Content warning: This article discusses self-harm. Walking into my school’s counseling center, after stopping therapy the year prior, I felt lost and terrified: I had just come back to school after taking a gap semester due to financial difficulties, and for the seven months leading up to this therapy session, I was in a deep hole when it came to my mental health, with no hope of return. But I needed help. And despite my previous traumas associated with therapy, showing up that day was one of the best decisions I ever made.
I previously gave therapy a shot during the fall 2024 semester, and my first go-around wasn’t what I expected. I went in thinking that I would come out cured and cheerful — but instead, it made me feel even worse about myself. The therapist that I was paired with was easy to talk to, but as our sessions grew over the semester, they started to become pointless. I felt like my worries weren’t addressed directly, so I started to hold more things in — and the resources that were supplied to me felt more like “homework” rather than guidance. I started to cancel appointments, because what was the point?
What made it even worse was that my therapist believed that I no longer needed sessions due to my “progress” — little did they know, I was still suffering deeply, but too afraid to let it out due to their absence of care. And, because of that, I no longer cared.
Because of my previous experiences with therapy, getting help was something that sat in the back of my head during the entire gap semester, and something I didn’t act on for months.
So, when I took a gap semester in spring 2025, I didn’t have the tools to cope healthily. I not only questioned if I would be able to return to school to graduate in four years, but also if I would ever be happy again. Because of my previous experiences with therapy, getting help was something that sat in the back of my head during the entire gap semester, and something I didn’t act on for months: Truthfully, I felt scared — but sometimes, a part of me felt optimistic about returning someday.
I returned to school in August 2025 on two scholarships with a student assistant job (that I love dearly) and a wonderful group of friends who missed me. I felt like I should’ve been the happiest person in the world. (Wrong!) After a couple of weeks of being back in school, I felt misplaced and uncertain about my future. I even started to question myself if I was really deserving of being back in school. Though I had overcome it in a sense, that period of my life left a permanent scar — one that will take years to heal.
Therapy kept popping up in my head, and it continued to scare me. What if I were matched with another therapist who doesn’t see me? Who doesn’t understand me? What if all of my problems that I’ve gone through no longer mattered? These worries became too much, and I shortly relapsed into my old self-harm habits. I couldn’t confront my demons head-on because I was taught that being a fighter and keeping my emotions to myself was socially acceptable — showing any sign of emotion meant that I was weak, undisciplined, and unmotivated.
However, I knew that what I was doing was harmful, and I decided to go back to the counseling center and give it another chance.
My first session with a new therapist was instantly different. Right away, he was someone who assured me that what I went through wasn’t my fault and understood the pain behind my trauma. I remember telling him all of the things that I wanted to achieve, but failed at. As I started to open up, I realized that all of the hurt that I suffered from due to long-term effects of bullying and self-hatred was eating me alive. I no longer wanted to hate myself. I no longer wanted to seek validation. I wanted to love myself. I wanted to start putting myself first.
It felt good to finally be able to stand up for myself and have a voice, and to finally say that “I love myself” and actually mean it felt empowering.
Eventually, I broke down in tears, and I felt weak. But, in my therapist’s eyes, it was a sign of strength. He let me know that, in that moment, I needed to cry. I needed to let everything that I’ve held in for years out. After that session, I made a promise to myself to continue with therapy to see where it would take me mentally, and to not physically harm myself again.
As our sessions grew throughout the school year, I’ve noticed many changes in myself. First, I caught myself putting my needs first before anybody else’s, and I started writing self-affirmations in post-its to put on my bedroom walls — things that I’ve never done before. It felt good to finally be able to stand up for myself and have a voice, and to finally say that “I love myself” and actually mean it felt empowering.
Therapy showed me the real meaning of self-love, of showing up for myself. In times when I wanted to give up, I knew that I could talk about it with my therapist. Even in times when I experienced success but didn’t feel proud of myself, I was still able to confidently bring it up in sessions. Although my first try at therapy didn’t go too well, I knew that I needed to do what was right for my mental health — and showing up allowed me to do that.
Showing up consistently for sessions, even during weeks when not much was going on, kept me on a track of self-improvement and awareness. I always felt at ease after leaving sessions, because I knew that I was using my voice as a tool to stand up for what I’ve been through. Before giving therapy a second chance, I considered myself broken. But now? I’m still going, and that’s enough.
If you or someone you know is seeking help for mental health concerns, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website, or call 1-800-950-NAMI(6264). For confidential treatment referrals, visit the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) website, or call the National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP(4357). In an emergency, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK(8255) or call 911.