Through ‘psychology with a soul’ we can find inner peace and learn to live together, THEO PANAYIDES is told
A comfortable home on a quiet Strovolos side street, with photos of kids on the sideboards. There’s a welcome sign on the front door: “Live well … Love much … Laugh often”. Sue Lartides opens the door – blonde, coiffed, very elegant – and leads me upstairs to the small office where she does her counselling. I have a quick browse through the bookshelves while she gets a glass of water; most are books that relate to her work (she’s a psychosynthesis counsellor), mostly with titles like Romancing the Shadow: How to Access the Power Hidden in Our Dark Side. Also on the shelves is The Rainbow Journey by Brenda Davies – whose work Sue admires, and is keen to support as much as possible.
I don’t learn the full details of Davies’ philosophy; Brenda needs to speak for herself, says Sue piously (Brenda will be doing just that when she visits Cyprus next month, leading a series of workshops) – but the gist of it is that she combines the personal and political, the inner peace sought by individuals with the Cyprus settlement sought by successive governments for the past 40 years. “Brenda’s approach is dealing with the conflict within,” explains Sue. “I resonate with this, tremendously. If we can address the conflict within and find peace within ourselves, then we start to affect people we interact with, our community. We have that effect. But we have to start from within.”
Cypriots at peace with themselves will eventually foster peace in Cyprus, in other words. I make the obvious counter-argument: Greek and Turkish Cypriots have specific grievances and specific demands. Inner peace is all very well, but how can a refugee be happy if he doesn’t get his land back? “What makes us happy in life?” she replies rhetorically – which sounds a bit glib, but she has a point. In the end, contentment is all in the mind. Maybe the answer is to stop fixating on outside objectives and become conscious of “the self,” as she puts it. “The best we can do, Theo, is work on ourselves.”
After all, she’s not indifferent when it comes to the Cyprus problem. Sue isn’t a refugee herself – though her parents were building a house in Ayios Epiktitos, near Kyrenia, when the invasion took place – but it hardly matters: “I feel very, very strongly, very strongly, about what has happened here,” she tells me earnestly, adding that “I saw a lot during the coup”.She almost died, for one thing. She was in bed at her mother-in-law’s flat in Nicosia when her husband (then fiancé)’s cousin rushed in, warning her to get out. Sue scrambled to safety as the shooting started from outside – then went back a few minutes later to find the bedroom riddled with bullets. “Especially my bed,” she adds with a sheepish grin.
“I’ve never, ever known such fear,” she recalls of the invasion. Her face has a contemplative, rather patrician cast; her default expression – at least in interview mode – is a thoughtful concern, sometimes relaxing into a warm smile. “I’d never known what it is to have your mind working but your body paralysed. There’s no co-ordination. Your mind’s telling you to get the … out of there, but your body just won’t move”.
One assumes the trauma was partly due to the kind of person she was at the time, and the kind of childhood she’d had. She’s the younger of two sisters, born in London to a Greek Cypriot father (who’d moved to the UK as a teenager) and an English mother. It seems clear the family had money. Her dad was “a self-made man” and “a great philanthropist”; he owned a chain of small hotels, and opened the first German ‘bierkeller’ in London. Sue herself was educated in Switzerland – she studied French and Spanish, planning to become a conference interpreter – and describes herself as “well-travelled” by the time she was in her teens.
Did she have big dreams as an 18-year-old?
She laughs: “I don’t think I did have big dreams, actually. Probably got bigger dreams now!”
How would she describe herself? Was she bubbly, or morose?
“Oh no, I was never morose. I was bubbly. I was very active, I think I used to…” She lets the memory trail off, as if debating whether to toss it back in the mists of Time. “I think it was difficult for my mum to keep up with me, let’s put it that way.”
A picture emerges of a happy, unselfconscious, rather sheltered young girl who joined her parents on the move from the UK to Cyprus – an ill-timed move, since they started building their retirement home at the end of 1973. After a while, says Sue, she was getting restless and keen to go back to England – but then her sister had a birthday party “and that’s where I met my husband-to-be. I never, ever thought that I would live most of my life in Cyprus. I struggled in the beginning, living here, it was so very different – even though my father was Cypriot – so very different to what I was used to. But you know, the longer I live here, I have this great love for Cyprus. For the land, for the energy of Cyprus. And it hurts, I feel that I hurt with what happened here in 1974.”
That presumably explains why Brenda Davies’ work, a “new approach” to the Cyprus problem, speaks to her so strongly. It surely explains why Sue was active in a women’s bicommunal group, Hands Across the Divide, for six years (2000-06), Greek and Turkish Cypriot women meeting in Pyla – this was before the checkpoints opened – and trying to bridge their differences. “Then we had the referendum,” she recalls – and the ‘No’ vote, in her personal opinion, “was shattering for both sides of the group. And I slowly started to pull out of the group after that. I think a lot of us were quite disillusioned”.
Why did she join Hands Across the Divide in the first place? Here again her traumatic memories of 1974 play a part – because her elder son Andreas was in the army around that time (he’s now 33, putting Sue somewhere in her 50s; “Of course I had him when I was four and a half years old!” she protests), and thoughts of tensions between the two communities were preying on her mind. Andreas was on the Green Line, a more dangerous place at that time, with frequent low-level “incidents” between Greek and Turkish soldiers – and “I questioned as a mother how I’d brought him up, you know, to respect life, we don’t kill an ant or a fly just because it’s bothering us, and yet he was being taught how to kill, he was given a weapon!”. Sue was terrified that her son would “freeze” if he had to defend his own life, because of the way she’d raised him; “I felt I had created this agony within him”. It sounds a bit exaggerated (it’s not like National Guardsmen were getting shot on a daily basis), but her terror was real; she physically shudders at the memory. “I can still feel it now,” she says, and shakes her head. “I thought I’d worked through this…”
In fact, if there’s a word to describe Sue Lartides – or at least my brief impression of her – it might be ‘maternal’. “I believe the basis for everything is love,” she asserts at one point – then adds that she felt it most strongly when her sons went in the army, that fierce sense of loss (and love) as she drove away after dropping them off at the camp. Being a mother, she says, is “the most important thing a woman can do” (“I’ll probably get hammered by the feminists about that,” she adds with a chuckle) – though it’s also true that she felt something “missing” during her years of motherhood. “Basically, I needed to work. But I think it was also – I hope this doesn’t sound like a cliché – I think it was also a call to the self.” She went into psychosynthesis partly “for my own psychosynthesis”, her own self-development.
Psychosynthesis? How is that different from ordinary therapy? It does have its roots in psychotherapy, she replies, but Freudians “tend to work a lot with left-brain, which is analysis and looking at the problems” whereas “we work a lot with the right brain. We use meditation, we use gestalt therapy, we use imagery, drawing, music, movement” – tools that “bypass the intellect” to arrive at something else: “What I call the higher self, that all-knowing that is connected to the Divine, for me”. Her métier is often known as “psychology with a soul,” she explains. Sue started training in 1998 – and actually trained as a hands-on healer, at the College of Healing in Worcester, before switching to counselling.
Does that mean she also has a gift for hands-on healing? Sounds quite important, if so – but she doesn’t elaborate (“I don’t use it as such, let’s put it that way”). More significantly, perhaps, talking people through their problems – she deals with issues ranging from depression to menopause to bereavement to low self-esteem – fits her need to nurture and protect, that maternal vibe I mentioned earlier. After all, in addition to the counselling and bicommunal work, she also spent many years at the Association for the Prevention and Handling of Violence in the Family (initially as a volunteer on the help-line, then on the Board of Directors) and is also very passionate about animal welfare. There are two dogs in the house, a pug named Giuseppe and a frankly neurotic husky/terrier named Phoebe who yaps at me uncontrollably. Phoebe was rescued off the street, explains Sue, and must’ve been mistreated or attacked by people or other dogs. Phoebe has some issues. Then again, doesn’t everyone?
That’s the crux of it, as we sit in the comfortable house with birdsong filling the spring day outside. Everyone has problems, and everyone can make themselves better – partly with the help of someone like Sue Lartides, someone who believes in “empowerment” and “helping the voice that is maybe not strong enough, or maybe needs help to be heard”, but mostly just by looking within, becoming conscious of themselves. “If people can get to know themselves,” she urges, “get to know their essence, the centre, that part of them that is never wavering, it’s always there … If people learn to connect to that, that’s their guiding light”.
Sue also struggles to know herself, to become conscious, to connect with her essence. Her biggest challenge, she explains, has been to “recognise what is mine, as opposed to what I’ve been taught or how I’ve been influenced by role models in my life”. Like everyone, she seems to be trying to rebel against childhood certainties, to expand her definition of herself. Which aspect of her personality needs the most work? I enquire indiscreetly – and her face grows even more patrician, a certain hauteur tingeing her elegant features. Long pause: “I think that’s a very … personal question”.
Sue Lartides has a good life. She swims, she meditates, she sings in a choir (“It’s fun. It feeds me”). She has her dogs, her family, the big house in Strovolos. Some may dismiss her anxieties as ‘First World problems’ – but maybe one reason why so many people are unhappy (and why we haven’t come close to solving the Cyprus problem in 40 years) is precisely because so few people share her anxieties, or care as deeply about finding themselves and improving their energy. Positive energy breeds positive feelings, she insists; there’s a ripple effect. We can dwell on resentments and grievances – but at the end of the day we’re all the same, born with a link to the “all-knowing” and an innate understanding of what truly matters in life: Live well. Love much. Laugh often.