I’ve just spent an exhilarating and exhausting two days talking to people about research. How can this be I hear you ask? Were you confused, or misguided, or perhaps on some mind-altering substance to make research exhilarating (exhausting we understand)? Were you kidnapped by a particularly cruel and ruthless gang who subjected you to terrible treatment, holding you against your will while they talked about evidence based practice, or methodology, or randomised controlled trials? Perhaps I had accidentally stumbled on some secret and shameful gathering and was too polite to make my apologies?

On the contrary – I spent two days in the luxury of a lovely hotel, surrounded by interesting and engaging people, talking about why research mattered to them (and to me). The BACP Research Conference has just celebrated its 15th year, and I have trotted along to nearly all of them. Now, I’m not here to plug the research conference – it generally sells out anyway so no plugs needed. Neither am I required to say nice things about BACP, simply because I write in their journal. However, you just can’t fault the research conference – well organised, diverse, energetic, and some great parties. This year there was a karaoke too – yes, I groaned too when I heard about it. I couldn’t help myself though, and sadly made a poor contribution to a version of Bohemian Rhapsody that otherwise might have been OK.

But why research at all? What on earth has research got to do with the day-to-day work of a counsellor or psychotherapist? According to the current proposals for the differentiation between a ‘psychotherapist’ and ‘counsellor’ come regulation, as a ‘counsellor’ I wouldn’t know research if I fell over it (let alone critically reflect on my practice). The time and money I invest on a research conference is essentially because research matters to me.

The reason why it matters is because of a motivation that was borne out of my work. The death of one of
my clients – Isobel – through suicide during my counsellor training was a profound experience that has shaped my professional and personal development since. Personal therapy and supervision was extremely important to me at that time, but the thing that really made a difference was coming across a research article that described how counsellors feel following the death of a client through suicide. It was like somebody had wiped the grime away from a filthy window.

At that moment, I learnt the power of research to inform, to educate and to enhance. I was entirely new to research, but took the plunge and realised quickly that the waters weren’t necessarily as cold and uninviting as I had feared. I found that ‘research’ – the dreaded ‘r’ word, certainly for me from a qualitative perspective – is not necessarily too far removed from the therapeutic work I am so committed to. Actually, while I’m on that point, there is some research being published (it was talked about at the conference) that is beginning to identify the similarities between a research interview and therapeutic encounter. Clients interviewed for research purposes can sometimes feel more ‘helped’ than by the original therapy they were describing. There’s a turnaround.

Integral to the research conference for me is that the pool is full of different people: those stood on the edge wondering about how/whether to get in; those splashing around in their depth, building confidence to move to slightly deeper waters; and those so proficient that the water just seems to carry them on, their stroke so effortless and inspiring. I think I’m bouncing around the slightly deeper water, but aware of staying in my depth – I do hate the water splashing in my eyes.

For me though, research is always about Isobel. Her death enabled me to view things differently; to reflect on our time together; to learn about her a little more; to consider my work with other clients differently; and to affirm what I already knew but had temporarily lost sight of. I cannot now consider working as a therapist without paying attention to theories and ideas developed through the exploration and questioning that comes from good research. So, come on in, the water’s lovely – honestly.