Seeing a Therapist Changed My Life
On a Tuesday at midnight, when I was a 19-year-old freshman in college, my dad sent me a concerning message. He often displayed obsessive-compulsive behavior and his routine was to go to bed by 9:00 p.m., so I knew something was wrong. That was when he told me my mom may not love him anymore.
Fast forward a few months—my mother was in a horrific bicycling accident. She sustained a brain injury and was in a coma with her jaw wired shut. Had she not been wearing her helmet, she would have died on impact. When I visited her hospital bed, her face resembled a gargoyle.
The accident altered her mind: when she awoke, she would no longer put up with my father. Slowly but surely, my mother got better. But it was clear that she had surpassed her breaking point with my fathers emotional abuse and controlling nature. She secretly had found someone who was kind to her and they had an affair. As this all came to light, my perception of family, trust, and life was destroyed. Everything I thought I knew was no longer what it seemed.
During my junior year of college, my father started dating a woman who I quickly discovered was a Scientologist. My dad forced me to meet her, and she seemed odd. As they got closer, I learned about the religion.
Scientology was cult-like, and it required members to disconnect with friends and family members who didn’t agree with the church in order to reach spiritual growth. My perceptions and realities were now confused. I needed professional help.
When I saw that mental health therapy was covered by the school's admission fees, I decided to give it a try. I was 20 years old when I first walked into the therapist's office. We discussed how my relationships with friends were inconsistent, often leaving me apologizing and taking out my personal struggles on them. I eventually learned the value of being open and honest with people I love. They always forgave me.
As I sat in the therapist's office, they asked why I was there. “I have no motivation,” I said. “I have no reason for doing anything because everything would work itself out and I’ll be fine. If I get a speeding ticket, my dad pays for it. If I cheat or study, I still pass my classes. I haven’t done anything to be proud of and I don’t know what to do.” The therapist then asked what goals small or large had I accomplished in my life and I couldn’t even start with one.
The therapist pointed out that I was in college, which is a big accomplishment! Also, I graduated high school, and not everyone gets that opportunity. In that moment, I began seeing the purpose and value of things that people usually gloss over.
Acknowledging my accomplishments, both small and large, started to become fun. I made the varsity lacrosse team as a freshman. I beat a Zelda game one summer. It was such a difficult and beautiful game that I felt a huge sense of accomplishment! I created a note on my phone that I keep updated to this day. I got a car! I got a nicer car! I bought a house! I met Adam Sandler, the list goes on. I started to become a bit happier in my life.
By the end of senior year, my dad disappeared from my life, and I haven’t heard from him since. After a few years, I had buried him mentally, and absolved him and myself. He did the best he could, but after experiencing a psychological breakdown he abandoned his family. After all, he had been physically and emotionally abusive for almost two decades. It wasn’t until years later that I felt the gravity of how his parents being Holocaust survivors affected him. While this doesn’t negate his behaviors, I recognize that his childhood could not have been easy and trauma had surely been passed down to him due to the war.
To this day, I visit a therapist virtually once a month. I always say, “We’re on social media several hours a week, we watch TV every day, but we can’t take one hour a month to focus on our mental health with someone whose full-time job is to help us?”
Now, when something bothers me, I write about it in my notes. By the time I meet with my therapist, I have 3 to 6 subjects to speak about. This can range from picking my nose to family, work, anxiety, dating, and motivation. I love the “Aha!” moment when I hear myself say something out loud and realize that it doesn’t make sense, or when I have a breakthrough in understanding why I feel a certain way. It helps to hear that my thoughts or behaviors aren't in line with how I want to behave so I can adjust them.
Don’t worry! If you don’t like your therapist, it is easy to call your insurance and ask if they can connect you with a new one.
If you don’t have insurance, then I recommend reaching out to government assistance such as Medicaid and Medicare. There are also online therapy websites like BetterHelp, Talkspace, and Hello Therapy that you could try.
By committing to this outlet and routine, I free my brain and body from stressing itself with too much pressure until I implode or explode. When my thoughts get that bad, I end up hurting myself and those around me. With help from therapy, I learn to breathe and hear myself think.
I acknowledge the good and bad during therapy. Together with the help of a professional, I learned how to address my inner thoughts, whether it be directing them or simply just giving them a big hug.
Seeing a therapist truly changed my life, and I’m so grateful for taking that step. I hope my experience can inspire you on your own journey. As my Grandma, a true survivor, always used to say, I’m wishing you health, happiness, and all that life has life has to offer.