” another friend texted me this summer after I confided in her. As counseling for mental illnesses has become more commonplace and spoken about, I’ve discovered that many of my friends are now seeing therapists and slip the word In one of my final sessions with Dr. He said it was mere coincidence that I walked into his office all those years ago as the niece of one of his former patients. “I didn’t know he died until you told me,” he said, teary-eyed. He wasn’t proud of his actions.” I couldn’t blame my uncle for doing drugs or for living in shame when I had felt the same way.
It was one of the first times I entertained the idea that therapy didn’t make me an outsider if cool kids went too.
While my parents supported me and went to tremendous lengths to help me manage my anxiety, they advised I forgo telling my classmates about my weekly visits.
If everyone had the same education, the inequality of income would be reduced by less than 10%.
When you focus on education you neglect the myriad other factors that determine income.
Whenever I arrived, I’d ring the doorbell, escort myself into the waiting room and enter his office only when I saw the shadow of the previous patient disappearing down the staircase, just as he’d instructed me during our first session. Over the years, scheduling conflicts would occur and I’d run into other therapy-goers in the slivered hallway.
When that happened, I’d hang my head low to avoid eye contact, like I was in trouble.
I took their word as law and hid my feelings from my friends for years.
I understood therapy to be an unspoken, taboo topic.
My boyfriend at the time, out of care, told me he was afraid to date me because our relationship might trigger my anxiety.
We ended up dating for two very loving, panic-free years.
Winning the lottery is a happy event, but the elation does not last.