This morning I set my alarm for half past four, and was out of the house before dawn. Not for work, but to go to a slaughterhouse in East London. I was going to bear witness to a truck carrying a cargo of broiler chickens.
Last year, I completed my second course in play therapy—a type of counseling for children in which they express themselves autonomously through play. These courses, and the journey that led me to them, have been pivotal for me in terms of the person I am and the person I want to be. They made me confront and assess parts of me that it’s likely I would never have come into contact with otherwise.
I have been thinking a lot about consent lately; it’s become a bit of a buzzword and that’s no bad thing.