Cactus Counselling

Family Privilege

I've had reason to think about families, lately. I estranged myself from my family in 2013, and while I've never regretted that, I've had moments that made the decision hard. One Christmas for instance, everybody and her dog seemed to be on an enthusiastic online posting spree, gushing about how much they loved spending time with their families over Christmas. There came a point where it irked me. I felt angry, and I felt sad. These people didn't deserve my anger but they got it. I kept it to myself, which wasn't an ideal feeling either.

That was many years ago and I'm glad not to have felt it particularly strongly since then. But just this morning I thought: "I've heard of white privilege, of male privilege, and while I don't see the term used, heterosexual or cishet privilege is definitely a thing too. But what about familial privilege?" Well, it turns out that this has been talked about online, and the usual term is family privilege.

This seems a good time to define it. I think of family privilege as the sense of belonging you get with family, the permanent social network they offer (I initially wrote 'immediate' rather than 'permanent', and realised I was talking about in-laws, so let's throw 'immediate' in there too because, yes: we can and do get new family members later in life), and a stock of people who know you inside out and will always have your back.

Now, I know that's a romanticised view of family - so many people who are still in contact with their families don't have that sort of dreamy, idyllic situation, but many do. And, because I lacked that experience growing up, it's natural for me to romanticise the idea of family, even if I try to resist that romanticisation. That invites a whole conversation: what's a 'good enough' family, and when are they bad enough to justify walking away, bearing in mind everything you're going to cut yourself off from? Does the fear of being alone make us con ourselves into staying with an imaginary support network, the ghost of a sense of belonging?

There are many elements to walking away that make it a hard decision. Somebody recently suggested to me that developing a relationship with a therapist is "putting all your eggs into one basket", and that made me think. Yes, it is. It's a big risk to take, if you particularly need for them to be reliable, present, and to show they care. After all, if your therapist isn't these things, then what's the point? It's doubly hard to trust in a therapist if you feel that, because you pay us for what we do, we don't actually care about you.

The truth is, becoming a psychotherapist is a labour of love. Despite appearances, it doesn't pay terrifically well because we can't work full-time and the upkeep expenses are surprisingly high. If I wanted to get rich I'd have become a hedge fund manager or one of those divers who work around oil rigs. There are many better paid jobs out there. No: many of us trained as therapists because we have experienced hardship and want to help other people overcome hardship, also. For me personally, I wanted to perform alchemy: my experiences felt like lead. I wanted to turn them into gold. I wanted to turn my experiences into a strength, not a weakness.

So, yes: we care. Yes, trusting one person to be the safe, reliable other person may feel like a risk. That's why it's important to shop around, to interview each therapist you're interested in by taking them up on whatever taster experience they offer (some offer a free phone call or a 20 minute session), or have an initial session with them, and to see how it feels to be with them. Because when you don't have a biological family to rely on, then the one person you entrust to that role must be a good fit.

There's so much more to say about family privilege, but I'll leave this here for now. I think I'll come back to this subject soon.

Family Privilege

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