Six months ago I started seeing a therapist.
Boy, for eight words, those sure took me a long time to type. Why has our society put such a stigma on asking for help? Why have we made it feel like failure to say, “Hey, I’m drowning in my own nonsense…can somebody please give me a hand here?”
Well, I for one am here to tell you that its not failure. Its success. Or at least the start of succeeding. For me at least, its part of the hard work that goes into being the best version of myself. Because despite what Instagram and Pinterest and every magazine tell us, life is not perfect and being our best takes effort. A shit ton of it.
So, for the past six months, once a week I’ve spent an hour telling an understanding, Ā unbiased, kind-hearted lady about my life. Its quite simple and yet it works. Its amazing how much just talking to someone can make you feel better. And then she reminds me of the other things I can do to stay that way. She reminds me to go to my yoga classes. And to breathe before I yell. That I have a choice in how I handle my feelings.
It helps me to let go of guilt and fear. It helps with how I see myself. It helps with how I see the world. It helps with how I treat my family.
It takes effort yes, but in doing so I find that I see the world more clearly. I’ve started to see every day as opportunity and an occasion. And then shut up and to rise to it.
I’m not sure why I’m finally writing this. Maybe because I’m angry that mental health discussions only get discussed after school shootings, or maybe to hold myself accountable to keep going, even when my to-do list is telling me to skip it. Mostly just to convince the world that its okay to go. Its okay to need help. Just ask.
