Book Review: Feminism and Psychotherapy: Reflections on Contemporary Theories and Practices

Abstract

I felt a compulsion to return to the Roseland Peninsula in Cornwall late last autumn. My son had returned for his third university year, my daughter had left for her first university term. I felt very sad as one glorious autumn day succeeded another and I walked until I was exhausted. I felt full of memories, of endless summer and Easter holidays, of excited children running to beaches, of expeditions, of tired children trailing home, of prawning, sailing, picnics, crabbing—and later of long walks and evenings spent playing chess, racing demon or scrabble. All past. A chapter had closed, everything around me echoed and I mourned for what had passed. I remember vividly sitting alone gazing at a favourite view, acknowledging my womb had done its work, and how immensely sad that felt.