I had only just started seeing clients as part of my initial counselling training when the first Covid lockdown happened. I was only six weeks in in fact. I had no experience using video conferencing at the time, and suddenly I was plunged into the world of Zoom. College sessions moved onto Zoom, and we had to get used to this new way of relating as a training group. I enrolled on an intensive, 80 hour training focused on counselling remotely; both over the phone and via video conferencing software. After a pause of a few weeks, I felt confident to start seeing my clients again over Zoom.

So in terms of remote counselling, it was a baptism of fire. When I started my training, I had no intention of doing anything other than working in the room with clients. But the pandemic left me with no choice.

I found myself surprised by how similar it felt, holding sessions over Zoom, as it had in those first few weeks I’d started holding sessions face-to-face. It didn’t take me long to settle into the rhythm of it. And although I had to be very thoughtful and intentional about confidentiality, about holding sessions from my personal space and not getting client material tangled up in my home; everything I had been learning at college about how to be a counsellor seemed to work just as well over Zoom.

My college lessons, however, felt very different. I was in the final stage of my counselling training, having lessons at college once a week. We would sit in a circle, from 10.00am until 2.00pm, exploring counselling theory, as well as our own self development. We would split off into small groups of three to practice counselling together, and we would do experiential exercises to facilitate our own process of self-awareness and self-acceptance.

Suddenly, all of my peers were just boxes on a screen, a grid of faces, all in our own separate spaces. The conversation felt different, that flow between us seemed more elusive. People would speak over each other, feel awkward, not know when to step in. We also lost all of those beautiful and special moments of connection, queueing up in the canteen for a cup of tea at the same time, all those minutes before the session started where we would chat just incidentally to one another in two or threes. Now suddenly anything you said had to be said in front of everybody.

But we managed it, somehow. We talked it all through, the awkwardness, the fear around coronavirus, our concerns about holding client sessions remotely. Later on in my training, the world opened up again, and I got back to a mix of face-to-face and Zoom sessions. My training group all adjusted to this new and unexpected way of relating to one another, and in fact it was my peer relationships with my fellow trainees which helped me through.

Ever since those early days of the pandemic, I have known that I find groups over Zoom very difficult. But I couldn’t quite articulate exactly what it was that was having an impact on me.

When I got my autism diagnosis a few years ago, I was part-way through my masters training, which I had joined after qualifying as a counsellor. It made me stop and explore so many of my experiences, which I had ignored, extinguished, tried to change about myself. It made me reflect on my relationship with eye contact. Eye contact, it is well known, can be difficult for autistic people. For me it can feel that I am being perceived in a way which is intense or exposing. I personally am able to make and maintain eye contact, although I nearly always have to look away while I think and speak. In one-to-one sessions eye contact feels good, gentle, connecting. But in a group I have to moderate how much eye contact I receive from others.

When you're all in the room together, sitting in a circle, if I feel eye contact might be difficult, I won't speak up. However if it feels manageable I will speak up and I usually feel completely comfortable to be looked at by the other group members while I formulate my thoughts. The difficulty with groups over Zoom, is that I never know when I am being looked at. I can't tell whose eye contact is turned towards me, I don't know who is perceiving me at any given moment. I have become aware that in order to maintain a certain level of energy, I need to spend at least some of the time in a group feeling that I am not being perceived, feeling that I do not have to mask, feeling that the vigilant part inside my head who fears being judged can stand down. When I'm looking at tiles on the screen, I feel the need to be “on”, masked, in at least some small way, for the duration of the time.

But I do still experience moments of connection with other group members – it just has to be more explicit. I can’t rely on someone knowing I’m looking at them, I have to respond verbally for them to know; and I need the same back from others. These moments can tether me in and help me feel grounded and connected.

It is the unknown eye contact aspect of groups over Zoom that I am still finding ways to manage. I can be present, but I know that I will have to refill my cup afterwards with solitude, self-care, things that I find comforting and nurturing. I have to be aware of my energy levels.

This isn't the same for all autistic people, and I never claim to speak on behalf of the autistic community as a whole, as all of our experiences are so individual and unique. But I wonder if the things I've said here resonate with anyone else, autistic or otherwise, about the difference between one-to-one and groups on Zoom?