I used to be in therapy.
Yes, I saw a counselor for seven and a half months.
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It began as every week for a few months, then morphed into every other week towards the end of my time with her.
Wednesday afternoons I would hop in my car, drive to her office, sit on the couch and just talk.
When I first made the decision to go get help, it was in the aftermath of one of the darkest times in my life. I had been through a few different friendships and relationships that left a pile of insecurities and self-loathing. It felt like a dark hole that I could not seem to crawl out of. There were hurt feelings and blank stares and a moment of realizing that I could not cope with my life. If we are incredibly honest, there were moments where the thought of suicide entered my brain. I do not think I would have planned or acted on it, but there were moments where aching became so incredibly loud in my ears that I felt a little mad.
I loathed that I was not strong enough to just push through. Never would I ever think of someone as less than for getting help, heck, advocating for counseling for my loved ones was not an unheard of idea. Yet, for me personally, to get help was to say that I was not put together.
It took three weeks of forcing myself to walk in and sit on her couch before I was semi-okay with going to counseling. As I told one of my professors, it was “like going to the dentist,” something that I knew was good for me, but I did not want to do.
My therapist, we will call her “Grace,” was awesome. The woman every single week listened to me talk about all of my crap. When I cried, she would subtly nudge the tissues towards me and let me sob and choke out more words. I cried most every session that I had with her. I am sure that to those walking down the street I looked like a crazy person leaving her office with my reddened face and sniffly nose.
It took a bit of time and showing up week after week. Through the work that Grace and I did, I figured out that I have quite a few good qualities buried under my hot mess of a person. For example, my heart is able to forgive, see the good and work to build a bridge, something that Grace said was a rarity. Yet, in therapy, I learned that self-care was not prominent or utilized in my life and often would become my downfall. I had to learn that it was okay that I sometimes wanted to be alone, or that emotions are not terrible things. I learned that emotions are there to tell us something and direct us. We cannot bottle them up because otherwise, they are just unreleased energy that has the potential to expand and multiply.
Grace ended up going on maternity leave, and it was a good thing because I felt as if for the first time maybe ever I had found a handle on my life. After months and months of talking and working hard to become healthy and have healthier relationships, I sensed that I was ready to stand on my own
It has been two months and these days I am feeling pretty good about life. It is not at all to say that I will never need counseling again, because again, let me reiterate, I am still quite the hot mess of a human. Rather, I look forward to continuing to not only be the most mentally healthy that I can be, but to also be an open book for any person that is thinking about getting help.
On a closing note, let me encourage you and say that therapy is not for the weak. Rather, therapy and getting help is for the brave. To say that life is tough and the world is a bit murky is a sign of strength. You are amazing; the current present is not the end. You are not alone. My door is always open if you want to talk about any of this. Oh and yeah, you are completely loved and adored.
