After a very public meltdown and coming to terms with the fact I wasn’t dealing with the death of my sibling in a healthy way, I finally started therapy. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (“CBT”) to be exact. CBT had been suggested to me previously for something seemingly unrelated (and in candid conversation which should have been a waving red flag I may not have been operating as well as I thought I was in the past).
I have several friends that have tried various forms of therapy over the years, and the general consensus was that it helped them. That said, none of them stuck with it longer than a few months before either deciding it wasn’t worth the cost, or it helped with whatever issue they had enough to get back to their regular lives.
I wasn’t confident therapy would work for me to begin with but if it did, I figured I would only be there for a couple months while I worked through my grief. Then I could go back to my (barely functioning) regular life like my friends had. It didn’t work out that way though.
Willingly sign yourself up for hell, then be mad about it
Talk about my feelings surrounding my dead little brother and get the fuck out was my goal…instead most sessions were and are, spent working through apparently related childhood trauma (fuck).
I went in thinking I would give therapy a try, it would likely fail but then I’d have the validation of knowing it didn’t work. I would then be able to try fixing things my way – like rejoining a kickboxing gym and punching things a couple times a week.
I’ve now tried both kickboxing and therapy and I can confirm that being punched and kicked would have been less painful then the shit I’ve had to talk through.
I was a willing participant initially, but the more sessions I had, the more there was to unpack and then that pushed me further away from my target of leaving. It felt like I was working backwards, not forwards. I began to dread every session.
The first sessions I had, I couldn’t even find the words to describe what I was feeling, and most the time was spent in uncomfortable silence. My brain would be moving a mile a minute trying to figure out what to say, while saying nothing and my body wanted to flee.
That is to say, I fucking hated therapy.
Introducing Coach T.
If I’m being honest, the first couple months were likely a waste of time and money. I went in guarded and skeptical each session, and left tired, hollow and cried out. I don’t want to deter anyone from seeking therapy, but if you go into it like me thinking its pointless and a waste of money, then it probably will be.
It wasn’t until my therapist brought up that what we were doing didn’t seem to be working for me, and we should investigate our options (ie. other therapists/discontinuing). That’s when shit hit the fan for me, and I scrambled.
I realized in that immediate second that if I didn’t figure out how to keep on with this therapist, I wouldn’t pick it up again. I couldn’t go through a new therapist and I didn’t want to face the feeling of rejection that would come from being fired from therapy.
Also, even though I dreaded therapy, and this should have been my easy out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that leaving would be the wrong decision. It was probably the first time in my life that acting on a gut feeling paid off.
(Note: unfortunately, no one will be able to appreciate the first draft of this hamster which looked like it was sucking a dick, not blowing a whistle)
I was able to convey (somehow, even though I was ugly crying the rest of that session) that I really needed this, and we had to be able to work something out. It was after that conversation that the therapist realized I was trying (in my own fucked up way) and we were just going to have to try something new.
We adopted more of a coach/athlete relationship vibe and things got better from there. Rather than be guarded in therapy, I approached it like training. I would be given tasks to work on after each session, but this time I actually fucking did them. Telling myself that I could do hard things became my mantra.
Even though some of the suggestions made me feel stupid, I learned that they actually did help (eventually). One of the most useful tools I learned was the act of reframing my mind when negative or intrusive thoughts came in.
As an example:
My inner voice was a mean and cruel bitch (we named her Meredith, another wild therapy thing, but whatever). The idea is, she isn’t me, so when she says shit you have to tell her to shut the fuck up and reframe it (my translation, clearly). So if I call myself a stupid bitch, or use negative internal (or external) language, the idea is to separate me from the thought and question if it’s helpful to think that way.
Obviously its not beneficial to think that way and you start catching yourself more and more. It sounds stupid… Ahem. I mean, it sounds a bit silly, but the more you do it – the less those negative thoughts creep in naturally.
Life still sucked, but less!
When I started taking therapy seriously, the negative thoughts and feelings still existed but I got caught in the negativity loop less, and the anxiety attacks slowed (but didn’t stop).
I was still very upset with everyone for living their lives normally. Still drinking too much on weekends. Still ridiculously, horribly, over the top filled with sadness about not getting to see my brother again, BUT, I was less unhinged.
A win I will gladly take, because previously I was a complete and total fucking mess of a human.
It’s been about a year and a half since I started therapy and although it’s far from over (I’ll probably need this shit for the rest of my goddamn life at the rate I’m going), I’m also far from where I started.
Some positives about therapy for me has been learning to redirect my mind when I get caught in a negative spiral. It’s impacted my relationships with my loved ones since I no longer shut down or get angry when I can’t convey my feelings.
Unfortunately, I still feel like absolute garbage after every session, but I guess when you go 30 years of never talking about your feelings and being told not to cry, doing those things forcefully is going to cause disruption to your life.
Slowly getting there
I’m still working through a lot of dark shit but each session has a little less tears and a few more verbal gold stars for my efforts (another therapy validation thing, but I’m told its important to take the little wins).
That said, therapy wasn’t the greatest thing I did for my mental health. While the benefits of therapy were good and will likely compound over time, I was still struggling a lot mentally at that point. My favourite things to aid in my mental health journey (and the GOAT in my opinion) didn’t come until more trial, error and two more life catalysts (life should actually be called Meredith it’s such a fucking bitch).
Since I’m a two steps forward, twelve step back kind of girl – the next thing I tried in relation to mental health went against logic and reason. It also went against what I had previously agreed to with my husband and promised we would never do. This little mental health hack almost ruined my marriage (I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t an affair).
Until next week!
Sincerely,
Sammy
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