‘And do you think that coming to terms with what happened to Elisabeth might be bringing some of those old memories and wounds to the surface?’

‘Yes. Of course,’ I say softly, closing my eyes. I don’t want to go there now, I want a moment’s reprieve from the thoughts that chase through my mind like a gathering storm.

‘They are, of course, closely linked. I’m just wondering whether new things might appear as a result. Things that have felt intangible or lost.’ I nod and look out the window. I’m buying time, trying again to dislodge the lump in my throat.

‘I think I need to spend the last ten minutes discussing Natalia Martinussen. She’s, uh, very overwhelmed by her family commitments and I want to develop more of a strategy in supporting her.’ My voice noticeably trembles as I speak, but Vera doesn’t bat an eyelid at my obvious diversion from my own personal circumstances back to my client. I muster all the control I can to discuss Natalia’s course of therapy, blocking any other thoughts from entering my mind. After a few moments it becomes easier, and it feels good that I am able to control my thoughts and emotions.

But then, as I leave Vera’s snug office at Holbergs Plass and walk the short distance to my own office, slowly, past the park, my control falters and I feel a wild surge of anxiety. Or grief. Or maybe it’s a bad premonition, a sense of all the losses still to come, how can I know? I should feel better after supervision, but I don’t. I feel unhinged, and unfit to see my first client in less than half an hour. I shut the door to my office and set the timer on my phone to five minutes. Five minutes to cry my eyes out.

9

Kristina

At home, I lean back against the front door as soon as I’ve shut it behind me. I still feel strangely liquid, like I might dissolve into more tears, or erupt in a rage. Up until this summer, my life was good; predictable, comfortable, stable. It hasn’t been without its challenges; like everyone else I have my demons and things to deal with from my past, but in the last few years I have felt as though I am capable of navigating my life, even when it gets really tough. But now, it’s as though one thing after another is coming loose from the structures I’ve built, tearing at the very foundations of my life. I was supposed to be a mother by now. Or pregnant at the very least. We can’t find any reason for it, say the doctors of my inexplicable infertility. No reason. And yet, there is a reason, there always is; they just can’t find it.