Let's Talk About Therapy

 

I have had my fair share of health problems in my 23 years. Part of why college was so difficult for me was because I navigating lots of medical tests, blood work every time I turned around, and some new diagnoses. If you’ve ever lived with a chronic illness, you know that dealing with doubt, confusion, and the red-tape of the medical world can be just as frustrating as the illness itself. Fortunately, I found an amazing-in-every-way doctor who was institutional in beginning this physical and mental health journey of mine. The first reason I visited her was to address some of my health concerns and after I saw her a few times, I talked to her about my depression. She initiated some really important conversations and normalized the whole process, which I desperately needed at the time. Together we decided that I should try a simple antidepressant to start. She worked tirelessly to help me find the right medication, eventually turning me over to a psychiatrist. Before she did, she made me see a therapist. In an “I’m not writing you another prescription until you make an appointment” type of way. I cannot express how annoyed I was with that stipulation. I was a doctor, certified by the board of Google and Grey’s Anatomy and I knew what I was talking about. I didn’t need some stupid therapist, I just needed some drugs to fix the chemical imbalances in my brain.

As The Grinch says, “Wrong-O!”

I begrudgingly went to see a therapist, one that had come with high recommendations from a good friend of mine in Blacksburg. She had been to the group years before and though her specific doctor had retired, she was confident that I would like them. Spoiler alert: I immediately and aggressively did not. On the very first day, I was incredibly nervous and when I get like that, I tend to lash out and act like a total bitch. Surprise, I did. I’m not sure if he remembers that first session like I do, but I was the definition of defiant and prickly.

To make matters worse, he was running late that day. I am ALWAYS flying by the seat of my pants and I am late more often than not. However, I do not find that behavior acceptable in anyone else. About 7 minutes into what was supposed to be my time, I was furiously texting my friend who gave them the glowing recommendation about how mad I was and about how this whole thing was a bad idea. At that point, I was willing to give up my antidepressants just so I could get out of there. Instead, he finally came to get me. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he just looked so...nice. He didn’t look like a stuffy counselor who would peer over the edge of his horn-rimmed glasses and spend an hour asking, “Now how does that make you feel?” He offered me a cup of coffee and I refused because I was not about to make myself comfy.  

The first thing he asked me was why I was there. I told him point-blank that my doctor told me I had to be there, but I just wanted to get my medications and get out. He agreed that I wouldn’t need more than a few sessions and I would be able to run free, hopefully with a good word put into my prescriber. As I told him my issues, I conveniently left a lot of things out. I was terrified that I would seem crazy and this would turn into a whole thing. Looking back, he probably saw right through me, but I like to think I put on a good show. I was eventually able to show my crazy and embrace it, and it did turn into a whole thing. He grew to be someone I trusted very much; he was kind and I could tell he had a big heart. I learned how to open up and express some of the confusing things I had always felt inside, and I never felt judged or misguided. His job is to listen and make you feel safe, and I think he was most excellent at that job. I leaned very heavily on therapy for a very long time, and I’m so thankful I did. At some points, I felt like he was the only person I could trust. Though that’s problematic because I should (and do!) have people I can trust, I’m glad I felt that I had one person on my side. The end of my college career was amazingly weird, and I literally wouldn’t have survived without him. Moving away from my little college town was difficult for a lot of reasons, but leaving that support system was one of them.

Therapy is scary. Really, truly scary. And it’s hard work. Entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have healthy coping mechanisms and sometimes act like an asshole is difficult, but I think it’s one of the kindest things you can do for yourself. People are really complicated creatures and understanding the human experience a little more critically will open doors you didn’t even know existed. Learning how to understand and address your own emotions and in turn, understand more about your relationships with others, is the ultimate act of self-care. In this age of self-care as a glamorous Wednesday-night activity complete with wine and face masks, I think we need to return to basic levels of taking care of ourselves. To survive in this world, you must consider yourself a priority. You have to help yourself first; there’s a reason you’re instructed to put on your oxygen mask before helping others. I promise you will be a better person if you do. Because I made myself a priority, I feel like I’m a better me. I’m a better friend, daughter, sister, student, employee, and any other identity I hold. I can navigate seemingly impossible problems and stay grounded and present during the best times of my life. I don’t worry as much about the future and the past, and I know that I can ride out even the darkest storms to find the sunshine on the other side. It’s been a slow process, but so worth it.

As a final note, finding a therapist can be grueling and painful, but some good places to start are psychologytoday.com and headspace.com. Another thing you can do is call your insurance company (if you have one) and ask for a list of counselors who take your insurance. There are also community organizations and groups that see patients without insurance, often on sliding-scales based on your income (or for free!). You can call your local health department to get more information about those services. If you find yourself discouraged and struggling to find one, please don’t give up. You will find the right person and you will be so thankful you did. You deserve it, I promise.

Cheers to the last 99 days, and on we go to the next.

The Original 99 Days

 

Hi, hello, my name is Alison. I feel like I should introduce myself but I’m not sure what to say. I’m 23, I’m a Scorpio (meaning I will ruin my own life and probably yours, too), and I have a lot of identities in this season of life. I am a grad student trying to survive, a young professional learning how to navigate the working world, and now I guess I’m a blogger. 

Cassie and I have been wanting to start a blog for quite some time. We always talked about it and it was always theoretical. We couldn’t come up with snappy names, we couldn’t find time to do it, whatever. The final product came together in our classic manner: messy. 99 days was not a title that we had picked out forever. In fact, it was a name that came to light less than 24 hours before we published our website. Our goal for this blog is to create real, raw content, and we feel the name follows suit. It came about in a real, raw moment that I hope I never forget. 

It started out with me. I was feeling a little emotional because at this very moment, I’m kind of wearing thin. I’m finishing up my first year of grad school (insert every party emoji here!!!) and finals are killing me. Anyway, I took a break and I decided to make a video journal entry. Now, this is not something I regularly do. I started a while back as an alternative to writing. I love writing. I’m not as particularly gifted in writing as Cassie (omg, I can’t wait until y’all read some of her stuff), but I find it helpful and often cathartic. Sometimes, I find it difficult to be patient enough for writing. I can only write so fast, and my almost-constant state of chronic anxiety produces too many thoughts too quickly. That being said, a dear friend of mine suggested that I try out an app to make video journal entries. At first, it felt really silly just talking to myself on camera, but I went with it. It was easier than writing sometimes and it helped, so it stuck. I don’t ever watch the videos back; I don’t really want to. For the most part, once it’s out of my system I’m okay and I resume my normally-scheduled events of watching trash TV and avoiding all my responsibilities. That is, until last night. I rewatched a video that I had previously recorded. It just so happened to have been recorded 99 days ago. 

In this video, I was a mess. I could tell by the way I looked that I was under a tremendous amount of stress and I was not in a good place. If I couldn’t already tell by my appearance, I then went on to hear myself talk about how difficult it was to be alive in that moment. I was struggling with school, work, and balancing everything out. I cried on camera to an audience that didn’t exist, and I expressed that I didn’t know if any of this was worth it. Past-me was “on the brink,” as Cassie and I like to say. It was a gut-wrenching, enlightening moment. 

At this point, present-me is also crying, but for a very different reason. Things. Have. Changed. I went through some monumental, life-altering things this semester (more on that later), and I feel like a different human being. I find joy in things I have never noticed before and I am excited to be alive. I value every piece of knowledge I gain in grad school, I feel thankful to wake up and go to a job in which I have found meaning and purpose. I am not the same as I was 99 days ago, and for that I am so, so grateful. When I think about how I felt the last 99 days, I didn’t really feel like anything was changing on a day-to-day basis. However, when I look back, I realize just how monumentally my life was improving during that whole period. I cried because I was thankful and I cried because I was happy. Side note: this is a new occurrence for me and now I do it like once a day? If I’m anything over medium-happy, I can assure you I will be crying. Anyway, I ended up telling Cassie about it and I decided something big. Life is really hard. Really, horribly, hard. But, as cheesy as it sounds, I have decided it’s worth it. Thus, the name 99 days was born. It really means a lot to me, and I hope you understand why. 

So, if you made it this far, thank you for having a little faith that it would be mildly interesting. Maybe you’re just nosy and want to check out the brand-new blog hoping to get some juicy stories. That’s fine, I am the queen of being nosy and no worries, the stories are coming. Regardless, thank you. Cheers to the last 99 days, and on we go to the next.