The Day I Said Yes to Therapy

0

Mamas, we have all been there.  Maybe you are in this space at this very moment. You feel the weight of life pressing on your shoulders? Your positive energy is actually anxiety? You exhaust yourself not only solving your problems, but also absorb the problems of everyone else? You feel stuck? You are emotionally exhausted? Have you ever considered seeing a therapist? Maybe the thought has crossed your mind, but from a young age, we are taught to be “independent” and cope with the obstacles of life. We are taught that if we work hard enough, all will be well, and our mental health will stay in check. Sound familiar? Naturally, as moms, we are so focused on our children that we can’t fathom taking time to devote to our own mental health. Therapy can be expensive, requires vulnerability, time, and finding a therapist that meets your expectations can be a process. It requires faith and patience.  

When I turned 40, I grew up.  I was tired. I was tired of not knowing the real me.  I was tired of the tension I felt in my shoulders. I was tired of avoiding hard conversations that would potentially expose the root of my emotions.  I was tired of burying my feelings to prove I’m strong. I was tired of pleasing others to avoid conflict. I was tired of driving myself and those I love crazy with roller-coaster emotions. Many say turning 40 results in a mid-life crisis, yet for me it was the most powerful reality check! I was tired of talking about the “idea” of therapy. Less talk, more action! The baggage I carried for SO long was about to be unloaded. One bag at a time…

Rather than spending time researching, I reached out to my tribe and asked for a therapist recommendation. Initially, I was hesitant to admit I was a train wreck (aren’t we all?) and be raw. I didn’t have the energy to search for the right fit for me and trusted my closest mama friends. You see, most of my friends work with a therapist and that was empowering to me. I trusted them and they knew I needed help. So…I put on my “big girl panties” and made an appointment. I talked with my therapist by phone, and we set a date to meet. She called me and asked my goals and reason for reaching out for help. There was an immediate connection. Her voice was calm and confident. Little did I know that she would become one of “my people” in this messy life of mine.

This was a huge step and in many ways a leap of faith, so naturally I was nervous walking into her practice. She met me up at the front of the practice and extended her hand. My anxiety was high and rather than shaking her hand, I gave her a big hug. That caught her off guard, yet in a strange way, I think it calmed her nerves too. The first meeting is always the hardest. She walked me into her office space and it was simple and calming. She sat in across from me in her desk chair with a notepad, while I sank into the comfy leather couch across from her. She took copious notes and had a magical way of bringing out the truths’ of my heart. I spilled the beans, well as much as you can share with a stranger in an hour. She guided me and made it easy to let it all out…the good, bad, ugly, and confess to things I would admit only to myself.  

Mamas, the gift of therapy was not given to me, it was a gift I found on my own. Not only am I a better mom, wife, and friend, but just a better human in general. For over 15 years, I took anxiety medication and convinced myself that I was living my best life. In reality, I was fooling everyone who knew me and myself. When I surrendered from the exhaustion of holding it all together for years, the mask started to come off. One layer at a time, very slowly.  For me, therapy is the best form of medication. The thought of not having my “magic pill” made me panic and I vowed that I would take it forever.  

My world was rocked this year–by far the hardest times of my life. The term “my heart hurts” became my reality. My dad died after a heroic fight with cancer and my best friend died of breast cancer at 38 years old.  As a breast cancer survivor, the term “survivor guilt” can bring you to your knees. Sitting at Molly’s funeral felt beyond unfair. Why Molly? Why not me? Breast cancer is a part of my story, yet I buried it so deeply and became silent. Guess what happened amid the hardest season of my life?  I slowly weaned myself off the “magic pill.” To many, that seemed risky, yet I was ready to FEEL for the first time in my life. Really feel…

Medication was a blessing 15 years ago. My doctor knew me well and felt I needed it at that time in my life, and she was absolutely right.  Admitting and following through with medication is big. Making a choice under doctor supervision to wean off medication is big. By God’s grace and continued therapy, I am feeling very balanced and calm. It’s okay to feel anxious, sadness, loss, happiness in my own way. Therapy has armored me with this invisible toolbelt I wear with pride. You noticed I said toolbelt, not a fanny pack mamas. I’m too cool for that!  It’s full of coping strategies, calming techniques, reminders to breathe, and the confidence to be me…the real me. Of course, my toolbelt is also full of diapers, wipes, tissues, chew beads, books, balls, etc… That’s because I am a mama of two precious babes that need me…the real me.  ALL of me…