Winning Therapy: Sara’s Game

Sara sat in her second counselling session, trapping her shaking hands between her thighs—only slightly less terrified than the first time. Helen seemed nice enough on the surface, but Sara still felt like she had done something wrong to end up here.

In the last session, Helen asked different questions about her life. Sara had thought it would just be about school initially and panicked when Helen asked about home and her family. She felt like it was a test, and she was desperate to protect her brother.

She knew her parents were not great; she discovered that when one night in year 5, she visited a friend’s for tea. She hadn’t even been nine, and seeing a table being laid, little cookies on a tea plate, and watching casual affection being passed so easily, felt like her skin was being stripped, and her dragged-up self was bare to the world.

But her brother had more than she did, regardless of what was happening with their mum and dad, Sara ensured Owen had hugs and cups of tea, she made sure he slept and ate breakfast, and nobody was taking him away from her.

Helen may have had a nice room and a soft smile, but this was not therapy; it was a game of chess, and Sara was playing to win.

She smiled and evaded. She told delightful stories of her and Owen at the park. She agreed school was stressful, and that exams worried her (she had to give Helen something). She exaggerated a funny story about her friend Tabi following Musa around at break time so she could "casually" bump into him. When she reached the punchline of Tabi tripping in front of Musa, she relaxed into the soft chair as Helen laughed.

She was winning.

But then Helen pursed her lips, and Sara felt the victory slipping through her fingers.

"You've told me a lot, thank you," Helen said gently, "but I can't help but wonder if there’s also a lot you’re trying hard not to tell me?"

Sara fought the urge to squirm. She held steady eye contact and stayed silent.

"That’s okay," Helen continued, unfazed. "You don’t have to tell me anything that doesn’t feel comfortable. But I wonder if it might help to share how you’re feeling, without telling me the details?"

She reached for something on a nearby shelf—a small stack of illustrated cards. The top one had tiny creatures dancing in a fire, which seemed odd to Sara.

"These are from a game, but I them differently than they were designed for," Helen said, handing them over. "Why don’t you flick through and see if any remind you of how you’re feeling right now?"

Sara hesitated. The expectation made her nervous, but curiosity won out. She picked up the cards, momentarily distracted by their strangeness. Were there babies in those lanterns?

The room fell into a comfortable hush, the only sound the soft swoosh of each card as she moved through the deck. Minutes passed. Helen said nothing. She didn’t press. The silence gave a strange reverence to the task.

After some time, Sara placed six cards on the table.

“This girl in the forest,” she said quietly, pointing at one, “she seems to be part girl, part tree, and confused by it.” Sara’s shoulders dropped slightly, and her voice softened. “I feel like this. I’m not sure which me is the real one.”

She stopped short. She couldn’t say more—not that she felt like a parent fighting to keep her child safe, then arriving at school to worry about paragraph structures and how many piercings looked cool.

Helen just nodded. “Hmmm.” And then looked back at the cards. No further questions.

Sara felt confused by this—but also safer. She pointed at the next card.

They went through all six, and when she finished, they both sat back at the same time.

“How do you feel?” Helen asked.

Sara blinked, assessing her body. Her shoulders had dropped. The fog in her head had lifted.

“I feel a bit lighter, actually,” she admitted. “Can we do these again sometime?”

The Power of Nonverbal Expression

For young people like Sara, traditional talk therapy isn’t always the right first step. Sometimes, speaking directly about painful experiences feels too risky. That’s why alternative approaches—like using visual storytelling tools—can provide a safer way to begin expressing emotions.

Therapeutic card decks, such as Dixit, allow clients to externalise emotions in a way that feels less confrontational. The imagery sparks conversation but on their terms. And crucially, it helps therapists tune into what’s left unsaid. If you choose to get some yourself, I suggest investing in the expansion packs - I have four sets myself and have created my photo cards to support this type of work.

There are many different types of therapy tools out there, and if you're interested in learning more, please let me know.