This is the essay “Meanings Behind the Words: A Tribute to Petrūska Clarkson” published in the magazine of United Kingdom Association for Transactional Analysis UKATA Summer 2026
I first encountered the name Petruska Clarkson in Kyiv, Ukraine, in 2003, during my early training in transactional analysis. Alongside foundational figures such as Eric Berne, Claude Steiner and others great specialists, her name remained in my memory.
Two things made her name memorable to me from the very beginning.
The first is a little anecdote: her name was pronounced by the Russian speaking trainer exactly like the Ukrainian and the Russian word for parsley sounds — petruška. Only much later did I learn that the original pronunciation in English is slightly different.
The second and the most important thing stayed with me was Clarkson’s understanding that the quality of the therapeutic relationship is itself one of the central healing factors. This idea resonated deeply and has accompanied me throughout my professional development — from my early training in Ukraine to my current work as a psychologist and couples therapist in Germany where I have been living since 2006.
Over the years, I have come to realise that this principle is most clearly put to the test not when therapy goes smoothly, but when something in the therapeutic relationship does not go as desired.
A recent clinical moment illustrates this.
During a session, a German speaking client — whom I will call Nina — spoke about the difficulties she was experiencing in her marriage. She felt torn between her desire for closeness and her fear of appearing needy or demanding, as her mother was in her eyes. She felt stuck and closed within her communication with her husband and wanted to develop more openness, intimacy and spontaneity with him. We worked with decontamination and explored her need for recognition as legitimate. We also discussed strokes and the stroke economy shaping the emotional distance in the relationship.
At some point, I noticed a subtle shift. Nina, who had been open and engaged with me, suddenly appeared withdrawn. When I invited her to reflect on what she was feeling, she initially named sadness. With some support, she recognised that there was also irritation — triggered by something I had said.
I felt bad for a moment. I always strive to be extremely careful and precise with my choice of words — this is my ambition and it helps me to be effective and receive good feedback on my work all these years long, despite the fact that German is not my mother tongue.
I apologised for triggering that unwanted emotional reaction in her and for not choosing my words more carefully. However, the emotional tension had not completely gone away. So I asked her what would help her feel better. She seemed to be stuck again and after a pause, I offered her something simple and human: a hug. She accepted immediately.
As I held her, I spoke quietly and slowly, acknowledging both her feelings and my wish to repair the moment:
“I’m sorry. I used the wrong word because I misjudged how vulnerable you were at that moment. It shouldn’t have happened. It makes me feel bad and I’d like to put things right. You can tell me how long you’d like me to hold you and when it would be enough for you.”
Gradually, I could feel a change. When I opened my arms, I saw another face. Nina looked relieved.
Later, she described this as a “mighty moment” and a turning point — a moment in which I was not experienced as an expert, but as a person who was present, fallible and responsive.
For me, this experience reflects what I have come to understand as the lived essence of Clarkson’s contribution. The therapeutic relationship is not only a medium for interventions; it is a dynamic field in which rupture and repair are themselves transformative.
At the same time, integrating this perspective continues to raise questions. How much personal presence is appropriate? Where are the boundaries of relational responsiveness? And how do we remain both authentic and ethically grounded in moments of spontaneity?
These questions remain alive in my work — and perhaps this ongoing inquiry is itself part of Clarkson’s legacy.
Lena Kornyeyeva
