What Therapy Has Taught Me.

Ignorance is an enemy, even to its owner. Knowledge is a friend, even to its hater. Ignorance hates knowledge because it is too pure. Knowledge fears ignorance because it is too sure. —- Sri Chinmoy.

Recently, I read that therapy is a way to help people deal with a wide range of mental illnesses, emotions, or life in general. From all indications, it involves sitting with a social worker, psychologist, or psychiatrist to go over your innermost thoughts and concerns. 

As I read several articles and posts on the internet, I thought, “I have not been diagnosed with any mental disorders and everything seemed to be intact from the outside, so how can I explain to people that I feel unhappy and worthless even though I graduated top of my class and have all my immediate needs met by my family? 

My elder sister Veronica thinks it might be because I am ungrateful for the things I have in life that others are still striving for. She maintains that my moodiness is my childish attempt at getting attention. I love my sister but she has an undesirable knack for speaking about things she knows very little or nothing about. If she paid any attention, she would know that I don’t want to be seen by anyone, let alone get attention. I just want to be left alone. 

I’ve tried talking with my grandma, I hoped she would know something that age has mischievously hidden from me. It turned out she does not because she told me the same thing a million other people have told me before. She said to draw closer to God because my joy and strength lie in him. My Father thinks I’m too emotional and can’t handle the small troubles of life. He blames my melancholic countenance on what he describes as my lack of emotional intelligence. 

In one of the articles, I learned that therapy gives people a safe outlet to talk about their lives and struggles, but I wondered if it could be done without bias and judgment. In fact, where do I begin to find a professional therapist without breaking the bank? 

This was the thought that ran through my mind as I fiddled with my phone, trying to reach Maureen, my bestie. She answered and we exchanged pleasantries. When she heard how indifferent I sounded, she asked if I was feeling unwell. At first, I didn’t want to answer truthfully because it seemed as though I was never in a good mood no matter when we talked. I didn’t want to be a burden dragging down our relationship to collapse. So we were both silent for what felt like a while but could have only been a few seconds. Maureen, getting all the answers from my silence, asked if I had eaten. She reassured me that I was not alone and that she was there for me. This brought some calm to my racing mind.

Just being reminded that I wasn’t alone or judged for being sad elevated my spirit in ways I didn’t think were possible. Soon after, we planned how we would hang out the next day as I had been indoors all week. She made a joke, I had a good laugh, and we ended the call excited.

I wondered what it would be like to talk to a professional that feel as safe as Maureen, someone trained to help people like me. There is a chance that I might get my mind and self back. I was going to finally meet my depression head-on. I realised that the more I ignored it and the worse it got. I could not continue to pretend that the outbursts were normal or the pain was just what a bad day feels like. I researched and wrote complex, mind-bending term papers. Surely, I could commit more time to research and seeking out solutions to my depression.

Now that I’m in therapy, I realised now that nothing could have ever prepared me for the experience. My first shock was how therapy seeks to help channel your inner turmoils and challenge the root cause of the issue rather than offer the self-soothing, palliative measures I was used to. 

Therapy has opened my mind to a whole new perspective to assess my struggles. Now, thanks to therapy, I can take a step back and evaluate what is worth worrying about.

I know now that my voice is essential. Airing my view and how I feel about things is calming, rather than bottling up. Speaking up in the nick of time is a vital lesson I learned in therapy. Taking time to figure out what I love and am passionate about.

What’s more, I figured out that therapy is not a one-time cure for depression. These things can take time and that’s okay. I’m learning to be mindFUL rather than mindFULL. Taking time to meditate is like taking inventory of your thoughts and storing them where they fit. Mindfulness brings me back to the present and helps me appreciate and enjoy the small things that life often brings my way.

Moreover, I have established boundaries and explained them to my family and friends. My boundaries are necessary for determining how people treat me and anyone who finds it annoying might not mean well to me. I love my life now. I want to shine in every moment and never have to dull my light or make myself small. Because of therapy, I can now analyze my emotions, put a name to them, and apply healthy techniques to deal with them. 

Whatever I feel is not unique to me, and silence will only aggravate it. Connecting with others through sharing pain, empathising, and encouraging others to seek therapy as a healthy option for depression and other mental disorders is now my lifelong pursuit. 

As long as you live here on Earth, you will definitely have your highs and lows. No one experiences joy throughout. There is nothing wrong with preparing for the low and rainy days. Find a solid support system, attend conferences and seminars promoting mental health awareness, and get involved in your local community because mental health matters.