Student Poems and Stories

Poems and short stories by students from our Cognitive Behavioural Therapy diploma

Year 1 Reflection

 Already had a student year, under my belt,
 But I didn’t have confidence, nervous I felt.
 I’d previously considered ACT, chose another path…
 I have to admit now, I know that was daft.
  
 I’d opted for Level 10, success felt a given,
 Little did I know, Level 11 could be Heaven!
 I thought it would be too hard… Too much stress,
 Looking back I’d worked myself, into quite a mess.
  
 I was nervous submitting the application essay,
 Am I good enough? My referencing can be messy!
 I got accepted! Delighted! Maybe I am good enough, 
 Crisis averted, no need for a strop or a huff.
  
 Being online’s had its lows and its highs,
 Safe in my living room, no socially awkward goodbyes.
 I thought I was really busy before,
 But boy has my workload increased – more, more, MORE!
  
 I’ve enjoyed the reading, always challenging myself,
 Often reflecting, not recognising my previous self.
 I can’t put my finger on what exactly has changed, 
 I just know I’m feeling a lot less deranged. 
  
 A lot more reflective. Balanced and calm.
 I am now much more proud of the person I am. 
 Balancing 2 placements has been a juggling act,
 A time consuming roller coaster - that is a fact!
  
 Someone’s ‘missus’, mother, daughter, sister and friend,
 Full time teacher, trainee counsellor, the list doesn’t end.
 But in amongst all this is little old me,
 For the school summer holidays, I thought I was free!
  
 Studies and client work, shall continue on,
 Slowly transforming me from duckling to swan.
 Assessment, analysis, case formulation,
 I’ve not got it mastered, there’s still hesitation.
  
 And then there’s my lovely, trusted Supervisor,
 All my crazy ramblings, she can decipher. 
 So, here it is, year 1 has come to an end,
 That in itself, is pretty hard to comprehend.
  
 See you all in September, for diploma – Year 2
 Lots of love and best wishes, to each one of you! 

The Sweet Pea

 I am a seed, planted in the ground
 Its dark and it’s quiet
 Sheltered away from any sound
 But then one evening it started to rain
 And the ground got wet and I was fearful of pain
 It hurt just a little however the soil didn’t let me drown
 I felt supported and refreshed
 With this new insight I had found
  
 Then came out the sun, I could feel it prickle at my sides
 As I started to grow and reach for the skies
 I broke through the earth and took a deep breath
 I was amazed at the sights, a different view from the depths
  
 I thought I knew it all, back there in the ground
 However up on the surface, was there more to be found?
  
 The wind said hello and tickled my face
 Oh look at that! I have leaves and stem, growing with PACE
 But where are my flowers, shouldn’t I be more?
 It started to look fearful as I looked at the floor
  
 I started to worry why I had no flowers yet
 That’s when the gardener soaked me so wet!
 The water trickled down my spine
 Under the soil, down to my roots, all in good time
 “My roots?” I whispered into the wind
 They’re under the ground, what could they possibly bring?
  
 With a jolt I was lifted into the air
 Shovelled up from my pot, my roots hanging there
 Swinging in the sunshine, dancing and free
 I saw what I didn’t know I needed to see
  
 I realised then just how I had grown
 All my history all this time down where I was sown
 I was placed back down and snuggled back in
 This time in a garden, what a journey it’s been
  
 I realised how I was being held up
 And bowed my thanks to the gardener for helping me take a look
 He then put a cane into the ground
 A tool so helpful for me to grow around
  
 Then my flowers started to bloom
 And how beautiful they were, even under the moon
 It just took some tools, some care and nurture
 In helping me feel prepared for the future 

By Laura Murray

Can I Walk Beside You Now?

 When the thunderstorm was bright and loud you asked,
 Can I walk beside you now?
  
 At every turn when the rain came down you asked,
 Can I walk beside you now?
  
 When it was sunny, no room for frowns you asked,
 Can I walk beside you now?
  
 The clouds are sadness, hopelessness, pain,
 That threatened to bring on the rain,
 Often looming above my head,
 Telling me to just stay in bed,
 Wondering if it was worth it at all,
 And telling me I would surely fall. 
  
 The thunderstorm is hurt, anger, rage,
 Like a tiger forced to live in a cage,
 It burst from my chest and swallowed me whole,
 And I knew that was anger taking its toll,
 Seeing in myself those I had feared,
 Who had caused such pain for all those years.
  
 The rain is vulnerability, shame, despair,
 Oh, how I wished the rain wasn’t there,
 The guilt that I’d let my feelings show,
 Letting to the surface what I felt below,
 But I learned to feel the rain on my skin,
 Because that’s when the light streams in. 
  
 The sun is joy, change, love,
 Shining down from up above,
 At times it shocked me so,
 That I was able to feel its glow,
 The rain, the clouds, the lightening gone,
 Though I knew they’d been there now the sun shone.
  
 And through the weather, you walked besides,
 Not judging if I laughed or cried,
 Through rain, hail, shine and clouds you asked,
 Can I walk beside you now?  

By Jennifer Slann

Lobster Magic

 Little lobster
 Swimming
 Oceans wide and 
 Oceans deep
 Through blues and greens
 And midnight dreams
 With heart 
 And soul
 That weeps
 Little lobster
 Swimming lost
 Which way to go?
 Don’t know
 Indigo blues
 Can’t see through
 Dark tides
 That ebb and flow
 Sea life all around her
 But none who know the way 
 She swims
 She spins
 Life pulls and drags 
 Should she fight it
 Should she stay?
 Little crab
 He’s feeling sad 
 Think’s he’s just no good
 Can’t walk straight
 He’s always late
 He’s full of musts and shoulds.
 Octopus
 He has two hearts
 But neither 
 Loves enough
 He’s tangled
 Twisted 
 All conflicted
 Pretends
 Tries to be tough.
 I’m so unloved
 The shark proclaims
 People think I’m scary
 They don’t know me
 Don’t even try
 The rumours make them wary
 Little lobster swimming
 Learning every day
 It’s not just her
 We all have ‘stuff’
 Struggle
 In our own way
 We all have insecurities
 Beliefs that pull us down
 Into the depths
 The darkness
 Black waves
 That try to drown
 Little lobster 
 Shell so tight
 Hurting
 Feeling trapped
 Can’t move
 Can’t grow
 She doesn’t know
 Her potential
 Still untapped
 Uncharted waters
 Tightening shell
 Down she swims
 So deep
 It’s tough
 She’s tired
 The ocean bed
 A place to rest
 To sleep
 Boulders large
 Boulders small
 Safe shelter
 All around
 Finds her comfort
 Safety
 Peace
 A spiritual home
 Found
 Breathing out
 Let the old shell
 Crack
 Don’t fear the pain, it heals
 Feel the freedom
 Don’t hold back 
 It’s time to simply feel
 Little lobster
 Just be you
 Accept yourself
 Embrace the new
 You’re safe
 Enough
 Respected
 Loved
 Be brave
 You’re strong
 Be weak
 Be tough
 You’re safe
 You’re home
 Your boulders
 Have got you
 Be vulnerable 
 Many hearts
 Will hold you
 Be bold
 Try on
 That brave new shell
 Those many colours
 Suit you
 Well
 Give it time
 To grow and fit
 Ever changing 
 Newly lit
 Phospheresent
 Inner glow
 Purples, teals
 Shining
 So
 Little lobster swimming
 Back towards the light
 Confidence is growing
 Belief 
 Is in your sights
 Loving
 Giving 
 Listening
 A heart almost as good as new
 Little lobster 
 Always learning
 To one day
 Be
 A boulder too. 

The Journey

She stood facing out towards the unknown. The world around her was unlike anything she had witnessed before, certainly not as familiar as it had been. She had worked for years to get here. It felt surreal to be standing at the starting point.

 Laden with as many bags as she could carry, she felt ready for the journey ahead, despite her stomach twisting like trapped serpents. Perfectly prepared, she thought to herself. The bags she carried were cumbersome; she had them her whole life, though, and barely noticed the discomfort of them.

There were so many stories about the journey she was about to embark on: that it disrupted relationships, ripped you into pieces and forced confrontation with demons. However, she had heard that at the end of the journey that she would emerge as someone new. That in sticking with the journey, and taking it in her stride, she would become who she was meant to be.

So it began.

It was not long before the first challenge presented itself. Mirrors surrounded her on every side, but the reflections were not quite what she expected. In one mirror, she stood glaring at herself, older and wrinkled, arms folded, a sneer of disgust on the reflection’s face. The mirror showed her as a punitive parent. “You are not good enough,” the reflection spat. “You should be further on in life, you should be more successful!”. The words were like a scorpion sting.

In the next mirror, a little girl was curled up in the foetal position, as small as she could get, sobbing gently. It was her as a vulnerable child. “You can’t do this,” she sobbed. “What is the point? You really are not good enough.” Seeing herself so small and helpless caught her breath.

The next reflection stood with a middle finger forced angrily outward, a look of ignorance etched on her face. It was the rebellious teenager. “Do what you want. Nobody really cares anyway, so why should you?” The words dripped with distain and burned like acid as they dropped.

Facing these reflections was difficult. She felt a sense of shame, yet fascination, at the parts of her that were revealed. She had a choice: should she stay, and allow the reflections to call the shots, try to appease them? Or did she choose to move on and leave them behind?

There was a place for her to leave a bag before moving on, in front of one last mirror. She was not ready to leave anything behind. Not yet. The reflection smiled and said, “It’s okay. You will be ready soon.” The reflection was reasonable and understanding. It gestured toward the path, giving an encouraging nod. She moved on, the negative words ringing in her ears.

The path ahead began to grow darker, the clarity from the beginning of the journey faded. Despite having everything she thought she needed, there was no way for her to light the path ahead. “All this stuff and nothing that helps,” she heard the hiss of the punitive parent. It stung, but she chose to press on. With trepidation, she approached the next challenge.

She stopped in a clearing where four paths stretched off in different directions. Each entrance had a sign above it. The first read Secure, which led to a lush green and brightly lit pathway. Then there was the Ambivalent path, where the light would grow, and fade, and a storm rose and fell in front of her eyes. There was the Avoidant path that was narrow, bare, and harsh looking. Then there was the Disorganised path, full of thorns and darkness.

The storm ahead in the Ambivalent path called to her. It was familiar to her: how it swelled and roared for attention, for acknowledgement of its existence, only to then fade away. She crossed the threshold and saw another area for her to lay down her bags. It was only then she noticed the weight of them all on her. She chose to leave one, a smaller one, but felt relief from dropping some of the baggage she had.

She moved forward as the storm battered against her.  She felt raw, exposed, and uncomfortable. Still, she pressed on.

Onwards she went, each challenge becoming more difficult. She was exhausted, more tired than she could ever remember feeling before. She had lost sight of what she was even doing on this journey. It was too tiring, too difficult. She questioned whether she had the energy to get there.

She reached the bottom of a huge, black mountain. A small sign pointed up the vertical slope: Perfection. She looked up and could not see the top of the mountain. There was black, heavy smog hanging in the air.

Was she really going to attempt the climb? What would the top look like? Maybe, it would be worth it.

She made a start. The rocks were rough and difficult to grip. The pain she felt, the exhaustion, it was overwhelming, but she was determined to climb. She gave it everything she had, desperate to get to the top. She dared to look down and was distraught to see the ground was as close as it was before. She pushed herself harder and harder, trying to ignore the agony, the strangling feeling of the smog around her.

Eventually, she slid in resignation to the ground. Hot tears scorched her cheeks. As she lay there, she tilted her head and realised that there was another path. It had been hidden by the smog, which had cleared slightly since she gave up trying to reach Perfection.

Good Enough, the sign read. The path was clear, and almost accessible. The entrance meant that not all her baggage could come through. Realising that throughout the whole journey, the baggage had held her back, she dropped the bigger bags. The feeling was cathartic. Bags of pain and confusion collected over the years were shed, allowing her to move forward.

She still had some baggage and some of the smog from Perfection had clung to her clothes and would come on the rest of her journey with her, perhaps staying on past the end if she did not find a way to leave it behind.

A clearing appeared on the path, offering her respite from the treacherous journey. She rested against a smooth rock that seemed to mould to her shape. There was time to reflect.  

A tough journey it had been indeed, but she had survived it. The scars proved that she was capable of overcoming challenges, no matter how difficult. She was still here.

More challenges lay ahead, which made her nervous. But she had stopped to rest now and knew that when the time came to embark once more, she would be stronger, and ready for whatever was to come.

By Kirsty McCully