art therapy

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The last lesson of my working week was one where students are going to learn about emotions and creativity as a tool to express them. As a precursor to learning about it, they partook of their own individual art therapy session. It was bliss. Give someone a pen and a piece of paper, and even the most hardened teenager will stick their tongue out in concentration and draw. Silence. They didn't need support so I drew my own picture. Hopefully it's attached to this post. My picture has managed to organise and compartmentalise my personal thoughts about work and put each of them into their own little box. There are tears, broken bodies and crowded rooms. Noise pollutes the atmosphere. No, there is no atmosphere ... not a positive one, anyway. We have become fragmented, despite the fact that moving us all together was supposed to create a wonderful feeling of comradeship and love. There is no sharing of ideas. Instead there is the relentless feeling of suffocation and claustrophobia. Women cackle like witches, the room gets full to bursting, becoming LOUD in the process, and the young male staff flaunt their wares as the girls flutter eyes in their direction. This week has been horrid. There have been tears and tantrums, illness and secret rooms in which to hide to complete admin and paperwork. Morale is at an all-time low and my Line Manager has no idea how to actually manage a bunch of brilliant staff. It's a blessed relief that the week is over for me. I intend to try and forget anything work-related over the next three days, and concentrate purely on me. Well, and Baby Toddler Niece. I need some more art therapy now!