People often ask me why I use stories and how I discovered the power of stories. The answer to that question is - a story. A heroic life story, but for this occasion, I will tell you only one part of it.

It all started during my psychotherapy education for time to have our first clients came to us. We were advised to start with "easier cases", people without "severe" diagnoses, etc. We were also told that we could recommend colleagues to our friends who maybe seek therapy. So, my colleague recommended her friend to one to me. It was a person from who psychiatry gave up. But all of our work will be described once in a book, as I promised her because she wants her story to help others.

Two months after we started working together, she came to me with a story about the roof of her house. The roof of her house was leaking, and water was falling to where she was sleeping. For repairing the roof, it was necessary to clear the room of her deceased son, which was incomprehensible. She slept in the wet for years or covering with nylons. Friends tried to help her in every way possible; to have someone else clean the room, to go somewhere with her while others are cleaning, to have someone with her... But talking about it alone was impossible given the amount of pain and emotional reactions it caused.

She told me that and said that she wants to solve that problem, that she doesn't want to talk about it, and that she leaves all into my hands.

Human words are insufficient to describe the stress, fear, and powerlessness I felt at that moment, but also in the week ahead of me.