Fatigue is the word that springs to mind three weeks into lockdown. I moved exclusively online the week before, and that was my first week back after paternity leave following the birth of twins.

It feels like client work requires a different sense of me, in some ways a more exaggerated sense of me as the subtle body language is lost on both sides of the screen. Each session doesn’t feel much more tiring, but come the end of the day and the week I feel it. Or could it be parenthood. Perhaps it’s both. And add in a dramatic increase of “anxiety” or “anxietyless induced guilt” and there is a lot to hold overall.

My therapist has also died as a direct result of coronavirus. To say life has changed in the last seven weeks feels like the understatement of the year, but actually the work with clients is helping me to keep grounded and maintain a real sense of purpose.

My therapist’s death is very, very raw, but it’s brought home to me, starkly, the potential beauty, importance and connection that can exist in this work and way of life. Given that, tiredness feels like a small price to pay to do something so potentially big.