Alexis Powell-Howard - why I do what I do
“Imagine me, as a 19 year old – very long dark curly hair, strong willed, feeling invincible, fearless and quite sassy. One March evening, I had finished work late and was driving. It was dark, it was lightly raining and it was cold.
I was thinking about my day, singing at the top of my voice (I’m an excellent singer when I’m on my own in the car), I indicated and pulled out to overtake another vehicle. As I became level with the other car I realised that they were indicating right, and within seconds, the driver had turned their car in front of mine. I panicked, held my breath and braced myself...
The cars collided, and the other car ended up on the opposite side of the road, and mine was across the white lines in the middle. I was OK. I got out of my car and checked on the other driver.
Her head was bleeding and her young son, who was OK told me that they had been turning into the farm track that leads to their house. He ran to get his dad and I decided to call an ambulance for his mum, so I went back to my car. Leaning across from the drivers’ side into the passenger side footwell to find my phone, another car came through our two vehicles at approximately 60 mph and hit the car door, that my legs were dangling out of.
The pain was excruciating. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. As it transpired my left leg was smashed with multiple fractures and had taken the brunt of the force from the door. The damage was so serious there was a very real possibility that my leg would need amputation...
Following an extended stay in hospital, I eventually, over a long period of time, physically, began to recover. But mentally and emotionally I took much longer to heal, and I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was broken. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I had flashbacks, I felt anxious, out of control and my mood was low and I felt frustrated. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.
I accessed therapy. The first therapist, a man, worked with me for some time, took me to restaurants and bought me lunch, he advised me, pushing me to apply to go to university, he made inappropriate comments and generally worked in a way, that I discovered eventually, when I began my own training to be a psychotherapist, was inappropriate and unprofessional, ending with him making a pass at me, in fact, I think there were several incidences like this. I was too unwell to spot them.
I was still struggling, re-living events from the night of the accident and also from my hospital treatment, so I tried again, and went to see a second therapist, this time a woman. About six sessions in, she fell asleep. I waited for her to wake up. I complained this time, rather than avoiding the situation, and when I returned for a planned meeting to discuss my feelings about the experience with the therapist face to face, had double booked and didn’t even know a complaint had been made.
Even after these awful experiences, I still hoped and wanted to believe that therapy could help, but having had these experiences, I wasn’t sure what therapy actually is. So, I enrolled on a course. I knew it could and should be better…”
