As the retreat approaches, I’m holding both excitement and uncertainty myself. We’ll be gathering in a new format, meeting one another in a different way, and stepping into something still taking shape. And maybe that’s fitting. Safety is rarely found in certainty alone - I believe it can also grow out of our willingness to stay present with each other in the uncertainty of the new and unfamiliar.

Some of you might recall that in October 2018, an agreement was reached to simplify the process for UKAGP members joining EAGT and enabling them to practice on the mainland. Since then, UKAGP has offered UK-based Gestalt practitioners and trainees a streamlined,

When I saw this theme, many ideas came to mind.

The themes of safety and fear are central to my work as a trauma therapist with male survivors of sexual abuse. As a female therapist, I’ve noticed how differently safety and fear can sometimes land in the room compared to my previous work with mostly female survivors.

There is a particular quality of disorientation that is very familiar to me. It comes with an internal scramble: where am I in this? For much of my life, I have understood that scramble as a social or emotional response. Only more recently have I begun to trace it further back to something embodied and foundational.

Recently, I found myself sitting in a therapy group, noticing something subtle but familiar unfolding.

The composition of the group had shifted. What had previously been a predominantly female space now felt more evenly balanced. During the session, three of the men began speaking together at the centre of the room — animated, connected, relieved to have space to speak openly with one another.

The therapeutic container, the cherished sanctuary wherein

safety can dwell, is becoming more porous to outside events.

Events like global conflict and environmental uncertainty bleed

through our boundaries and shake the shared ground of our safe

places. This shaking ground is no metaphor; rather, a potent and

present cohabited field phenomenon. The outside world is not and

has never been outside.

Fuse, a poem which reflects on rage, shame, and the difficulty of staying in contact with oneself and the other when the relational field becomes overwhelmed.