Abstract
I remember a few years after starting as a psychotherapist, walking downstairs behind a client after a session and getting a strong smell of tobacco. I realised that I had no idea that this client, or any of my clients smoked. I suppose if I had a structured questionnaire as part of my assessment I might know this, but I didn't have one—and still don't. It intrigued me: what I don't know about my clients even after years of working with a person. Jung said that the unconscious is infinite but here I am not thinking of the unconscious. I didn't know what any friend of the client knew: that he was a smoker. It is curious what we don't know, what is missing, like Sherlock Holmes' dog that didn't bark. I worked with a client for over a year before I found out that she made herself sick a couple of times a day or more. For her, bulimia wasn't a problem, it simply wasn't worth mentioning. I think of the female clients I have worked with for some years where, in talking about how they feel emotionally or physically have never mentioned their menstrual cycle as if it doesn't exist or have any influence on how they are. Similarly, considering the number of prostitutes in Britain, it is strange that as far as I can recall in twenty five years I have only every once had a client who mentioned visiting one, except in their distant past. The window we have on our clients, whether from their narrative or from our countertransference, is such a small part of who they are.
I had virtually no idea of the sexual behaviour of my clients. They may mention if they had sex, mostly they didn't mention it. But it is not just the fact which is important, it is the meaning and, as a body psychotherapist the experiencing, of it which is important. It is curious that therapists may be very interested in the dreams of their clients but often know little of their sexual fantasies which surely are as telling as dreams.