When I think back, the first year of my journey in therapy consisted of me awkwardly staring at my therapist and attempting to make painful small talk pass the one-hour block of time we shared each week. I remember I was embarrassed to cry in front of her at first. I was afraid of being told that I was being dramatic or that my problems were meaningless. I feared judgment. I feared to be vulnerable. However, at the same time, I so desperately wanted help. I so desperately needed help.
I didn’t know how therapy worked and it’s not easy opening up to a stranger. It’s downright uncomfortable at times. Every breathing technique she showed me and every guided meditation CD we listened to, was met with resistance because I couldn’t see how they would help me in the long run.
However, therapy only works if you’re willing to be open and it took me a while to understand that. Once I did, I realized my therapist was on my side. She was there to listen to my problems, no matter how insignificant or crazy sounding they might have been, and to help me work through them in a healthy and beneficial way. She was trying help me get better and it wasn’t going to work if I was not willing to push myself out of my comfort zone.
I spent most my second year in therapy incoherently sobbing through every session. I had no idea how to properly communicate what I was feeling, but it progressed. She started to challenge me too. She made me explore deeper into certain thoughts and negative behaviors that I had. It could be incredibly draining. I would sometimes cancel appointments because I didn’t have enough energy to have those conversations.
Looking back now, I realize that those conversations were necessary for me to grow. I needed to confront things in order to move past them. Every appointment I attended, I came out of it a little bit stronger. Even if all I did was ugly cry the entire time, I was still growing and learning more about myself.
It got more comfortable as time went on. It became easier for me to identify what I was feeling, communicate it and then apply the techniques that my therapist had given. I became more self-aware and motivated. Suddenly, therapy didn’t seem as scary. My therapist was no longer a stranger, she was a friend.
I’ve been in therapy for almost seven years now. It’s unbelievable how far I’ve come during that time. I don’t know what my life would have been like if I didn’t get the help when I needed it; I honestly don’t even know if I would have had a life at all with the rate I was going.
Even though I may still struggle with mental illness, I am now the one in control of my life. Not my anxiety. Not my depression. Me. I have learned to advocate for myself and to navigate through the rough days. I have learned to live again.
Going to therapy doesn’t make you weak, it makes you brave; it makes you strong. There is nothing wrong with needing help. Therapy can be uncomfortable, challenging and scary, but in the end, it is so incredibly worth it.
