Therapy envy: when people want help, know they can get it, and still won't go.

Here is a picture of someone who looks like
she found the right therapist the first time.

I want to talk about therapists  again, and not just because I talked with three people last week who need one (in their opinion, not mine).  

When I was in my mid-twenties and bad at "life," I wondered what it would be like to see a therapist instead of pretending to be other people all the time.

You readers who need a therapist right now know what I'm talking about. 

It was at a time when pretty much everyone was recovering from eating disorders in college, binge-drinking in college, bad relationships in college, grades that disappointed their parents in college, and perfectionism that they brought with them to college like little portable jails of "not good enough."

It was not unusual in those years to hear someone offhandedly refer to what "my therapist says." It was confusing though, because it always came from people who seemed to have their act together; like they were mental health-slumming, probably-okay people with issues of conflict-envy, as opposed to others of us who wanted to be okay but weren't, and had therapy-envy.

You readers who have ever had the question rolling around in your head,  Do I want to see a therapist?, if you find yourself envying other people who are in therapy, the answer is yes, you do.

I've seen therapists at different points in my life over mostly transitional issues, from becoming an adult to becoming a mother to becoming somebody else that I didn't know yet. Some had issues that rivaled my own. But the first and last ones changed my life.

I found the first one in the phone book, left a message and a number and lost twenty pounds while I waited for a return call.

I'm not kidding when I say that taking that call when it came was one of the bravest things I've ever done.

I answered mercifully few questions over the phone ("Um, Susan...um, Cook...um, C-O-O-K")  and made an appointment. I didn't tell anyone, because as soon as I made the appointment, the other side of my brain stepped forward to remind me that only messed up people who can't handle life seek therapy.

"Actually, only strong people who know they deserve to be happier seek therapy," said my therapist about that.

He was about ten years older than I was. He was energetic, like runners are when they aren't running, with an overtly positive attitude, cheerful eyes and an easy smile. It took seconds to trust him. 

At the end of the visit, when I was already elated over this find, he said, "And by the way? You're not messed up. Not by a long shot."

I got into my car and cried.

I saw him once a month until I moved away. Not once during that time did I say to someone, "my therapist says," because, to me, the work of learning to live as just me all the time was sacred. 

Here are some things to expect if you've made the decision to try therapy and have moved to the next step of shopping for one.

First, you may meet the wrong one first.

I was lucky. But here are some examples of therapists who are the reason people say, "Nah. I tried that, not for me."

One suffered chronic health issues and injuries and showed up each week splinted, bandaged, or in the grip of some allergy crisis. He was more miserable than I was. "So," he'd sniff and say. "How was your week?"  Once, he blew his nose when I answered.

One struggled with hot flashes. "God. Hold on, I've got another one," she'd say, waving her hand back and forth in front of her face.

One constantly interrupted to paraphrase. "Okay, so what you're saying is..." and constantly missed the point.

One kept losing  track of her own comparisons of  people to countries. "Okay. So he's Germany and let's say you're...Spain! Okay? So. You're Spain and you don't speak German....so...okay..."  

Second, you may fear being changed, or forced to reveal something, or judged.

Know that therapy isn't about being changed. It's about being heard. Change may result from the experience of talking without filters, and being heard without judgment, but it will be your idea to change your life, or accept it as you gain clarity. It won't be forced on you.

Third, you may feel inarticulate, torn between issues. 

When big problems can't be fixed easily, some of us make small problems bigger so that we can at least solve something. I stopped writing the year my brother was dying. My job was making me unhappy, my husband was away all the time,  my fourteen-year-old cat had passed away in the night and in a few months, my last two kids would be leaving home. I decided to give therapy a last shot.  She was my age, smart, and to the point. She listened to my laundry list of woe and said, "You said you used to be a writer. Aren't you still one?"  Bingo.

A good therapist won't fix your problems, but they will help you pull them out and put them in order.

Fourth, people who need therapy, but don't think it will help, sometimes just need to be miserable for a little while longer. Frustration and disappointment and anxiety aren't happy states, but as powerful as these forces are apart, when they meet and make a braid, they can fire the will to change. That change can start in a therapist's office where you no longer doubt it will help, but expect it to. 

I want to make this point more than any other:

People who think therapy is for crybabies or navel-gazers or spoiled people who don't know how good they have it, need to think about the last time they sat with a good friend who listened, didn't interrupt, and didn't judge while they described a problem, trauma, dilemma, or massive life change. They need to know that the good feeling that came from the experience, maybe one that made them cry in the car,  is also known as "healing."

Your inner voice has one job. Don't argue with it.

If this were my therapist, I would
probably leave a lot of stuff out.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about grief and a little about therapy. 

I had planned to write more today on the therapy subject - from deciding to go, to finding a therapist whose photo doesn't look, as a friend put it,  "like a depressing selfie they took on the subway," to organizing a chronology of your life before visit #1 that isn't a fifty pound book. But, I think it needs another week or so in the blog oven. 

So, here are the last of my thoughts on grief for a while. 

Grief is about what has been taken away, of course. But as time passes, I am understanding the things that grief brings back-to-life-back-to-reality, as well. Because, ask around. Life, after a loss, can take on a carpe diem, now or never feeling.   

In that spirit, today's post is dedicated to anyone who, for whatever the reason has found themselves wishing to shake things up; shrink the distance between themselves and others, grow the confidence to ask for something better, and check behind the couch of what they're used to, just in case there are some old dreams still lying around back there.

Some thoughts:

Here is the thing about reaching out.

There is a risk. 

There is a risk that you won't be welcome, or liked, or respected. Risk that you'll be sorry you tried, or will say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Risk that you will want, more than you are wanted.

There is a risk that you'll seem needy before you remember that we are all needy. Every one of us. 

There is a risk that people will be surprised by your flaws after you stop trying to be perfect, before you realize you are more likable, overnight, because of them. 

Here is the thing about confidence. 

You don't get it, or find it, or dig deep and pull it out of some special "will" pocket. 

You earn it by leveraging the things about you that are true – your bravery, smarts, humor, honesty - and letting go of the things you affect. 

You earn it when you feel you must try, more than you must succeed, so that when only that is done, you have have indeed, succeeded.

You earn it when, after you do succeed,  do win, do understand that you did have it in you, you're left with a unique desire to face uncertainty again.

Here is the thing about dream-chasing.

A dream is not something you think up in traffic or while you're on hold. Dreams steep. Dreams pounce. 

But dreams must be felt, before they can be chased. 

Dreams you feel when, you realize you can survive a break up with your old self and be happier with the new one you build.

Dreams you feel when, you consider that the best of what you've known might pale in comparison to what you decide to know now.

Dreams you feel when, a vision does not feel flighty or whimsical, but like information.

Dreams you feel when, you know that someday, you will look back on now as the time before you decided and then acted on what will be a thing you can't imagine being without. 

Risk is so uncomfortable, it makes us accept distance.
Believing in what we deserve is so uncomfortable, it makes us accept less than we really want.
Change is so uncomfortable, it makes us accept wishing over acting. 

Screw distance.

Screw mediocre.

Screw complacency.

Everyone has an inner voice, a gut feeling, an instinct. 

It only has one job, which is to help you live your only life.

Don't argue with it.