My journey with therapy has not been an easy one. It began when I was about 10 years old and had begun to experience major anxiety and separation issues from my parents. My grandmother’s death, combined with an ill-fated decision to go to a sleepaway camp, took the anxiety that I’d always had and amplified it, making it hard for me to function in my everyday life. I didn’t really recognize that what I was experiencing was anxiety – I had always had a lot of fears but I didn’t know why. I met with a child psychologist named Dr. Ho and she worked with me for close to a year, helping me develop strategies to combat my anxiety. Dr. Ho helped me to see that my anxiety was normal given the traumatic experiences I’d had and seeing her gave me skills to cope when my anxiety got the better of me. Slowly, my fears began to feel more manageable and I stopped seeing her.
When I was 14, I saw a social worker because my Dad had terminal cancer. I did not connect with this woman at all. She asked me stupid questions like “What is your biggest fear regarding your Dad’s illness?” (Um, that he’s going to die? Duh??) and ended up making me feel worse. After a few sessions, my parents and I decided she wasn’t helping and I stopped going. A few years later, I saw a different social worker following a bad breakup and it was more of the same. She would tell me that I needed to stop feeling certain emotions or thinking certain thoughts and made me feel like I was somehow weak for feeling the way I did. I stopped seeing her and gradually started to feel better on my own.
Fast forward to the summer after first year and I was in a bad place. I had been stuck in bed with mono for six weeks and I was depressed. We later found out that depression is often part of mono but at the time it was bewildering. Although I had always had anxiety, I had never been depressed before. The littlest things would set me off into crying fits and everything felt too hard to manage. I felt overwhelmed by my emotions and I couldn’t control them. It was like I was drowning – every time I managed to get close to the surface a current would come by and pull me back under.
My Mom and I decided that I needed help. I was resistant at first because some of my previous experiences hadn’t been great but at the same time was desperate for a solution so I could stop feeling so horrible all the time. After an ill-fated appointment with a psychiatrist who basically said that I wasn’t worth her time because I wasn’t bad enough to need medication, I met my current therapist, Kim. Unlike the previous social workers I have seen, Kim and I quickly connected. I can tell her anything that is bothering me and I never feel judged by her for the way I am feeling. Instead, she talks through issues and concerns with me and suggests ways that I might approach things. I’ve been seeing Kim for over a year and a half and I looked forward to our biweekly sessions.
I used to be embarrassed that I went to therapy. I thought that because I needed the extra support, there was something wrong with me and I was weak and abnormal. Nobody else I knew needed therapy as far as I knew – what made me different? I never told any of my friends or classmates that I was going to therapy. I always said that I had an appointment or I was sick. I was scared that if they knew the truth they would ridicule me and treat me differently. Now I know that I am not weak or abnormal for going to therapy – I am simply taking care of myself. For me, therapy is a form of self-care. Even if there is nothing major going on in my life or my anxiety is in check, I always feel much more grounded and better about life after a session with Kim and I am grateful to have her in my life.