If you voted no, and you got yes

I suspect that your underlying feeling may be fear rather than sadness. You wanted to remain British, but you’ve got independence, and I could speculate that you may be feeling forlorn and lost, not unlike the person who has been left behind in a relationship breakup. You didn’t want the breakup but you feel all the effects of it – not least the hurt. You will be worrying about how you will manage and you will resent having to worry about that, because had this breakup not happened, you wouldn’t have had to apply yourself to these new circumstances.

You may feel trepidation: you are leaving the familiar and stepping into the unknown. You might have more philosophical worries too: who are you now in your new single state? How has it changed your individual identity? How much of a country’s boundaries are a concept? Of course there is a physical boundary. Maybe the quality of the Tarmac will be different either side, but this doesn’t change who you are. Your background and culture will still be the same. You might be Scottish, not British, but you are still the same person.

For a while you may feel like a newly bereaved person, or a parent experiencing empty-nest syndrome for the first time, but life will unfold anyway and you will adapt to it. And if the infrastructure breaks down, you’ll have the satisfaction of saying: “I told you so.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Yes supporters gather in George Square, Glasgow. Photograph: Lynne Cameron/PA

If you voted yes, and you got no

Your experience may be similar to when we have a dream and we lose that dream. Whether the dream is a new house, a new relationship, a new country, there is a period of mourning to be got through. If you had a vision and it was nearly within your grasp, and then snatched away, a lot of the feelings you have are likely to be similar to when you lose a person who was important to you. First, denial: you might not be able to believe that the no vote won. This phase passes quite quickly, although you might exercise another kind of denial and minimise the importance that the vote occupied in your mind.

Then comes the “if-only” bargaining stage. If only we’d sorted the currency question; if only we’d campaigned more. If only we’d been less combative and more understanding towards the other side, they might have been more open to independence (both sides may experience the “if-only” stage). A close vote will make this “if-only” element more painful. Some of you may get stuck in this phase, hanging on to the idea that you had power over something you didn’t have power over. Next, anger (and disappointment is a repressed form of anger). I wonder if some of you will feel like a new adult whose parents talk to them as though they were still a child. I expect depression will affect many as well – there was additional engagement when the campaign was being fought; without that to bind and connect you, will you meet up less and not feel as energised? You’ve lost not only the vote, but the campaign, the momentum, the connection, the attention. Visits from a succession of Westminster bigwigs may make you feel that people have been interested in your opinion for the first time in your life. Things may seem too quiet suddenly. There will be pain to be worked through.The final stage of a grieving process is acceptance and peace and this is what I wish for the disappointed voters, whatever side they belong to.



Philippa Perry is a psychotherapist