, then kicked the ball into
the goal again for good measure.
The final session coincided with the anniversary of Jamie’s diagnosis.
He arrived with a rolled up piece of paper which he presented to me with
pride. It was a computer printout of a calendar onto which a copy of the
football hero picture we had taken the previous week had been superim-
posed. Beside that day’s date had been drawn a small figure (Figure 6.8).
The figure looked ugly with sticky-out ears. I asked Jamie to tell me about
it and he said it was a drawing of him a year ago when he had lost his hair
from the chemotherapy and his ears looked big. Again it was important
to acknowledge his feelings about that trauma without dismissing them
and I did so.
Jamie described the importance of the date to him. It represented a
whole year of living with this illness. I marvelled at his achievement and
congratulated him. Jamie was ready to put the trauma of this time into
words and told me the story of going into hospital and being diagnosed –
a very dramatic event for him. I suggested that I wrote it down as ‘it is
such an important story’. Jamie was able to capture the drama of it all as
he spoke and I read it back to him to ensure it was an accurate account of
his narrative. I then drew attention to Jamie’s hero picture which was in
complete contrast to the sad figure which he’d drawn on the calendar and
emphasised the progress Jamie had made this year.
An anniversary is a time of reflection and in this last session we
reflected on the journey we had made together, looking at his artwork,
paintings, photos, stories and discussing the content of his play. Jamie
then told me of a meeting with two of his favourite Arsenal footballers he
had had this week. Frequently, when surrounded by bad and sad things it
is important to find good bits that can be celebrated. As a means of giving
this difficult year a different focus and a way of finding some good bits in
the midst of his illness, I exaggerated my envy at these meetings and
suggested we write a list of the ‘good and bad’ things that had happened
this year. Jamie’s top ‘good bits’ were meeting his heroes and his four-day
trip to Lapland to see Santa for the ‘Noel Edmonds TV Christmas
Special’. I had been aware that this holiday had been a particularly
difficult time for Jamie as he had experienced frequent panic attacks and
even found it hard to watch himself on the television because of this asso-
ciation. Jamie was now able to talk positively of the holiday and I made
much of his ‘TV star status’.
As Jamie was about to go, with his body painting and folder held
tightly under his arm, he pulled the monster out of the sand and asked if
he could take it home. The answer was obviously ‘yes’. It had been a
worthy companion on his journey so far and they still had a way to go.
In this chapter I have detailed the way that Jamie reconstructed a
sense of self in his scary world. Jamie’s panic attacks have stopped and,
although still a little anxious, he is now able to accept the essential
146 THE STORY SO FAR
Jamie’s journey continues, still fraught with uncertainties. His illness had
wounded him in both body and voice. Jamie had struggled to know his
illness, to state its nature and thereby give it meaning and in so doing he
recovered his voice and became the storyteller. Frank (1995) states that it
is through their stories that the ill create empathic bonds between them-
selves and their listeners. These bonds expand as the stories are retold.
Those who listen then tell others and the circle of shared experience
widens. I hope this chapter goes some small way to widen that circle of
shared experience and allows me to acknowledge the bravery and
courage of all children fighting leukaemia, but especially of Jamie, my
wounded hero.
References
Cattanach, A. (1997) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Council, T. (1999) ‘Art therapy with paediatric cancer patients.’ In C.
Malchiodi (ed) Medical Art Therapy with Children. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Eiser, C. and Twamley, S. (1999) ‘Talking to children about health and illness.’
In M. Murray and K. Chamberlain Qualitative Health Psychology. London:
Sage.
Eiser, C. (1993) Growing Up with a Chronic Disease. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Fahlberg, V. (1981) Fitting the Pieces Together. London: BAAF.
Frank, A. (1995) The Wounded Storyteller, Body, Illness, and Ethics. London:
University of Chicago Press.
Koocher, G.P. and O’Malley, J.E. (1981) The Damocles Syndrome. Psychosocial
Consequences of Surviving Childhood Cancer. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Lilleyman, J.S. (2000) Childhood Leukaemia: The Facts, 2nd edn. New York:
Oxford University.
Malchiodi, C. (ed) (1999) Medical Art Therapy with Children. London: Jessica
Kingsley Publishers.
Sontag, S. (1996) Illness as Metaphor. In D. Judd Give Sorrow Words, 2nd edn.
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Sourkes, B.M. (1982) The Deepening Shade: A Psychological Aspect of
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Sourkes, B.M. (1995) Armfuls of Time: The Psychological Experience of the Child with
a Life-threatening Illness. London: Routledge.
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Spinetta, J.J. and Deasy-Spinetta, P. (1981) Living with Childhood Cancer. St.
Louis, MO: Mosby.
Terr, L. (1990) Too Scared to Cry. New York: Basic Books.
White, M. and Epston, D. (1990) Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends. New York:
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7
Introduction
This chapter sets out to describe how play therapy was used in assessment
to explore the links between four families’ histories of attachment, their
style of parenting and their child’s attachment and behaviour. This work
took place when I worked in a family centre where the underlying philos-
ophy is to promote children’s welfare within their families. The family
centre offers a wide range of assessment and treatment services to include
programmes of individual or group work on parenting skills or family
therapy. The children may be offered direct work, for example, to help
promote social skills or self-esteem and, where appropriate, play therapy.
Children and their families are usually referred to the centre when a
child is experiencing difficulties and/or when parents are seeking
support in managing them. The first approach at the centre is to offer
advice on behavioural strategies, but these may not have proved sufficient
to resolve the child’s difficulties. It is at this point that it becomes
necessary to shift the focus and look at the underlying situation, particu-
larly the factors relating to the parents’ own backgrounds. It is often at
this stage that a request for an assessment of the child and family is made.
149
150 THE STORY SO FAR
Attachment theory
Attachment theory and the research which supports it advocate that an
infant’s attachment to its mother (or other primary caregiver) builds an
internal working model of expectations and assumptions that will
influence subsequent relationships and will not be easily changed
(Bowlby 1973). Researchers from this perspective suggest that children’s
early attachment experiences have a dramatic effect on their day-to-day
behaviour, as well as on their social development in later life (e.g.
Bretherton and Waters 1985; Main 1991; Sroufe 1983). A number of
research studies have linked a disruption in attachment to a variety of
childhood disorders including attentional deficit and hyperactivity
disorder (ADHD), conduct disorder, borderline personality disorder and
a simple form of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) (Fonagy and Steel
1997; Fonagy and Target 1998). There is also growing evidence of the
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 151
children are useful to explore and understand more about how children
internalise their experiences and expectations. By exploring children’s
attachment representations and internal conflicts, early antecedents and
risk factors may be better understood. Children who have experienced
difficulties may be helped via play therapy to learn to recognise internal
cues of affect and to change strong negative feelings into socially
adaptive behaviour. Play therapists working within a social construction
framework are uniquely placed to offer appropriate preventative inter-
vention to help alleviate a child’s long-term distress. There are three
concepts used in play therapy for assessment:
• representations of a child’s external world
• as a means of reintegrating attachment relationships
• narrative play and stories.
a child may be difficult to engage with. Story stems involve giving a child
the beginning of a story and inviting him or her to complete the story by
playing and/or dramatisation using a range of dolls or animal figures.
Story stems were used initially to explore children’s feelings and fantasies
(Moore and Ucko 1961). More recent researchers have found that giving
a child the beginning of a story to complete (narrative story stem tech-
niques) is a good way of eliciting themes about their relationships and
conflicts (e.g. Buchsbaum and Emde 1990). This technique was built
upon and adapted to allow researchers to explore children’s moral devel-
opment (Buchsbaum et al. 1992). The authors’ research found that
children as young as three years were able to produce narrative represen-
tations of emotional themes and were able to represent moral themes in
the areas of empathy, prosocial behaviour, adherence to rules, reciprocity
and aspects of family relationships (Buschaum et al. 1992, p.607).
Story stems used in this way have been found to provide an accurate
way of exploring internal representations of attachment alongside expe-
riences of being parented (e.g. Hodges 1996; Hodges 1999). For
example, disorganised and insecure attachments often create expectations
of abandonment and/or rejection alongside low self-esteem and a sense
of isolation. However, whilst children’s story stems are viewed as a useful
tool in time-limited assessments, children’s own stories are thought to
reflect similar themes.
Subjects
Four families were selected at random from a sample of ten families
attending the centre’s advice and assessment programme. The children
were all in mainstream schools, although the schools had expressed
concern regarding the child’s behaviour in relation to educational
progress and peer relationships. The children’s parents had also identified
problems with the child’s behaviour at home. The children’s age, gender
and the concerns expressed about them are listed in Table 7.1.
156 THE STORY SO FAR
Key:
CSA = child sexual abuse I = insensitive
N = neglectful A = authoritarian
DV = domestic violence H = harsh
Case study 1
Family A: Nicholas
During the first session it was notable that Nicholas did not directly
engage with me or make any direct eye contact. As I spoke to him about
why he was coming to see me and some of the rules we had agreed for
play, he explored the room and stared at some of the artwork, particularly
studying the ‘sea world’ section of the room. He gave no indication as to
whether he had heard me or taken on board anything I had been saying
until I said that I thought he had understood me and if so to nod his head.
Nicholas gave a small nod and carried on observing the room. However,
if I asked whether he particularly liked something he ignored me and
moved on. I wondered whether he was communicating to me his
experience of early deprivation and, as he slowly joined me at the table
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 159
where I had laid out some farm animals, I began to talk about wondering
whether he would enjoy playing with the animals who sometimes
couldn’t hear or understand people. Nicholas at that point smiled shyly
and stated that he loved wild animals. I found a large book for him and
together we looked at the wild animals. He agreed that he would like to
make up some stories about animals and to draw some of them together,
which we did.
Nicholas chose not to extend the story to finding a family or friends and
expressed a wish to leave the story. However, despite expressing this wish
it was noted that he returned to play with the animals he had left behind,
making tentative steps to look for ‘someone’ but then ‘going back to
work’. At the end of the session I asked if he wanted to put the little pig
with the rest of his family. Nicholas responded that he thought the pig
preferred it where he was and would like to stay there. He found a place
for him with the ‘wild’ animals and we agreed to see what happened the
following week.
160 THE STORY SO FAR
Nicholas was adamant that the Reindeer did not have a family and that he
had always been alone. When asked what happened to the Reindeer in
the end, Nicholas replied, ‘Oh, eventually he got up and stumbled
around…he was all right because he was used to it.’ Nicholas did not
wish to pursue exploring any other ending to this story. However, he did
like the idea of acting the story out and we agreed beforehand that if the
Reindeer was so hurt that he could not move, I would be allowed to enter
into the play just ‘to help him [the reindeer] a bit while he has difficulty
walking’. We agreed I would be an old mountain goat who would help
him back to his cave and make sure he was warm and to bring him food
and water until he got better. As we ended the play I talked generally
about people who can help when we need it. Nicholas thought for what
seemed a long time. Finally he gave a deep sigh and said it was difficult to
‘trust’ anyone, but maybe he would one day.
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 161
We talked about how we feel when things get scary, sometimes when
mummies and daddies argue or do scary things. Nicholas nodded
seriously and said he wanted to draw a picture of a Sea World (Figure
7.1). He appeared to gain a lot of satisfaction from drawing and painting
this picture and stated several times how hot it was in the cave and how
scary it was, although it was clear he was enjoying talking in this way and
did not appear frightened.
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 163
Figure 7.1
Nicholas was once again happy to leave the story and did not want to find
an ending for it. As he worked on his drawing I suggested an end to the
story whereby the men inside the monster got together and planned their
escape. Nicholas did not comment on this ending and concentrated on
finishing his painting, adding more glitter and glue to emphasise the heat
in the cave. When he was satisfied with the picture I asked if he would like
me to read him the monster story that he so enjoyed. Nicholas nodded
silently and listened intently whilst playing with the slime. He seemed to
gain comfort from this activity and laughed aloud at the point in the story
when the flying head went ‘screaming and screaming over the mountains,
streams and forests’. We agreed it was ‘good riddance’ to the monster.
164 THE STORY SO FAR
Nicholas added that he would like to ‘wrap his head in slime first’ and
proceeded to punch the slime with his fist, laughing as he spread it all
through his fingers. The monster theme continued throughout Nicho-
las’s stories and together we tried to work out plans to avoid or escape
them. Subtle changes were noted as follows:
world and instead expressed a wish to pour water on the sand. His play
then regressed to becoming quite messy with sand and water. He
indicated a wish to continue with messy play and the rest of the session
was spent fingerpainting an equally chaotic ‘mess’. His play became quite
frenetic when I advised that we had ten minutes left and he had to be
stopped from scooping the fingerpaint out with his hands and throwing
it onto the paper in ‘true’ artistic form. It felt difficult trying to contain
him. At the end of the session Nicholas gave a deep sigh and said he felt
tired. It was clear he had worked through quite a lot of anger during this
session, but was perhaps there was an element of him saying ‘goodbye’ to
the chaotic mess he was used to, as the ‘king and queen’ remained in
control, thus allowing him to experience a stage of play he had missed
out on. I hoped so.
Nicholas’s last story stem involved a leopard from the wild animal
selection instead of the farm animals that were also available to him
alongside other family type dolls.
Once there lived a leopard in the jungle. One day he went for a walk and
he got lost…what happened next?
Once there lived a leopard in the jungle
He was all black and furry
You could stroke him nicely on a good day
He was a special leopard with magic powers
He was BIG
He was STRONG
He had great big magic horns that came out when he was
angry
He had great long teeth, dripping with blood
He had great long sharp CLAWS
He had special glitter on his legs and he sparkled
But underneath some of the glitter was splinters…they
hurt him a bit
But he could do anything he wanted to…
[Me: What sort of things?]
166 THE STORY SO FAR
Nicholas later suddenly grabbed the leopard and replaced him with the
other animals, shyly looking at me and saying ‘It’s all right now he’s not
so angry any more.’ (A drawing of Nicholas’s leopard is shown in Figure
7.2). It was noted that Nicholas enjoyed placing layers of materials for the
leopard’s fur. Underneath the red ‘fur’ are layers of yellow, blue and green
felt material. Was this perhaps a way of Nicholas communicating his need
to cover up his past ‘hurts’ or an attempt at trying to heal them and make
them better? The gentle and loving manner in which he tended to his
wild leopard suggested that this was a positive experience for him. Our
final session included free play when we pretended we were in a ‘special’
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 167
Figure 7.2
During this assessment it was considered that Nicholas had been able to
communicate how things were for him in his internal world through the
medium of story and play. Overall Nicholas’s stories represented his
parents as unavailable and ineffective and these findings relate to children
rated as having insecure-ambivalent attachments. Through the safety of
story his sense of isolation could be challenged in a secure and distanced
way that enabled him to begin to seek and accept help from others – a
small beginning to a long journey.
168 THE STORY SO FAR
Case study 2
Family B: Angela
Case study 3
Family C: Paul
And the tiger calls his friend and they both try to stop the
elephant – but they can’t
And the elephant goes on to kill all the wildlife and really
really hurts the tiger
So all the tiger’s friends go to get help from the humans
All the humans come with sleeping darts
And shoot the elephant to make him go to sleep
It takes the elephant a long time to go to sleep and he
goes on killing all the wildlife…
Then there is this MASSIVE BANG
And the elephant finally goes to sleep
All the humans get a truck to put him on to take him to
the vets
All the animals come and ask the tiger why the elephant
was in such a bad mood
The tiger said he didn’t know
So they all went to try and find out from the humans
And when the elephant came back he realised what
damage he had done to the jungle
He helped all the others to rebuild their homes
And says sorry
The elephant also helps the humans to plant new trees.
Although situations identified in Paul’s story cause hurt and upset, Paul
has been able to use his cognitive understanding to try and make sense of
and handle his emotional distress. There is also his ability to use construc-
tive behaviours including discussion, compromise and negotiation. Again
this is suggestive of having received some good early care. It is probable
that consistent care was available to him during his time with foster carers
from the age of 1 to 3 years. Paul was too young to understand why he
was placed in care and/or to have fully understood why he was rehabili-
tated home. We know that his mother tries to give him affection and
attention but is not always consistent in doing so because of her own
distress.
For children such as Angela and Paul, who have a history of either
witnessing or experiencing abuse, the most prevalent attachment style is
174 THE STORY SO FAR
Case study 4
Family D: Zoë
other children refused to play with her. Her brother is 1 year old
and has special needs. Ms D expressed concern that Zoë’s
behaviour makes her angry and rejecting of her and that she
favours her son.
Cattanach (1997) says that when things are too painful a child will often
‘change sex’ in a story. In this case Zoë was aware that her younger
brother was the favoured child who could do no wrong in her mother’s
eyes. This is a painful reality for Zoë and it is possible that her stories
reflected her wish to be a boy so that her mother would like her more.
The themes from Zoë’s stories enabled me to find stories with similar
themes and she was helped to understand that she was not alone in her
fear of her own powers of wishing people dead and the impact this may
have on her own immortality.
One day there was this boy and he was bored at home
So he went to the shops to buy some goo
It was all red
And the boy left it on the table and it grew overnight
He was worried that the wicked mother might give it to
someone else
‘Don’t touch it…please,’ he said.
‘All right, have your own way, but I don’t like it,’ said the
wicked mother
but the goo grew and grew so big that he built a house
out of it
but it killed him because he ate it and ate it until one day
it was all gone
and his mum said
‘MEN…they are so silly sometimes.’
The themes of this story again included Zoë’s conflicts about gender and
highlighted fears of her power and needs. Zoë’s parents and grandpar-
ents had mentioned that she was tending to crave food, possibly as a form
of comfort eating when things were difficult between her and her mother.
This may have been compounded by the fact that Zoë’s brother had to
have a diet rich in calories due to his health problems. Zoë had difficulty
FINDING THE WAY BACK HOME: CHILDREN’S STORIES OF FAMILY ATTACHMENT 179
Conclusion
Attachment theory is essentially about how people relate to one another
and how those relationships are influenced by an overall need for a sense
of security. Maternal sensitivity and responsiveness to an infant’s signals
of feeding, play and distress during the first few months are predictive of
the quality of attachment at the end of the first year (see Nezworski,
Tollan and Belsky 1988). These researchers argue that a cycle is set up in
the early months, even if parents’ respond better as the child grows. This
suggests that babies who have experienced insensitive mothering may
refrain from negotiating their psychological needs with others as they
grow up because they have developed a negative model of self and do not
expect significant others, for example, parents, teachers or peers, to
respond and this can become self perpetuating.
Common themes in the parenting style of children with behaviour
problems include a history of poor prenatal care, limited early
parent–child patterns of interaction and a poor understanding of child
development. As children grow and become more independent, a lack of
understanding of a child’s developmental stages and abilities can contrib-
ute to parents developing negative perceptions of their child which may
result in communications containing elements of blame, alongside harsh
and authoritarian methods of parenting. Many children reared in such
environments have been observed to exhibit difficult behaviour and
problems in social relationships from as early as 3 years.
Children who are raised by unloving, unresponsive or otherwise
emotionally neglectful parents appear to be at risk for psychological dis-
180 THE STORY SO FAR
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the children who took part in this study and the
parents who worked so hard to achieve change.
References
Ainsworth, M.D.S., Belehar, M.C., Waters, W. and Wall, S. (1978) Patterns of
Attachment. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Bowlby, J. (1973) Attachment and Loss, Vol 2: Separation: Anxiety and Anger.
London: Hogarth Press.
Bretherton, I. and Waters, E. (eds) (1985) Growing Points of Attachment Theory and
Research. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development 50
(1–2. Serial no. 209).
Buchsbaum, H.K. and Emde, R.N. (1990) ‘Play narratives in 36-month-old
children: early moral development and family relationships.’ Psychoanalytic
Study of the Child 45, 129–155.
Buchsbaum, H.K., Toth, S., Clyman, R.B., Cicchetti, D. and Emde, R. (1992)
‘The use of a narrative story stem technique with maltreated children:
implications for theory and practice.’ Development and Psychopathology 4,
603–625.
Cattanach, A. (1997) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Crittenden, P.M. (1992) ‘Treatment of anxious attachment in infancy and early
childhood.’ Development and Psychopathology 4, 575–602.
Cummings, E.M. and Cicchetti, D. (1990) ‘Attachment, depression and the
transmission of depression.’ In M.T. Greenberg, D. Cicchetti and E.M.
Cummings (eds) Attachment During the Pre School Years. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, pp.339–372.
Erikson, H. (1963) Childhood and Society, 2nd edn. New York: Norton.
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Fonagy, P. and Steel, M. (1997) ‘Morality, disruptive behaviour, borderline
personality disorder, crime and their relationship to the security of
attachment.’ In L. Atkinson and K. Zucker (eds) Attachment and
Psychopathology. New York: Guilford Press, pp.223–274.
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White, J.L., Moffit, T.E., Earls, E., Robins, L. and Silva, P.A. (1990) ‘How early
can we tell? Predictors of childhood conduct disorder and adolescent
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135–235.
8
During his lifetime (1644–94) the great Japanese haiku poet Basho
wrote of his travels as he journeyed through Japan. He called his journeys
The Narrow Road to the Deep North. He described life as a traveller in this
way:
Days and months are travellers of eternity.
So are the years that pass by.
Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth
till they succumb to the weight of years, spend every minute of their
lives travelling.
One of the great privileges for a therapist is to journey with a child travel-
ling through fragments and moments of their childhood. There is much
to sort through when childhood has been complex and difficult. Perhaps
family have been lost and there are hurts to be resolved, but good times to
be remembered and the present and future to consider. The journey we
make is a search for identity, a struggle to find meaning for life events.
Often the child has made many physical journeys from one carer to
another so the idea of a life journey seems a familiar one.
187
188 THE STORY SO FAR
Carla
Carla and I have journeyed together for ten years. Our meetings change in
form and frequency as she changes and grows with the years, but always
and at all times we have been travelling back and forth between past,
present and future. Carla struggles to construct, amend, then reconstruct
herself and piece together a life and a life story which she can own. She
uses me in this construction as a kind of sounding board for her ideas and
notions of her life and her identity. We can co-construct together in this
way because I am part of her story. We have weathered storms together
and have enjoyed peaceful sunny times.
Basho describes one of his travels as The Records of a Weather Exposed
Skeleton. He writes this haiku:
Determined to fall
A weather-exposed skeleton
I cannot help the sore wind
Blowing through my heart.
But all is not trial and tribulation in our journeys. Carla and I juggle with
sadness, laughter, anger, ridicule, pleasure and pride in achievements.
Although we are exposed to the weather of life, sometimes we put flesh
on the bones of our skeletons and laugh at the stories we can tell about
each other and the time we have shared.
It is within the frameworks of social constructionism that Carla and I
have boundaried the therapeutic relationship. Meanings shift as Carla
contemplates her past, present and future with someone who has
travelled alongside. She explores aspects of identity in the safety of the
therapeutic relationship, experimenting with ideas about herself and
ways she wants to live in the context of her experiences. In that way she
uses therapy as a formal place to tell her story so far.
This story describes the way we interpret events for our own purposes.
Some of these descriptions are not helpful in the way we present
ourselves to others and the way we perceive ourselves. Sometimes
distorted narratives can change whole communities – read this Sufi story:
190 THE STORY SO FAR
Bring Me Four
In an article in The Sunday Times, Gill (2000) evaluates the appeal of ‘The
Royle Family’, a TV comedy programme. He describes how the
programme has dispensed with plot. He states that plot is not the same as
narrative and the programme has a clear narrative, which is a major part of
its appeal. He formulates the idea that real life doesn’t have a plot, but it
does have a narrative. What we tell of our lives are our own haphazard
stories. The following stories belong to Carla and me and we have chosen
to share them with you, the reader.
Meeting Carla
Carla was born in London in 1984. Her mother is of white Irish and
German origin and her father is black, origin unknown. Carla and her
mother were involved with social services from Carla’s birth and many
attempts were made for five years to help keep Carla with her mother.
During those five years Carla experienced much disruption, moving in
and out of foster care when her mother couldn’t cope. Several times
during this period, Carla disclosed sexual abuse by one of her mother’s
boyfriends and by an adolescent who was the son of one of her foster
carers, but little heed was paid to her complaints. By the time Carla was 8
years old she had been under the care of ten social workers and a flow
chart records 96 changes of life circumstances.
When she was 6, Carla was placed for adoption with Eunice Gibson
who also had an 11-year-old daughter called Mary. Within days of being
placed with Eunice, Carla disclosed the sexual abuse in her birth family
and in foster care. Her adoptive mother found these disclosures very
difficult to accept and was very angry with social services who had placed
Carla with her. Eunice worked with small babies and felt that she could
not cope with her work and a sexually abused daughter. She had
discussed this at length with social workers prior to the placement. She
accepted that a child might disclose sexual abuse once settled in a family,
but the social workers had assured her that there was no indication of this
in Carla’s history. However, when Eunice later read her file there were
194 THE STORY SO FAR
of life in care is very evident. It seems that the family history has to be
repeated for the benefit of each new member of staff and it can emphasise
the powerlessness of the individual child caught up in the care system. If
our identity develops by the stories we tell about ourselves, endlessly to
repeat negative stories about abuse and hurt means that this aspect of
identity becomes embedded rather than transformed. Some professional
workers seem to want constant disclosures and the child in care comes to
recognise the negotiable value of ‘horror stories’ and uses those narra-
tives to gain attention or rewards from professionals. So the child remains
a victim and the stories become trade. Carla wrote about this:
Change
I walk into a room
The moment in time has been captured
Everything that’s private to me
Has been laid bare.
There is no cover for me
Nothing to hide under
Everything I know has been laid before
Let no person put asunder.
Do you know where I come from?
Or where I’ve been?
That’s one mystery I have about me
Or has the answer already been seen?
Everyone is quick to wonder
Everyone is quick to stare
But why not deflect attention from me
And focus on someone who cares?
Think about yourself for once
In your life make a change
There’s things in this life can’t be stopped
But once in motion can be changed.
196 THE STORY SO FAR
Carla felt exposed at meetings with professionals as though she was the
only one with problems. Children in the care system feel shame and
humiliation from all the victimisation they experience and so they build a
wall around themselves. They want to be like the rest of their friends and
not thought of as ‘odd’ or ‘mad’. Carla hated coming to a clinic to see me
because it set her apart from her friends, so I often saw her at her home.
When I retired from the clinic, Carla chose to continue to see me now and
then and to make the journey to my office at home.
Another difficulty of being ‘looked after’ is the constant invasion of
professionals into the lives of children. This can make it difficult to attach
to the primary carer and the continued experience of loss is repeated as
social workers leave and foster carers change.
her evaluations of life events. She still perceives herself at times as the
Giant Detector, a heroic figure rooting out evil and punishing evildoers.
Later narratives
After Carla was satisfied that her stories of hurt had been heard, there
came a period of adjustment to her new circumstances with Eunice and
Mary. Over the next four years I still saw Carla about once a fortnight to
support her placement in her family. There were struggles with school,
choosing friends, negotiating with teachers. At times family life became
difficult and there were explosions of anger and jealousy – normal family
life but often expressed through extremes of feeling. We explored grada-
tions of feeling to consider the subtlety of relationships.
We still laugh wryly about the time Carla took £36 from Eunice’s
purse to buy tuna sandwiches for herself. She defined it as anger towards
her mother, mixed with a puritan streak. She took money to own a part of
her mother, but then had to spend it on healthy nourishment because she
felt guilty. I feel I would have bought chocolate as my nourishment but
Carla thinks healthy eating is better. Carla smiles at my weaknesses. We
began to think about the kind of healthy nourishment Carla wanted from
her mother. Eunice and Carla talked about this together. Eunice under-
stood Carla’s need but was still angry about the theft. Carla repaid the
money. There was constant testing of the relationship, both mother and
daughter feeling the pain involved in trusting one another. No narratives
are ever finished and Carla returned to themes from her past again and
again when she felt helpless and vulnerable.
Stories of vengeance
Throughout these years Carla still felt a strong desire for revenge about
her childhood abuse and the lack of nurture and support she had received
when in care and supposedly safe. She felt she was victim and avenger at
the same time. We shared stories and Carla showed me this story.
198 THE STORY SO FAR
Tick tock tick tock. The ticking and the tocking of the clock rever-
berated off of the cheap whitewashed wall in front of her eyes. It
had been three months since they had put her in, locked her up,
and she had had a lot of time to think about what had happened.
How much of it she regretted, she was still unsure, but all she
knew, he had deserved every bit of it, every bit of the hell he’d
endured – the same hell she’d tolerated at his hands for eighteen
years. Five hours was not enough, but she took comfort in the
knowledge that he had gone to hell. Her head became awash with
the painfully sharp memories of her childhood, the tears of sorrow
cried in her pillow every night, as she fantasised about the perfect
childhood that was not hers.
She cried now for all the lost years, the lost memories and lost
feelings that had gone along with her sanity. It was a long road that
she had travelled to get where she was, but was sure that she had
travelled it well. The memories of the hot heavy breathing, the
screams of pain and terror, came flooding back.
All of a sudden she was being suffocated, the walls of the room
closed in on her, leering at her, laughing a cruel laugh, that she was
infinitely not a part of. She was not a part of anything that mattered
any more, a transparent shadow on the wall of life, the shadow
easily blotted out by anything important. It was going to be like
that forever, and the tears of self-loathing and regret would not
stop it happening.
So she cried again, but she cried tears of blood, as she clawed at
her flesh trying to tear away the hatred, to release the feathers of
hurt. Eventually she calmed down and began to think.
There was that clock again, the same monotonous rhythm that
she had to listen to every night for the last three months. It was like
she was a friend with the clock, they had a conversation each day,
the clock ticking way with her thoughts.
THE NARROW ROAD TO THE DEEP NORTH: TRACKING A LIFE 199
Carla was 15 when she wrote the story. She enjoyed writing extremes in
her fiction. It wasn’t her life, her experience, but she had at times felt
those extremes, being annihilated as a person, and then wanting
vengeance, which would only bring further victimisation. So the circle
went round and round.
Carla wrote the story as part of her school coursework. Her teacher
was impressed and empathic towards Carla. Eunice found it very
powerful and it helped her understand how low Carla sometimes felt
about herself. Their relationship deepened. I told Carla the story of ‘The
Mother of the Sea Beasts’ – a story of the Netsilik people of the Arctic
regions. It expresses the harshness which Carla felt about her own life
and how cruel acts could create a desire for revenge. In the same way as in
Carla’s story, the hurt is endless and goes on forever. But the Mother of
the Sea Beasts also created seals out of her pain and hurt. So much is
paradox.
Once long ago, the people of Sherman Inlet left to find new
hunting places.
They made rafts to cross the water. There were a lot of them
and they were in a great hurry.
At the village there was a little orphan girl called Nuliajuk. She
jumped onto the raft with the other boys and girls, but no one
cared about her, so they threw her into the water.
200 THE STORY SO FAR
She tried again and again to get hold of the edge of the raft, but
they cut her fingers off, and as she sank to the bottom of the sea the
stumps of her fingers became alive in the water and bobbed up
around the raft like seals. That was the beginning of seals.
But Nuliajuk sank to the bottom of the sea. She became a sea
spirit and the mother of the sea beasts because she created seals.
She became mistress of everything else alive, the land beasts
and every creature which mankind had to hunt.
She had great power over mankind, who had despised her and
thrown her into the sea. She was the most feared of spirits and
many taboos were directed towards Nuliajuk in the dark time
when the sun is low and it is cold and windy. That is the time when
life is most dangerous to live.
Nuliajuk lives in a house at the bottom of the sea. She lives like
a hermit, and often gets very angry. Then she punishes mankind.
She notices every little rule and when it is broken. She knows
everything. When people break a taboo she hides all the animals
and mankind begins to starve.
People then have to call on the elders to help them. One way is
for the shamans to shut her in a passage in a special house. They
block up the entrance from the passage to the room where the
people sit, with a block of ice and Nuliajuk tries to break out
through the ice to get to the room and the people. Everybody is
scared. It is only when she can’t break the ice that she promises to
free the animals. Then the shamans let her go.
Nuliajuk’s own house under the sea is very scary. In the passage
is the ruler of the passage who keeps the records of the breaches of
taboos. He reports everything to Nuliajuk and tries to keep the
elders and shamans away. There is also a big black dog.
Nuliajuk lives with Isarraraitsoq, ‘The One with no Wings, The
One with No Arms’. Nobody knows anything about her.
They have the same husband, a little sea scorpion.
There is a child called Ungaq, ‘The One who Screams’, who
was stolen from her mother.
This is all we know of Nuliajuk.
She created seals but she’d like to get rid of mankind.
THE NARROW ROAD TO THE DEEP NORTH: TRACKING A LIFE 201
As Carla grew older she experienced some of Nuliajuk’s desire for strict
rules and vengeance for those who broke them. Carla found rejection
from friends intolerable as it reminded her of her early times. It became
unthinkable. Her vengeance was physical – and she threw a strong punch.
But with time Carla has been able to tolerate the ebb and flow of
friendship and love without making extreme judgements or taking
extreme vengeance as she did in early adolescence.
She always wonders what she might do if she met any of the perpetra-
tors. After her disclosures at the age of 8, the police tracked her birth
mother’s boyfriend and interviewed him. There was insufficient evidence
to prosecute, but Carla had a discussion with the police officer involved,
which helped her because her complaint had been heard and acted upon
however late in the day. She wrote a poem to her adult perpetrator:
Johnny
What’s the difference between me and you?
Perhaps it’s that I got on and you didn’t
Or maybe that you tried to bring me down to your level,
And I rose above it, a little balloon
Floating on a vile, rank air of deception and hatred.
I’ll hand it to you,
I almost didn’t rise above it,
There were many things that you did to me,
Many things that took away my innocence
and robbed me of childhood naivety.
But you didn’t take away my mind.
The bright, crystal clear stream that runs through my
head.
You took my dignity but not my integrity.
And I did rise above it, I rose above you.
And I’ll keep on rising as high as I can,
Until I can rise no more.
202 THE STORY SO FAR
Reciprocated Love
Did you love me?
I look down at my hands,
Inspect them,
And wonder if their achievements make you proud.
Everything I did,
What name I tried to make for myself,
Was pushed under a carpet,
A carpet that was patterned only of you.
Is that love?
I tried to look into your eyes,
Perhaps see beyond,
My veil of hurt and anger,
To find love.
Do I make you spit the blood,
That I have cried for you?
Does the hatred leave you upside down?
Like the hurt I feel.
I curl up like a foetus,
Hoping you might love me
As I have loved you.
At some time in the future Carla would like to meet her mother again, this
time to find out about herself as a small child. The questions are less an
interrogation, more a desire to reminisce. We look at the questions she
wants to ask and deconstruct them. We discover that she can throw them
out of the window and perhaps the conversation between mother and
daughter will just flow. Carla says this visit will be her last. We think
about why that should be. Carla decides to wait and see and not put such
boundaries around herself.
Woven into the narratives of mothers, with the one who is distant and
emotionally unavailable is the one who is there and a bit too emotionally
available: Eunice who worries, nags, makes sure you get to school, work
204 THE STORY SO FAR
hard, be a credit, be proud to be black; the one who picks into your brain,
fears disaster and most of all fears being abandoned by her child. The
love is palpable. I told Carla the story of Mrs Darling organising her
children in Peter Pan (Barrie 1928). Mrs Darling heard about Peter Pan
when she was tidying up her children’s minds. She did this every night,
as is the custom of every good mother after her children are asleep.
Mothers rummage in the minds of their children and put things straight
for the next morning. They repack and put back in their proper places the
many articles that have wandered during the day. When you wake in the
morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed
have been folded up and put away in the bottom of your mind, and on the
top, well aired, are spread out your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put
on.
We smile at the description. There is recognition. Carla understands
Eunice and knows she loves her, but she needs to grow and find her own
way. Are mothers really envious or just anxious as their daughters grow to
womanhood? The voice of Nuliajuk, the sea spirit in the story, rises to the
surface. Carla starts to be strict and critical. Mothers should be pure; they
shouldn’t have feelings of anxiety, jealousy, and fear. We consider the
question whether mothers are human. Carla finds this hard to believe. I
say that Carla and Eunice have a strong and supportive love for each
other. Carla reluctantly agrees.
Fathers are different. Carla looks in the mirror and visibly sees the
blackness and beauty of her father and experiences the loss of his identity.
There are many stories of her conception. I say she is mysterious,
beautiful, conceived when her mother was happy, having fun at a party.
Isn’t that a pleasant way to be conceived? Maybe, but the not knowing
and never being able to find out is hard to bear. So Carla feels she wasn’t
conceived, never a loved foetus, not worthy, born to a mother who was
ashamed. We think about sexual desire, youth, fun and the consequences.
I tell her this Hillbilly story.
THE NARROW ROAD TO THE DEEP NORTH: TRACKING A LIFE 205
Oh yes, well a young man stayed with a girl, and by and by he went
to his father and he said, ‘Father, I’m going to marry that girl.’ His
father says, ‘John, let me tell you – I’se fast when I was young, and
that girl’s your sister.’
Well he felt bad and he left her. By and by he picked up another
girl and he stayed with her for a while and he went to his father and
he said, ‘Father, I’m going to marry that girl.’ Father said, ‘John I
was fast when I was young and that girl is so your sister.’
The young man felt very bad and one day as he was sitting by
the stove with his head hung down his mother said, ‘What’s the
trouble John?’ ‘No nothing.’
She said, ‘There’s something and I want to know what it is.
‘Why did you leave that girl the first one you stayed with and
then you left the second one?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘father told me he was fast when he was young
and they’s both my sisters.’
Says she laughing, ‘Johnny; I want to tell you something.
‘I was fast when I was young and your father ain’t your father at
all.’
We laugh wryly. At least there is some universality about Carla’s story, but
the pain and loss will always be there and visible in the beauty of her
body.
Still walking
Life changes for both Carla and myself. I, like Basho, took my narrow
road to the deep north and moved to the Highlands of Scotland. Carla
found this difficult. She thought of me as an immutable part of her
landscape. Ten years is a long journey. Will I like Scotland? It is cold
there? She fears the distance between us. I say she is a woman of the new
millennium. There is always e-mail, text, phone. She smiles. Soon Carla
will go to university. She looks forward to independence but wants the
safe home with Eunice to be there for her. These are exciting times. I tell
206 THE STORY SO FAR
Carla a Scottish story. A new landscape for her to imagine and for me to
live.
bird, even the rook and jackdaw, made the best of what voice he
had.
All through that day Angus Og sat on Ben Cruachan listening.
He laughed for it happened as he predicted. All the birds sang to
beat their neighbour and not one of them could be heard alone. By
sundown all the birds were weary and hoarse from their singing.
‘Go to Angus Og,’ they told the pigeon, ‘and let him tell us who is
master.’
But Angus Og shook his head when the pigeon came with his
message. ‘It is hard to say. Go back to the birds. Tell them they must
sing again to-morrow and every day when the dawn breaks, and I
will listen more closely until I have found the master.’
That night, in spite of the long hours of twilight, the birds were
glad to rest. But as before the rooster summoned them at daybreak
and they tried again. Once more the pigeon went to Angus Og
with the message, but Angus Og sent him back with the same reply.
Nor did he ever decide who was master, for the singing of the birds
made them ready to sleep.
Angus Og still listens to the birds when they sing their dawn
chorus. If you doubt this, get up in springtime when the rooster
crows and you will hear it for yourself. And if you are lucky in the
evening you may even see the wood pigeon on his way to Ben
Cruachan with the question that Angus Og will never answer.
And a spell from the Highlands to keep us all safe. It seems to cover most
things:
208 THE STORY SO FAR
References
Barrie, J.M. (1928) Peter Pan. London: Hodder & Stoughton.
Basho, M. (1966) Trans. Yuasa N. The Narrow Road to the Deep North. London:
Penguin.
Burr, V. and Butt, T. (2000) ‘Psychological distress and postmodern thought.’
In D. Fee (ed) Pathology and the Postmodern. London: Sage.
Cattanach, A. (1998) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy. London: Jessica Kingsley
Publishers.
Gergen, K.J. (1994) Realities and Relationships Soundings in Social Construction.
London: Harvard University Press.
Gergen, K.J. (1999) An Invitation to Social Construction. London: Sage.
Gill, A.A. (2000) ‘The Royles, Monarch of Our Time.’ The Sunday Times, 22
October.
White, M. and Epston, D. (1990) Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends. New York:
Norton.
9
209
210 THE STORY SO FAR
The lights were low. There was the occasional sound of an owl hooting
from backstage. My voice, as boylike as I could make it, tremored slightly
as I spoke those words. We performed the puppet play at our local village
hall to a packed and enthusiastic audience. This is my earliest memory of
community. Since then my experiences of community have always
centred around art, drama and creativity: shared activities that involve
making, building and creating things together. I have always valued the
skills that I learned in these settings: skills of friendship, of co-operation
and of working together. Sue Jennings writes:
Being in a play is one of the greatest social skills of all time because,
in the end, there has to be cooperation in order for the production to
happen, and there has to be awareness of the skills and necessity of
other people and their roles. (Jennings 1998, p.74)
Certainly, as a dramatherapist working with children, I have seen how
shared drama activities in a group can invite experiences of validation and
friendship. For some children this might be their first-ever experience of
feeling valuable. The opportunity to be part of something and integral to
its success helps children combat feelings of social isolation and worth-
THE BIOGRAPHY LABORATORY: CO-CREATING IN COMMUNITY 211
This is the setting for the story she would like to share. The story is
about Camouflage and Conspiracy and about not being seen or heard. I
sense the voice of Aloneness as Amy speaks about Camouflage. Yet I
wonder about the field of women. I am curious to explore Amy’s connec-
tion with these women. As she creates her story, as she purposefully steps
from behind the Camouflage to share with us, I ask how the women in
the field might respond.
Amy kneels on the flowered square of fabric and holds a piece of blue
lace to her cheek. She explains that her ancestors would cry, but in a
strong way, still holding on to their rage. She identifies this feeling as
familiar to her. It reminds her of her work with young people as a practis-
ing dramatherapist: ‘I feel like when I sit and listen to a young person I’m
working with and they speak about injustices and they share their anger
and their pain’. I wonder if in her story Amy’s pain and anger are being
witnessed, in a similar way, by the past generations of women in her
family. ‘Just now,’ she answers.
As I am collaborating with Amy it is helpful for me to focus on the
idea of story as progression (Anderson-Warren and Grainger 2000;
Gersie 1990). I retell the story back to Amy purposefully arranging the
images she presented into a storyline. The story opens with a lineage of
women from Amy’s family sitting in a field together; and what they all
share is the knowledge of ‘holding on’ in sadness. Amy’s role in this story
is to uncover the rage, pain and sorrow that is hidden by so much camou-
flage. As she does this the women watch her and feel pride. I ask Amy to
show me an image of this pride. She stands in the field, holding a bundle
of voiles and lace knotted together in one hand, and motions with her
other arm. I ask what the movement signifies. She repeats it and adds,
‘You’re not alone.’ She explains that in the bundle the women are carrying
their sadness and their hope, their happiness and their rage and that the
bundle is now a part of them, it’s no longer a burden. Amy titles her story:
‘Amy’s Throwing the Doors Wide Open. Not Fearing to Feel’.
Following the enactment the Biography Laboratory team members
move from their audience role to their chorus role to engage in a
movement reflecting team process using the fabric. I invite Amy to choose
an image from this re-enactment that holds meaning for her and to give it
a title. Amy chooses the title ‘Connectedness’.
THE BIOGRAPHY LABORATORY: CO-CREATING IN COMMUNITY 221
teller’s place, centre stage, in their unfolding story and, in this way,
ensures that they remain ‘the primary interpreter(s) of their own experi-
ence’ (Freedman and Combs 1996, p.45).
Amy and I also discussed the direction that her story took and the role
that the movement, her imagination and my collaboration played in
shifting it from a problem story to an alternative story; how in fact the
prepared story that Amy had intended to tell about Camouflage turned
about to become a story she was creating about Connectedness: ‘In the
beginning of the process I felt I was alone and carrying lots of camou-
flage, my own and for all these women and I didn’t know how to take the
camouflage off and make the connection. I wanted to, but I felt stuck.’
Amy explained that her thinking was shut down to a certain extent and
that her kinesthetic and sensory experience assisted her to imagine
outside the way she might normally think. As she physically encountered
her desire for connection through the enactment, she was able to forge a
creative response to her story (Anderson-Warren and Grainger 2000,
p.53). Phil Jones describes the dramatic body as ‘a place where imagina-
tion and reality meet’ (1996, p.150). This facilitated another meeting
between Amy’s ancestors and herself.
‘Questions are informed by particular ways of thinking’ (Morgan
1999, p.203) and my curiosity was prompting me to search with Amy for
this alternative story. We didn’t go the route of the Camouflage, the route
of the problem. I asked Amy what happened to the camouflage along the
route that we chose: ‘It just sort of disintegrated. It became the new story,
this story, Amy Throws the Doors Wide Open. Not Fearing to Feel, is the story
of the disintegration of the camouflage.’ In other words, the problem
story got smaller as the alternative story got bigger. The idea of
Aloneness, of not being seen or understood, shrank as it made way for the
idea that these women were connected to Amy and witnessing her story.
In Amy’s own words:
The second story was about my imagination and my connections
with these women… In the story I felt they were witnessing me as
me, and accepting my story. They were accepting my story of cam-
ouflage and pain, and in accepting that story, it changed, became a
different story. It was no longer about camouflage it was about them
and about my no longer being isolated.
THE BIOGRAPHY LABORATORY: CO-CREATING IN COMMUNITY 223
Remembering
The Biography Laboratory project has engaged us in a process of remem-
bering. We’ve remembered how we used to play with fabric as children,
making tents and forts out of blankets, sheets and clothes pegs. We’ve
remembered our grandmothers: the quilts they made for us and how they
taught us to crochet and to sew. We’ve remembered dressing up. We’ve
remembered the clothes we wore as children. We’ve remembered
jumping on the bed. We’ve remembered playing and laughing with
siblings and with neighbours. As one participant explained, the work we
share has ‘connected me to memories of things I had forgotten
about…and those memories are enriching the relationships I have now as
an adult’.
It is my impression that a lot of women’s experience lies hidden and
unstoried. It is no surprise to me that Amy’s first story was about Camou-
flage, which disconnects. Remembering, in our experience, reconnects us
with our past and with others. The Biography Laboratory is taking a
stand against some of the discourses that silence these alternative stories;
discourses that ‘powerfully shape a person’s choices about what life
events can be storied and how they can be storied’ (Freedman and Combs
1996, p.43).
In our second interview I asked Amy about the Camouflage and the
various disconnections in her story. In speaking about the Camouflage,
Amy told the story of her early adolescence. She described the social
pressures on young girls at that time to hide early experiences of
sexuality, even if these involved transgressions against them:
Well it’s definitely a message about women and womens’ bodies that
pervades in our society. The classic ‘if you’re wearing a short skirt
you’re asking for it’, ‘if you get into a car with an older boy you’re
asking for it’. The girl is being precocious, the girl is being a slut or a
whore, as opposed to the boy being manly. It was always the girl’s
fault.
Amy explained that she learned early on to cover up what happened to
her as a young girl. She did not think she would be believed so she began
to hide her past and her history: who she was, where she came from and
224 THE STORY SO FAR
Those recipes didn’t just come from her, but from her mother or her
cousin, from all of these different people.
I asked Amy about her great great grandchildren and wondered how they
might remember their great great grandma Amy, what qualities did she
think they would identify in her? She answered:
‘An Adventurer; a Stoic Pioneer; Alive.’
that Amy had imagined and performed. In this way Amy was able to
experience a dramatic ‘re-membering’ of her ancestors in her life, and an
embodied acknowledgement by them of the story she had shared.
This ability ‘to co-imagine with other people so that we create a
shared scenario’ is unique to dramatherapy. As Madelaine Ander-
son-Warren and Roger Grainger explain, co-creation in dramatherapy
‘introduces us to a way of knowing in which we experience life by partici-
pating in it, rather than just thinking about it’ (2000, p.224). In the
Biography Laboratory project our participation is twofold. The chorus
team has a dual role in the story-creation process. They become the actors
in the drama and they are collaborators in its creation.
Our search for similar models of co-creation has elicited childhood
memories of shared pretend play. The dual participatory role of comple-
mentary actors involved in mutual exploration is reminiscent of the way
children play together and make meaning through their play.
Marie-France shared this story of playing with friends during her
childhood:
As a child, in the summer, I’d find all my summer friends and there
was this wood at the back of the house where no one was allowed to
go, and we were so sure that witches lived there, in the trees. It was
like this real big story. I remember how we loved to scare ourselves!
We’d come back from the beach at six or seven o’clock when the sun
is starting to go down a little bit and the shadows start to elongate…
Now that is co-creating something!
As child psychologist Judy Dunn (1988) explains, joint pretend play
requires an ability to co-operate and co-ordinate towards a common goal.
She recognises this ability, even in very young children of 2 and 3 years
old, to stem from the equal power relations that are implicit when
children interact with other children. As I prepared to write about the
Biography Laboratory project, I invited the team to share some of their
stories and ideas about shared creativity. We met in our usual space and
warmed up with the movement and fabric in our usual way. What
followed was a shared conversation during which we gleaned some of the
skills and circumstances that promote experiences of co-creation:
THE BIOGRAPHY LABORATORY: CO-CREATING IN COMMUNITY 227
Acknowledgements
The co-researchers in the Biography Laboratory project are Leigh
Bulmer, Marie-France Gauthier, Csilla Przibislawsky, Amy Thomas and
Susan Ward. The project is funded by a Concordia University Faculty
Research Development Progam Grant.
THE BIOGRAPHY LABORATORY: CO-CREATING IN COMMUNITY 229
References
Allison, D. (1996) Two or Three Things I Know for Sure. New York: Plume.
Andersen, T. (1999) ‘The reversal of light and sound: from an interview with
Tom Andersen.’ Gecko 2, 5–9.
Anderson-Warren, M. and Grainger, R. (2000) Practical Approaches to
Dramatherapy: The Shield of Perseus. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Cattanach, A. (1992) Drama for People with Special Needs. London: A&C Black.
Dunn, J. (1988) The Beginnings of Social Understanding. Oxford: Blackwell.
Freedman, J. and Combs, G. (1996) Narrative Therapy: The Social Construction of
Preferred Realities. New York: Norton.
Gersie, A. and King, N. (1990) Storymaking in Education and Therapy. London:
Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Jenkyns, M. (1996) The Play’s the Thing: Exploring Text in Drama and Therapy.
London: Routledge.
Jennings, S. (1998) Introduction to Dramatherapy: Theatre and Healing – Ariadne’s
Ball of Thread. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Jones, P. (1996) Drama As Therapy. Theatre as Living. London: Routledge.
Meldrum, B. (1994) ‘Historical background and overview of dramatherapy.’ In
S. Jennings, A. Cattanach, S. Mitchell, A. Chesner and B. Meldrum (eds) The
Handbook of Dramatherapy. London: Routledge.
Morgan, A. (1999) ‘Practice notes: introducing narrative ways of working.’ In
Extending Narrative Therapy: A Collection of Practice-based Papers. Adelaide:
Dulwich Centre Publications.
Schneider, M.F. (1998) ‘A narrative dialogue: an interview with Jill Freedman
and Gene Combs.’ Journal of Individual Psychology 54, 4, 416–430.
Srivasta, S. and Barret, F. (1988) ‘The transforming nature of metaphors in
group development: a study in group theory.’ Human Relations 41, 1, 31–64.
Wharam, T. (1992) ‘The building blocks of dramatherapy.’ In S. Jennings (ed)
Dramatherapy. Theory and Practice 2. London: Routledge.
Wheelan, S.A. (1994) Group Processes: A Developmental Perspective. Massachusetts:
Allyn and Bacon.
White, M. (1995) Re-authoring Lives: Interviews and Essays. Adelaide: Dulwich
Centre Publications.
White, M. (1997) Narratives of Therapists’ Lives. Adelaide: Dulwich Centre
Publications.
White, M. (1999) ‘Reflecting team work as definitional ceremony revisited.’
Gecko 2, 55–82.
White, M. and Epston, D. (1990) Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends. New York:
Norton.
Contributors
Sue Allanson has been working therapeutically with abused children for the past ten years
both with statutory and voluntary agencies. She set up a therapy centre for children in Leeds
under the auspice of FSU and currently works for NSPCC as a play therapist trainer and
consultant. Whilst undertaking the MA course in play therapy at Roehampton Institute she
became interested in using stories as part of the therapeutic process. She is also a sculptor and
enjoys the process of image making for herself.
Ann Cattanach is a play therapist and dramatherapist and has an MSc in Developmental
Medicine and a PhD for Play Therapy research. She has worked in schools, institutes of
higher education and universities in the UK, Singapore, Malaysia, and the Netherlands. Ann
has been a childcare consultant therapist for Hammersmith and Fulham Social Services and
Harrow Community NHS Trust and developed the first MA programmes in Play Therapy in
the UK. She is now a freelance consultant therapist.
Sally Hanson is a qualified play therapist and is currently completing an MA at the
Roehampton Institute. She has worked with children for over 25 years, where much of her
involvement has been with children who have experienced emotional and behavioural diffi-
culties. She now works as a freelance play therapist for voluntary and statutory services and
also provides creative workshops and training about play for a small charity she co-founded
in North Wales.
Sheila Hudd has a BSc (Hons) in Psychology, MSC (Econs), DIPSW, Cert. Couples and
Family Therapy and a Post Graduate Diploma and MA in Play Therapy. She has worked as a
part-time lecturer in Psychology and as a researcher in the fields of social and medical
research and has published and presented her research in these areas. Sheila’s experience
with children and families includes working in a Family Assessment and Treatment Centre.
She is currently employed as a play therapist in a Child Adolescent and Family Mental
Health Clinic in London. She also works on a project supporting the mental health needs of
231
232 THE STORY SO FAR
looked after children. Her area of special interest continues to be early parent–child interac-
tion and all aspects of child development.
Alison Kelly has a background in special education, having qualified in 1985 as a drama
and movement therapist at The Central School of Speech and Drama in London. She also has
an MA in Play Therapy from Roehampton. She currently works as a state-registered
dramatherapist for Croydon Educational Psychology Service, working with children and
young people who have emotional and behavioural difficulties and also has a private practice
as a dramatherapist and registered supervisor.
David Le Vay has experience as both social worker and therapist working with children and
families within a child protection context. His work as a play therapist has focused on
children who have experienced significant loss, trauma and abuse. He is a full member of the
British Association of Play Therapy and sits on their executive committee and is also a
Visiting Lecturer on the Play Therapy Graduate Diploma at Surrey University, Roehampton.
David currently works for ACT, an organisation which specialises in providing assessments
and therapeutic support to children and young people who present with problematic and
abusive sexual behaviour.
Christine Novy began her career as a play and dramatherapist in London where she worked
with children, adolescents and their families in a variety of settings. In 1997 she moved to
Montreal, Canada to teach in the new Drama Therapy programme at Concordia University.
There she is principal investigator for the Biography Laboratory, an action research project
combining ideas and practices from dramatherapy and narrative therapy to further a new
methodology of story co-creation and performance in therapy.
Maureen Scott-Nash is a qualified social worker and play therapist and has spent much of
her 20-year career working directly with children. The main area of her work has been in the
field of adoption and fostering children with special needs. Since becoming a freelance play
therapist Maureen has worked predominantly in the hospice movement where she has
particular expertise in working with bereaved children and those living with a life threat-
ening illness. Maureen also acts as an adviser to families and volunteers on all aspects of
understanding the effects of these life-changing experiences for such children.
Ruth Watson is an Australian who came to the UK in the late 1960s and fell in love with
London. She has completed a BA degree in Sociology at LSE and has a CQSW and two
Masters degrees – one in Deviance and Social Policy (1977) and the other in Play Therapy
(1998). Ruth is both a practice teacher and the deputy director of Independent Adoption
Service in Camberwell where, for many years, she has been working to find families for older
children who have been damaged and hurt by their experiences. Ruth’s interest in play
therapy arose when she was trying to find a better way of working with children and wanted
to use something that would enable the children’s imagination and play to be utilised.
possibilities of expression 213–14
Subject Index remembering/re-membering 223–5
work in progress 216–23
birth families 90
disclosure of abuse in 193
abused children exploring contact problems 29–30
attachment styles 151, 173–4 meeting birth mother 202–3
common story themes and content 64, opposition to adoption 88–9
172, 176 story of separation and loss 93–4
disclosure 193–4 blood disorders 131
narrative identity 36, 37–8, 54 bodily functions, fascination for children
stages in play therapy 92 21–2
stories and narratives 9, 42–9, 59–81, body image, children with cancer 129–30,
196–205 132–3
adoption, and disclosure of abuse 193–4 bone marrow aspiration biopsy 135–6
adoption process, as a rite of passage 10, borderline personality disorder 150
83–102 brain, right hemisphere 63
background information 83–5 Bring Me Four (Arab story) 191
children in transition 85–9
play therapy 89–92 candle ritual 88
stage one: separation and loss 92–5 care system 8, 11
stage two: transition 95–6 imbalance of power 86
stage three: incorporation 96–7 shortcomings 194–6
themes of therapy 97–9 Centre for Crisis Management in Education
Adult Assessment Interview 156 120
Ainu myth from Japan 14 ‘Change’ (Carla) 195
Angus Og and the Birds (Scottish story) Children’s Stories in Play Therapy (Cattanach)
206–7 196
antisocial behaviour 152 clay 132–3
art, and ritual 87 co-construction
assessment mother and infant 19
families 149–50, 152–5 therapist and client 7–8, 36, 38, 40,
through stories 64, 154–5 54–5, 64–5, 124, 188, 212
work with narrative and text 55 co-creation 214, 217
attachment 10–11, 79, 83, 149–85 role of community 225–8
and behaviour 152 cognitive development, attachment and
case studies 158–79 151
family assessment 149–50, 152–5 community
study subjects 155–7 earliest memory 210
theory 150–1, 179 importance in narrative therapy 211,
attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder 214
150 role in co-creation 225–8
conduct disorder 150, 152
behaviour problems containment 86
attachment and 152, 155, 156, in play with slime 28–30
179–80 control 52, 97–8
play therapy 30 loss in leukaemia 136
bereavement, children’s experience 111, through play with slime 27–8
117
Bergkamp, Dennis 142 ‘Damocles syndrome’ 123
Biography Laboratory 11, 209–29 death
the ‘artist’s way’ 213–14 life-threatening illness 126–7, 146
co-creation in community 225–8 as theme of child’s stories 92–3
long-term goal 212–13 see also trauma
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234 THE STORY SO FAR
Mother of the Sea Beasts, The (Netsilik story) play spaces 20, 89, 128
199–200 play therapy
mother–child relationships 69, 79, 197, in adoption process 89–92
199 developmental model 15
attachment study 158, 168, 171, in family assessment 152–5
174–5 reintegrating attachment 154, 181
infancy 19, 24 social construction approach 86,
and narrative identity 9, 35, 41–2, 124–5, 152–3, 188–90
50–1, 53 Play Therapy for Abused Children (Cattanach)
mothers 20
lost and loving 202–4 play worlds 15–18
theme in child’s stories 98 playdoh 22–3, 31
movement, use in Biography Laboratory post-traumatic stress 104, 108, 150
214, 218, 219, 221 postmodern thought 36, 188
Munchausen syndrome by proxy 41, 55 Practical Approaches to Dramatherapy
mutual storytelling technique 64 (Anderson-Warren and Grainger) 211
My Dog Jeffrey (Kristen) 71 psychic trauma 126
psychoanalytic model 64
narrative
compared with plot 193 racism 60, 194
compared with story 49–50 ‘Reciprocated Love’ (Carla) 203
emergence through play 17 Records of a Weather Exposed Skeleton, The
relationship with text 40 (Basho) 188
and stories of identity 125 Red Stalk, The (Highlands spell) 208
‘narrative configuration’ 39 ‘reflexive’ stance 36
narrative identity 9, 36–41, 51–6 Reindeer Alone on a Mountain, The (Nicholas)
definition 38 160
Narrative Means to Therapeutic Ends (White relationships
and Epston) 212, 219 and birth of meaning 192
narrative therapy in child’s stories 77–9
creating alternative stories 154, parental difficulties 157, 180
212–13 see also father–child relationships;
definitional ceremony 217–18 mother–child relationships
role of community 211, 214, 217 rite of passage
‘spreading the news’ 214–15 adoption process as 83–102
Narrative Therapy (Freedman and Combs) play therapy as 8
216 Rites of Passage (Van Gennep) 86–7
Narrow Road to the Deep North, The (Basho) rituals 86–9, 91, 108
187 ‘Royle Family, The’ (TV programme) 193
needs, in child’s stories 77
‘Noel Edmonds TV Christmas Special’ 145 sandtray play 68–9, 133–4
Scary Monster in Sea World, The (Nicholas)
parents, attachment study 161–2
attachment histories 150 Seaman, David 142
case studies 158, 168, 170–1, 174–5 school
experience of abuse 157, 180 behaviour problems 30, 155, 156, 180
parenting styles 156, 157, 179–80 trauma intervention 103–21
relationship difficulties 157, 180 self
Paul’s Elephant in a Bad Mood 172–3 attachment and 151, 181
People Who Hugged the Trees, The (story from as ongoing process 36, 38–9
India) 105–7 physical 19, 25–6
personhood, concept of 191–3 social constructionalist stance 191
Peter Pan (Barrie) 204 text analogy 39–41
‘Pick-a-nose picks awful poem’ (Patten) 21 see also identity
236 THE STORY SO FAR
237
238 THE STORY SO FAR