Why I Started Therapy

Oct 13

In today’s world, it is not uncommon to hear that someone is seeing a therapist. From celebrities to friends, it seems that society is beginning to shift towards the normalization of taking care of your mental health.

Still, there is that lingering stigma that sways people away from seeing a therapist. That is it weak to talk about your emotions, not beneficial, a waste of time. For others, perhaps there isn’t at all stigma; it is just that they do not think that therapy would be their thing.

Like many of you, I thought that, too. I am a pretty reserved person in general; I have been told many, many times that I don’t show emotion. So, the probability that I would talk to people close to me about my feelings? Pretty low. The probability that I would talk to a therapist? An impossible task.

Of course, things have changed since then; my mental health has changed, and with that, my presumptions towards seeing a therapist have changed. Now, I partake in a few variations of therapy on a weekly basis which, to some people, might sound like I am on the brink of a mental breakdown— I am not. I guess I am just trying to become more aware of what goes on inside my head.

But how did that happen? How did I go from a person who hated revealing emotions to a person who talks to a therapist about it on multiple occasions throughout the week?

Well, first, I should admit that not much has changed on the inside. I am still that girl who does not reveal too much about herself, even to her loved ones. Why? I guess it could be because I have not been that person for my entire life; that’s almost 21 years. Although I really do try to open myself up to others, it is not like I can flip a switch and become an open book within the span of a year.

But still. I do go to therapy where I do talk about feelings.

So, why did I start going to therapy?

I am going to assume that many of you know the story by now, but if not, here we go:

Being in your comfort zone is, well, comfortable, and that was where I was in high school. That did not mean that I did not want to graduate. Lord knows I did. But part of me was reluctant to move on, mainly because I was going to community college, somewhere I did not want to be at all, somewhere that most of my close friends were not going to. I was scared to be alone.

Needless to say, freshman year hit hard. I had a rough time coping with the emptiness of not having close friends nearby, not having a schedule with sports, clubs and activities, and not having the comfort of knowing those around me; and by ‘rough time,’ that means I developed depression and anxiety which triggered an eating disorder, self-harming behavior and suicidal thoughts.

Still, I managed. Of course, I did reach out to a few people here and there. They tried to help me the best that they could. But I continued to suffer in silence, refusing to seek help for a year.

Then, there came a time where I did not want to be the way that I was any longer. I could see that it was destroying the relationships around me, that people were beginning to notice that something might be wrong, and I could see that the path I was heading down was not a path that led to sunshine and fairy dust.

However, even then, it took me months to pluck up the courage to ask for help. I was terrified to reach out to my parents and ruin that I-am-a-perfect-daughter image I had tried to portray for 18 years.

But I did it, and it was in that moment of asking that I began tip-toeing down another path, the path of regaining self-control.

What prevented me from seeing a therapist was fear— fear that what was happening was not real, fear of being openly vulnerable, fear that nothing would happen.

But what I have learned from seeing a therapist since then is that that fear is normal, and it can also be temporary.

To be honest, after I had reached out to start seeing a therapist the first time, I had regrets. I hated myself for not being able to manage this, and I dreaded the predicted discomfort of having to talk about these things, things that I had invested a majority of my energy in to keep hidden.

I also hated the sudden attention. People asking if I was okay, if I needed to talk about it, if I knew that I was loved. I disliked, and still do, being in the spotlight like that. I did not want people to think I was this fragile thing that needed fixing.

But, alas, I knew what needed to be done, and from what I understood, therapy was the place to start. I mean, I had always heard how great it was for you, how beneficial it could be to your health even if you were not diagnosed with a disorder.

So why not give it a go?

Hesitant but willing to try, I went, and, well, the amount of discomfort seemed to outweigh the progress I was making. Long story short, I stopped going after a handful of sessions, and with that, I vowed that maybe therapy just “wasn’t my thing” and that I could handle this solo now that my friends and family were there to support me.

Well, a year later, and here I am, seeing a couple of therapists. I guess with that you could say that it is not the painfully uncomfortable thing I once thought it was.

First, I have to admit, to those of you who do not like the idea of talking about their emotions— therapy is uncomfortable. There have been many, many times where I have cried driving to, during and driving back from therapy, just because of the anxious feelings that seem to arise on the days of appointments.

However, what I can say is this— it gets easier.

The first few times I went to therapy were unfulfilling which may have been the reason I stopped going for awhile. I had expected so much from it; I expected to feel a sense of relief from getting things off of my chest, because that was what I was told therapy would do. I mean, I was there, wasn’t I? I was there, talking about what was going on. Shouldn’t I have been feeling better?

What I know now is that you get out what you put in and that you cannot expect progress to happen overnight.

For the first couple of sessions with my first therapist, my expectations were not in the right place. I just talked about my issues to speed through the process of being uncomfortable about being open. I did not allow myself to become immersed in talking about it, to find out why I was feeling to this and what I could do. Instead, I counted down the hour as I gave my therapist a lot of “I don’t know” answers. It is no wonder why I left feeling unfulfilled.

However, now that I am seeing different therapists a year later, talking about these issues has become easier than the first time I talked about it, because I have realized how much effort you really need to put in towards your mental health in order to see a degree of improvement. I continue to feel uncomfortable, yes, but it has gotten better, and I know now that taking care of my mental health is more important to me than that fear of being uncomfortable.

Also, talking about your problems does relieve that pressure of keeping things bundled up inside. I tend to feel a bit mentally exhausted afterwards, which to me, means that it is working. Since I am the kind of person to internalize things, it feels good to get it out of my system in a healthy way, a way that does not make me feel guilty for burdening someone. My therapist does not just listen to what is going on but answers my questions and guides me in the right direction. It has helped me try to see a situation not as a final destination but as an opportunity to grow.

A lot has changed since the first time I saw a therapist. I am now beginning to understand what is at the root of all of these depressive feelings which is something that I was able to learn by continuously seeing a therapist. I am also starting to realize how much I do not give myself credit for, how much I have gone through but have managed to remain passionate about living.

So yes, therapy is uncomfortable. It is not easy to talk about your feelings.

But I will tell you this— mental health takes work. A lot of it. It is something that you need to put energy towards every day— but it is an important area to focus your energy on. Because taking care of your mental health is not something you can stuff away into the corner to take care of at a later date. It is not a “I’ll do it tomorrow” task.

Instead, taking care of your mental health should be a top priority, especially if you are someone in the midst of young adulthood. Trying to figure out your future, undergoing stress from school work, juggling extra curricular activities, dealing with feelings of loneliness— these are years that can be tasking on our minds.

Even you think that therapy would not be your thing, understand that it is okay to see a therapist. There is no shame in talking to a professional to get through some of the toughest years of your life. You must do what you can to provide yourself with the best life, because we are really only on this earth once.

Also understand that you will be able to survive seeing one. Like I said, there is discomfort. But your mental health needs to be prioritized over that fear of opening up, and there can be peace found within taking care of yourself.

Your friend,
Jane