I Struggle with my Mental Health Too… pt. 2

While I had a brief stint in therapy again when I was postpartum, I hadn’t ever gone back for a long period of time. I felt good. I had the occasional increase in anxiety, but I used my coping skills and found ways to manage it. Until I couldn’t anymore. 

Several months ago, I noticed a few seemingly small yet definitive changes in my mental health. My baseline anxiety had somehow shifted up and I found myself on edge much more often. I didn’t like how I spoke to my partner a few times. I stopped moving my body. I felt stuck. My sleep wasn’t great. I fell back on some old not very helpful coping mechanisms. One day my partner lovingly looked at me and said something like, “This isn’t you. I’m worried about you. Let’s get you some help.” When I heard these words, it clicked. It was happening again - the dread, the intrusive thoughts, and the panic. I knew my partner was right and I needed to do something. For a brief moment, I felt some imposter syndrome - who did I think I was being a therapist and a supervisor when I, myself, didn’t exactly have my mental health in the best place. And then I remembered what I ask of my clients - kindness to themselves above most else. If I wasn’t going to judge friends who are therapists for going to therapy or my own clients for asking for help, then I couldn’t judge myself either. In short, I felt myself begin to fight back.

So, I interviewed a few therapists. I asked them about their political views and psychology training and their favorite kinds of cases. I landed on one who to be honest is a little woo-woo for me (she would laugh if she heard me say that). But, I like her. I often cry in sessions, which is a win for me. After our first session, I drove away with tears in my eyes and relief in my heart. I knew I was going to be ok even if I wasn’t yet. 

I am not cured and I don’t think I ever will be. If I’ve learned anything from the tens of thousands of hours I’ve spent in the counseling room, it’s that there really isn’t actually a destination. Instead, there are just some pretty cool lookouts on the way up the mountain. 

My last panic attack was six days ago. I know what the trigger was and I even saw it coming, but I just couldn’t stop it. Before I knew it, my breathing was shallow and my thoughts were out of control. I couldn’t do much but succumb to it. After it passed, I did do a few things that my therapist has helped me to identify as healthy coping mechanisms. I let my partner help me. I did some breathing exercises and I went for a run. I made myself a nutritious meal. I played with my son. And, I emailed my therapist and asked for an earlier session than the next one we had planned. I didn’t let the setback of a panic attack take more from me than it already had. I knew if I could put one foot in front of the other, I would be ok. And I was.

So no, I don’t have a white picket fence (in fact I have a brown fence that’s kinda ugly and needs repair way too often) and I’m not immune to my mental health flaring up here or there. But I am committed to do the work that I ask of my clients. I go to therapy. I have taken meds when needed. I am nowhere near arrived and yet, the lookouts I’ve made it to along the way have been worth everyday I’ve woken up and put one foot in front of the other.