There, I said it. I go to therapy once or twice a month, totally by choice. Do I think I am broken? No. Do I think I need to learn new tools that I do not possess? Yes. Am I ashamed of my need for therapy? Absolutely not.
My history with therapy goes way back. During my parents’ divorce, they enrolled me in therapy to help ease my emotional load. After lying to my therapist for several visits about how happy I was, I finally lost it. Over laundry. I sobbed over the need to do my own laundry just the way I wanted. I didn’t want any help. This session led a few amazing months of therapy where I learned some great coping tools for stress. I soon went to college out of state and therapy was not a priority. I had an amazing college experience loaded with support and didn’t feel the need for therapy.
Fast forward a few years and here I stand, two small kids, a spouse that travels frequently for work, and a newly diagnosed health condition that causes me a decent amount of misery. After the birth of my second child, I was determined to prove to myself that I had it all together, just as I had in my teens. I attempted to do it all around the house, trying to be super mom and super wife, all day, every day. And then, I cracked. That sinking feeling that had been haunting me for months quickly enveloped me. One minute I was talking to my husband and the next I couldn’t breathe. I was sobbing so hard I was gasping for air. My tears lasted for hours. All of the fears that I had been holding in came out at once and I realized that I needed help, more than what my husband or mom-friends could offer.
The next day I called our insurance and set up an appointment with my new therapist. I have been seeing her for the past six months. I look forward to our appointments. We don’t have any set agenda or goals, I go just to talk. I talk about my fears about my children and my concerns for the world around us. I talk about relationships with those around me because I need a sounding board, a third party, to help me digest. And sometimes, I talk about seemingly nothing, a simple moment of frustration I had that wasn’t an issue at the time but has been bothering me.
Don’t get me wrong, I have an amazing life. I live close to my wonderful family, I have an insanely supportive mom network, my husband rocks, and my kids are awesome. But life overwhelms me sometimes. I agonize over seemingly simple decisions. My therapist helps me to dissect my life- the good, the bad, and the ugly. She has taught me the importance of self care.