Wannabe Deanna Troi

I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek Voyager recently as a kind of antidote to PhD stress and I was struck, while watching the time travel episode, Future’s End, by just how rooted in the 1990’s Voyager really is. And rooted in a very particular vision of the 1990’s.

Francis Fukuyama famously commented, in 1992, that the 1990’s marked ‘the end of history’. Fukuyama distinguished here between ‘history’ and ‘events’ – the end of ‘events’ would mark the end of the world effectively, but the end of ‘history’ instead could be seen as the end of political, social and economic strife which drives societal change. History has been marked by various epochs and political evolutions which, according to Fukuyama reached their pinnacle in western liberal democracy during the 1990’s. Fukuyama’s ideas were forcibly undone on September 11th 2001 when a new kind of war began, marking the cultural endpoint of the 90’s, 21 months after their literal endpoint. Interestingly, Voyager’s final episode aired on 23rd May 2001, four months before this cultural shift. Voyager then is anchored firmly within Fukuyama’s cultural endpoint.

Voyager is proud of its 90’s roots and unafraid of drawing most of its cultural beats from the decade of its conception - Tom Paris loves 90’s popular culture, the episode, 11:59, is entirely set in the last days of 1999, Future’s End has the crew visit 1996. Fascination with earth history is something of a trope within the Star Trek universe – from Sisko’s love of old baseball games in Deep Space Nine to Worf’s trips to the wild west in The Next Generation – but these references are intended to evoke a kind of nostalgia for their audiences. Voyager’s references to the 90’s did no such thing for its 90’s audience. Instead, there was a kind of complacency within the narrative; of course citizens of a 24th century utopia would take their cultural references from the decade which their utopia reflects. It is no accident that Voyager is named for a space probe, admittedly launched before the 90’s, but which is the embodiment of the 90’s utopian vision of a human society built around exploration and scientific enquiry.

This sense of complacency permeates all aspects of the series; Voyager premiered at the peak of the Star Trek franchise popularity – Deep Space Nine was in its second season, The Next Generation had made a very successful transition from small screen to big and the original 60’s Trek was drawing in huge audiences in re-runs. Voyager was a guaranteed success from day one; all it had to do was keep doing what Trek had been doing so well for the past thirty years. And it excelled at doing that. It became the Trek-est of the Treks as its crew boldly went where every Star Trek crew had already gone many, many times before. Voyager’s cultural sister, Deep Space Nine, was the red-haired stepchild of the franchise, the show that took risks, leaving Voyager to act as a counterpoint by taking no risks whatsoever. After all, it didn’t need to – the status quo had been working well for literally decades. Just as Fukuyama predicted, when there is no impetus for change, then change does not occur.

Voyager’s mission is technically to get home, but it does this with absolutely no sense of urgency. At times, it feels as though the crew are on a kind of leisure cruise through the Delta Quadrant with ample time to explore scientific phenomena and make contact with new species. At times, it feels as though Voyager is on a kind of cultural crusade to spread Federation values throughout the barbaric and technologically less advanced region in which they find themselves. In an interesting narrative choice, Voyager is a superior ship to almost anything else the Delta Quadrant has to offer, meaning that the supremacy of 90 western liberal democracy which it represents goes unchallenged. The writers seem all too aware of this dimension of the series and go out of their way to parody it in the seventh season’s Live Fast and Prosper which sees a group of con artists selling fake Federation memberships to gullible Delta Quadrant natives.

Fukuyama thought that the end of history was marked by the defeat of communist powers in Russia and increasing capitalism within China and Voyager deals with this too. In later seasons, Voyager’s main antagonists are the Borg Collective, the most communist of all Star Trek species. A liberated Borg drone, Seven of Nine, rediscovers her ‘individuality’ (puts her communist ideals aside) and ‘defects’ to the West by joining the crew of Voyager. Her new life is portrayed as being superior in all ways to her old one – so much so that tales of her experiences spread through the Borg, eventually destabilising the entire Collective. The Borg are defeated by gradually being convinced of the superiority of Voyager’s ideology.

If Fukuyama posited that the 90’s represented the end of history, then Voyager in many ways represents the end of Trek. In a literal sense, the series is set between 2371 and 2379 – apart from Star Trek Nemesis (also set in 2379), this represents a point further in the future than any other Trek series to date. Post-2009 Trek in particular has chosen to explore a time period almost one hundred years prior to Voyager, possibly because Voyager depicts a kind of cultural end point for the Trek universe. Utopia has been achieved and utopias are rather dull to write fiction about – a more interesting story is how the society depicted within Voyager came to be. Voyager also contains a number of episodes which take place, at least partly, after 2379; in Living Witness the Doctor finds himself several hundred years in the future and several episodes, most notably Future’s End and Relativity, feature the time travelling Captain Braxton who hails from the Federation of the 29th Century. The portrayal of Captain Braxton is of particular interest here since his Federation is not noticeably different from Voyager’s own – utopia apparently continues uninterrupted for at least five hundred years. Events happen, but history does not.

I’m writing a series of blog posts about mental health in the star trek universe (here’s a link to the previous one:  https://bioneuralgelpack.tumblr.com/post/179349850958/take-the-day-off-harry ). See below for my take on the mental health professionals of the future...

‘The time has come,’ the walrus said,’ to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and… mental health professionals’. Not the best quote in the world, but the best I could come up with at very short notice. Quick disclaimer before I start; I’m a mental health professional, a clinical psychologist in fact, so the depiction of my colleagues of the future in the Federation is an issue close to my heart.

If you mention mental health professionals and ‘Star Trek’ in the same breath, everyone’s mind immediately jumps to Deanna Troi, the one woman responsible for the mental health of a crew of 1000 in ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation’. Interestingly, while Deanna was certainly the first prominent mental health professional in a Star Trek series, she was not the first -that honour goes to a certain Dr Helen Noel, featured in the Original Series episode, Dagger Of The Mind – and she was not the last. Deep Space Nine’s seventh season gave us another ship’s counsellor in the form of Ezri, everyone’s least favourite Dax. I’ve just realised that all three of these characters are female, which is probably a true reflection of the psychology profession in general (around 90% of psychologists currently are women), but it does say some interesting things about gender roles in the 24th century. Is caring perhaps still a female domain? Certainly in The Next Generation both lead female characters are in caring roles. But I digress…

(Now doesn’t that uniform inspire you with professional confidence?)

Let’s start with Dr. Noel as she’s the first to appear. Now, in the nicest possible way, I would not want to see Dr. Noel if I had any kind of health problem, mental or physical. For one thing, her skirt is short even by the standards of The Original Series, and casual viewing of one’s psychiatrist’s pants doesn’t necessarily inspire confidence in their professional judgement. However, I would be willing to forgive her this; she’s hardly the only woman on the original Enterprise to suffer from a chronic lack of clothing. What I am not willing to forgive is the strain of moral ambiguity which runs through her character and a somewhat shaky grasp of medical ethics.

We are introduced to Dr. Noel when she is assigned to beam down to the psychiatric facility on Tantalus V with Captain Kirk. The two have a decidedly awkward interaction in which it’s revealed that they got up close and personal at last year’s Christmas party (Yes, I’m not over the fact that the Enterprise had a Christmas party either. Presumably, Kirk banned them, and Christmas in general, after this incident out of sheer embarrassment.). It’s clear that Kirk is not interested in taking their relationship any further (of course not, he’s Kirk, stud of the galaxy) and it seems like Dr. Noel isn’t either. As yet, this isn’t hugely dodgy from an ethical perspective. The captain is technically her patient, or at least has the potential to become her patient, but, if he’s not currently actively receiving therapy, it’s probably ok (It’s not great and I wouldn’t do it, but it’s probably ok). When it becomes dodgy is when they arrive on Tantalus and gain possession of a mind control device. Kirk is investigating how the device is used and asks Noel to put a ‘harmless’ suggestion into his mind, using it. Her harmless suggestion? Telling Kirk that he’s in love with her. Just digest that for a second – the Enterprise’s psychiatrist uses a mind control device to make Kirk believe that he’s in love with her. And, as a fun aside, she also doesn’t notice that all of the patients in the Tantalus colony have been lobotomised and endorses the idea of using a mind control device as an alternative to psychiatric drugs. At the end of the episode, this woman isn’t fired or even reprimanded, she simply returns to the ship and gets on with her day. Mental health professionals in the future apparently do not adhere to even basic ethical guidelines.

And that little rant leads us to Deanna. Deanna Troi is the half-human, half-Betazoid counsellor aboard the Enterprise-D. First introduced in The Next Generation’s pilot episode, Encounter At Farpoint, Deanna was a major character through all seven seasons of the show and also appeared in four films and several episodes of Voyager and Enterprise. Since the age of six, she has also been my favourite Star Trek character of all time.

(Deanna Troi at her empathic best)

Thanks to her Betazoid heritage, Deanna is an ‘empath’, meaning that she can sense the thoughts and feelings of those around her. Obviously, she relies on this heavily in her work (which makes sense). What makes less sense is that, at times, Deanna’s job title should really be ship’s empath or even ship’s lie detector, rather than ship’s counsellor. Interestingly, as a child, I didn’t think that being a counsellor was a real job because I thought that one had to be an empath to do it and that was clearly beyond the abilities of any human. In The Loss, Deanna loses (I see where they got that title!) her empathic abilities and seems to have no idea how to do her job without them. The episode makes an odd narrative choice; Deanna’s journey of personal growth isn’t about her learning how to be a counsellor with no empathic powers, it’s instead about her managing to solve a scientific problem without her empathic powers, thereby rather reinforcing my childhood notion that no mere human could ever aspire to a career in psychology.

Empathic abilities aside, Deanna really spends very little time doing anything which is recognisable as psychological work. She does lots of great stuff – being disguised as a Romulan and infiltrating a Romulan ship, piloting the Enterprise, occasionally commanding the Enterprise – but none of it has much to do with her actual job. Over seven years and three films we see her helping young Clara Sutter confront the monsters under her bed in Imaginary Friend, helping Worf’s son, Alexander settle in on the Enterprise, doing a bit of grief counselling in The Loss and treating Reginald Barclay for holodeck addiction in Hollow Pursuits. Oh, and some crew evaluations – she does those with Riker at least twice. That’s maybe four cases in seven years. At one point, Data even asks her for some therapy and she says no; presumably because he doesn’t have any emotions for her to read. Most of the time, Deanna seems to fill the role of ‘general bridge officer’, not specifically of counsellor. You’d think, being solely responsible for the wellbeing of 1000 people who are often in combat situations, that she might have a little more to do.

(Deanna doing literally anything but therapy)

And Deanna’s therapy, when she does it, is not ground breaking. She is a Freudian – she quotes him on several occasions. This way of working was hopelessly outdated by the time The Next Generation aired. It makes one wonder if, perhaps, Deanna has replied on her empathic abilities so much that she’s forgotten her actual training. However, despite all of this, The Next Generation does get points for actually putting a psychologist on the bridge and making her a high ranking officer. This alone indicates that the producers were viewing mental health with some degree of seriousness.

Initially Deep Space Nine featured no one even approaching a mental health professional – the Bajoran characters presumably went to the Vedeks with their problems, but everyone else was left floundering (because no one was going to go to Bashir about anything remotely sensitive). A ship’s (or station’s) counsellor in season seven was therefore a welcome addition to the show. Now, let’s get a few things out of the way – I don’t like Ezri Dax, no one likes Ezri Dax. She was a poor replacement for Jadzia and, more than that, she was an unnecessary replacement for Jadzia. If Jadzia had to be killed off (I’m still upset about that twenty years later), that should have been the end of the Dax saga. Maybe, the new Dax host could have been brought in for an episode or two to tie up loose ends, but there was no need to make her a regular cast member. It was unfair to actress, Nicole deBoer, as well because she had an absolutely impossible act to follow. Ezri was always destined to be the most hated Star Trek character after Wesley Crusher.

(everyone’s least favourite Dax)

However, none of this influences Ezri’s role as a counsellor or the way in which Deep Space Nine chose to portray mental health professionals. Like Deanna, Ezri spent a lot of time not doing counselling, but unlike Deanna this sort of makes sense – at this point in Deep Space Nine the characters were literally fighting for their lives and it was a case of survival first, therapy later. However, when we did see Ezri doing therapy, she appeared to be doing quite a good job – she helped Garek work through his claustrophobia using CBT techniques and guided meditations and she used a kind of acceptance and commitment therapy based approach with Nog as he recovered from an injury in Its Only A Paper Moon. In other words, Ezri feels like a competent mental health professional with a number of therapeutic techniques at her disposal. In the course of one season she also manages to do almost as much therapy as Deanna did in seven. Moreover, Ezri’s main focus seems to be on therapy, not on being a random bridge officer. There’s also a general atmosphere of Ezri being supported by other mental health professionals and she even occasionally references others who also work on the station.

I'm writing a series of blog posts about mental health care in the Star Trek universe (see 'Dagger of the Mind' below for more)... here's the latest:

The title of this post is the sentence that sparked this blog. It is uttered by Captain Janeway at the conclusion of ‘Deadlock’. The basic premise of this episode is that Voyager and her crew are duplicated and, because of reasons, one version of Voyager has to destroy itself to save the other. The problem is that the Harry Kim on the ship which survives has been killed in an accident earlier on the episode along with newborn Naomi Wildman. Harry and baby Naomi from the other version of Voyager are sent to the counterpart ship by their version of Janeway before she issues the self-destruct command. Duplicate Harry and duplicate Naomi are welcomed aboard the new ship and Harry starts to ponder some pretty deep an disturbing questions – is he the real Harry? Is this the real Voyager? And the people he’s now surrounded with the same as the ones he lost just because they look the same? Janeway’s response to this: ‘Take the day off, Harry.’ Harry doesn’t need a day off, Harry needs a lifetime of therapy.

(Harry looks forward to decades of psychotherapy)

This led me to thinking about the status of mental health care in general within the Federation and the picture is not a pretty one; mental health is downplayed to the point where Harry was lucky to have Janeway give even a token acknowledgement that he may need to work through some feelings, and the Enterprise-D, a ship with over 1000 crewmembers, employs only one mental health professional and a Freudian one at that.. But, I’ll leave the portrayal of mental health professionals for another blog post and concentrate on mental health care for now.

(I too would make that face on realising that there are no other mental health professionals in the star system)

The first time Federation mental health care is really depicted is in The Original Series’ Dagger of The Mind. Now, this episode was broadcast in 1966 and, as such, is probably relatively forward thinking – after all, it suggests that lobotomies might be a bad thing at a time when they were still standard practice in many parts of the USA. However, speaking out against lobotomies is a pretty low bar. The ‘forward thinking’ and liberal mental health institution seen in the episode is on an isolated asteroid millions of miles from anywhere and the actual prison is deep underground. It’s also been named ‘Tantalus’ by someone with a rather warped sense of humour. The overall aesthetic is rather far removed from the ‘resort’ described by Captain Kirk. It’s also rather far removed from the non-psychiatric and rather lovely penal colony inhabited by Tom Paris in Caretaker.

(Now isn’t that a super welcoming looking psychiatric facility?)

This episode aired long after the start of talking therapies – after all, those had been in existence since the 1800’s – and yet, there is no mention of them as viable treatment options. Instead, the Enterprise’s resident psychiatrist implies that Dr. Adam’s ‘mind control’ (i.e. lobotomy) device is a viable alternative to ‘pumping people full of drugs’; the clear implication being that drugs are the standard (and only) treatment of choice within the Federation. This idea was deeply regressive even for the time at which the episode was airing.

I’m pretty sure that Dagger of the Mind is the only time we see a psychiatric institution in any Star Trek show, but we do get to see psychiatric patients in Deep Space Nine’s ‘Statistical Probabilities’ and ‘Chrysalis’. Four people whose illegal genetic enhancements have gone rather wrong are brought to Deep Space Nine to assist Dr. Bashir. Although we don’t get to see their usual surroundings, their quarters on Deep Space Nine give a reasonable idea of how they’re treated. Most visitors to the space stations get their own quarters, unlimited access to the Promenade and other facilities, use of Quark’s holosuites etc etc, but not these four. These four are housed in a single cargo bay with one room serving as sleeping and living quarters for all of them. That’s right, they’re kept four to a room in some kind of intergalactic bunk bed scenario. And they’re not allowed out – no Quark’s for them, they might scare the regulars. Are these four a danger to themselves or others? No. There’s no reason for them to be confined. The worst they will do is make other inhabitants of the station a bit uncomfortable.

Although the four characters in question are victims of their genetic enhancements, the symptoms they display can be mapped onto commonly occurring mental health problems. Jack seems to be in the manic phase of bipolar disorder, Serena is either suffering from very severe depression or has an autism-type disorder, Patrick, despite being incredibly clever, functions like someone with a learning disability and Lauren… Lauren’s probably just bored… or has some kind of personality disorder or both. In our society today, all four of these people would be living in the community  - Patrick and Serena possibly with support from carers -, at least three of them would probably be employed. It is likely that one or more of them would be in a long-term relationship. They may even have children. In the enlightened Federation, they simply do not have these options. Instead, the Federation keeps them under lock and key, perhaps to preserve the idea that they are a utopia. Utopias never include people like Jack, Patrick, Serena and Lauren or, at least, utopias never allow them to be visible.

(Unlucky four)

Out of sight, out of mind seems to sum up the Federation’s approach to mental health care. On Harry’s day off, he will be given no professional support. Miles O’Brien, the most unfortunate man in history, was never seen speaking to a mental health professional. In another Voyager episode, The Chute, poor Harry is consigned to an alien prison for a crime he didn’t commit and subjected to such intense psychological torture that he almost kills his best friend and, this time, he doesn’t even get the day off. Time and time again, Starfleet personnel experience horrific trauma and this is barely even acknowledged. Deep Space Nine’s The Siege of AR-558 sees the DS9 crew relieve a PTSD-ravaged group of soldiers and treat them with no sympathy whatsoever. Instead, they are criticised for abandoning Starfleet ideals.

(those space lollipops...)

Anyway, you might have got from the above ramble that I like Star Trek a lot. It’s undoubtedly my favourite film / TV franchise and it’s a universe that’s very dear to me – my life’s goal is secretly to hang out on the Enterprise with Picard and co. I don’t even want to save the universe with Picard and co. I literally just want to hang out with them and do nothing because they are great people and I think we’d have a fun time.

(Ah, friends...)

On a more serious note, one of the things I love about Star Trek is that it really does explore new frontiers and break down boundaries; first interracial kiss on US TV – check, one of the first lesbian kisses on US TV – check, black woman in a position of authority in 1966 – check.  This is TV at its progressive best, being a mechanism for social change and bringing uncomfortable truths about contemporary society into the public eye. That’s the strength of science fiction in general; as an allegory for things which are difficult to talk about in other ways. Star Trek has provided biting, intelligent, uncomfortable critiques of pretty much everything from racism (who can forget ‘Let That Be Your Last battlefield’ where Kirk encounters a society locked in pointless eternal combat because the faces of two groups looks slightly different?) to healthcare in the US (‘Critical Care’, I’m looking at you, with your alien hospital where the rich access better treatment than the poor). Star Trek is able to provide these critiques so effectively because its characters are evolved humans who are consistently appalled at the foibles of these alien societies and who also draw links to the mistakes made by their own ancestors. They provide the perspective of the other on our own society whilst retaining enough links to it to still be relatable.– to return to the example of Critical Care, Voyager’s doctor is kidnapped and forced to work in the afore mentioned alien hospital. He’s put to work on the higher floors, treating the rich who can afford miracle cures for their minor ailments. When he discovers the existence of the lower floors, where the seriously-ill poor are left to suffer with only untrained staff to improvise treatments, the Doctor immediately starts to prioritise patients based on need, rather than social status. To anyone living under a healthcare system where this isn’t already the case, I imagine it would make for uncomfortable viewing.

(and, for today’s very special episode...)

Star Trek then, treats most issues with liberal thinking which is ahead of its time. However, during a recent re-watch of a few episodes – the first re-watch I’ve done since training as a psychologist – I started to notice a disturbing oversight. It quickly became apparent to me that the great enlightened Federation simply does not do mental health care. Yes, Picard may have a counsellor on the Bridge, but how much time does she actually spend doing therapy? In seven seasons, I think she does about four sessions. I do that in a morning. Most of Deanna’s time is spent assisting the rest of the Bridge crew with everything from piloting the ship to commanding it. You have to admire the woman’s multitasking skills. And while Deanna’s doing whatever takes her fancy this week on the Enterprise, the severely mentally ill, such as the genetically enhanced individuals seen in DS9’s Statistical Probabilities and Chrysalis, are deemed ‘untreatable’ and condemned to live out their lives in institutions. This fact is particularly damning when considered in the context of the Federation’s liberal and rehabilitation-based penal system (portrayed as a rather lovely stretch of New Zealand farmland in Caretaker).

(Deanna Troi living her best life)

Over my next few posts, I’m hoping to look at a few aspects of Federation mental health care in more detail. I’ll also be looking at a few characters in-depth – Deanna Troi, the woman solely responsible for the mental health of 1000 people, the problem of Captain Janeway’s bipolar disorder and of, course, the tragic tale of Miles O’Brien, the most resilient man in the known multiverse…

Hello!

I’m doing some online research into the effects of having a friend, relative or partner who hoards. If anyone felt like taking part, I would be eternally grateful! The link to the study is below:

Bit of a non sequitur for the first post on here, but I’m not that great at the old linear thinking so here goes!

Let me talk you through my morning. I ran into a radiator while dodging two marauding kittens, I rammed my water bottle into my face so hard that I cut my lip, I somehow trapped my finger under the seat of a chair while sitting down into a café and now have a nail which is slowly, but surely going black… And all this is so normal for me that I barely noticed it.

Yesterday, I was diagnosed with dyspraxia… And I should probably mention that I was late to the assessment because I couldn’t find the room (despite the fact that it was in a building I used to work in). I did manage to bring the questionnaires I was meant to fill out beforehand, but they were crumpled, illegible and covered in the footprints of the afore-mentioned marauding kittens. By the time I actually met the assessor and started to answer his questions, the actual assessment had become an exercise in formality.

So yeah, I was diagnosed with a developmental disorder at age 30. And I felt… relief.

Stuff suddenly makes sense. Maybe it’s not all my fault – actual messages aren’t getting through to my actual body from my actual brain (can you tell I’m a psychologist from all those technical terms?!).

I have all the co-ordination things associated with dyspraxia - yes, Dad, I do have a ‘hole in my racket’ when I try to play tennis! – Home videos of me at tumble tots have the potential to make me a fortune on youtube. Let’s just say, I did an awful lot of tumbling and not that much… totting… Actually, what is one meant to do at Tumble Tots, other than tumble?! Maybe, I was technically very good at it…

My primary school advised my parents to send me to ballet classes aged 4 to help with co-ordination stuff. Displaying a well-developed instinct for self-preservation in the face of potential teasing, I refused.  Only time I’ve ever refused any school activity (yes, I was that child). And then there was the problem of cartwheels. You see, when you’re an eight year-old girl, the ability to cartwheel (preferably one-handed) is your primary social currency. The most I could manage was a sort of lopsided bunny hop… And, why oh why, did only boys get to have Velcro on their school shoes?! To this day, I cannot tie my shoelaces properly.

I was also, unfortunately, the kind of child who quite liked to get stuck in. Sadly, in my case, that wasn’t a graceful leap into extracurricular activities, it was more like a fast and badly-timed bellyflop. Cue years of scraped knees and elbows, getting stuck in trees I’d managed to climb up, but could not climb down and falling into probably every river, pond or large puddle in Wiltshire. I particularly remember, my first ever trip to an ice skating rink ended before actually reaching the ice because I dropped a skate on my foot with rather nasty consequences.

Oddly enough, the one positive in this was swimming. I’ve always been able to swim and swim well. When I’m held up by the water, my body just becomes more…coherent somehow. Even now, when I’m stressed, I swim, when I’m sad, I swim, when I’m very happy, I swim. Preferably, outside.

As an adult, requests to do cartwheels are rare (but perhaps more regular than you might expect when you work in a child mental health team). I have learned to laugh at my dreadful dancing in clubs, my unexplained bruises and my abysmal tennis skills. Driving is a problem – I failed seven tests despite the very best efforts of a truly exceptional driving instructor (Ann, if you ever read this – thank you. No one else could have got me to eventually pass) – but, driving, I’ve found is largely avoidable and I’m alright in rural areas and situations where I don’t have to reverse around corners. My co-ordination problems don’t stop me from doing things.

What’s more of a problem, is the hidden side of dyspraxia, the bit no one really knows about. I am disorganised, I am messy, I have a comically poor sense of direction (seriously, I can get lost in my home town, inside buildings, on routes to friends’ houses which I have walked a thousand times previously). The person who invented google maps and made the moveable dot which tells you where you are is honestly one of the people I admire most in the world. Without it, I would get nowhere. And that’s not an exaggeration. When going to job interviews or catching plans, I sometimes set off two hours early to allow for ‘getting lost’ time.

While getting lost is just a fun quirk of my personality, chronic disorganisation is an actual problem. I’m a clinical psychologist (well, a trainee one) – day to day, I see people who are disclosing horrific trauma and battling internal demons most of us couldn’t even imagine. People who are an inspiration for their resilience in the face of overwhelming circumstances. And the most stressful aspect of my job? It’s not seeing those people – that’s a privilege – it’s booking rooms and putting appointments in my diary for the right times. Seriously. For me, that is a Herculean task, equal to fighting any hydra.

On my last clinical placement, I was lucky enough to work with two admin staff who went above and beyond to be helpful and supportive. They somehow sensed my areas of weakness without me having to say anything and made sure that my appointments were booked and my letters were sent. With their help, the stress of clinical work vanished and I could feel myself flourishing.

Where it’s a real problem for me, is research tasks. I somehow completed a PhD and found things like making sure that the right participant ID numbers were on the right questionnaires near impossible. And then there was that master’s debacle where I failed to record data for fifty participants by genuinely not seeing a box I was meant to tick on the EEG readout which read ‘save data’. Research is all about sequencing tasks and being methodical. Remember when I said I wasn’t a linear thinker? I meant it. For me, A will never lead to B. A leads to F and then to G via space and a brief tour of duty aboard the Starship Enterprise and then arrives at B. Give me a problem to solve and I will get there, not necessarily slower than anyone else, but I will get there in a way which maybe doesn’t make huge amounts of sense and might be harder than the tried and tested path.

To be honest, there are advantages to this. I am creative. I can generate novel solutions. I have a vivid imagination. My weird thought processes have engendered a love of creative writing, of theatre, of newness, of possibility, of anything wacky and wonderful. But it can be a problem in the world of research and I do need better coping strategies for my chronic disorganisation.