Therapy: Back on the couch (my couch that is)

Going Back, back to Therapy, therapy.

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So, I went back to therapy.

Not because I had a major breakdown (though, let’s be real, I’ve been this close a few times), but because I finally admitted to myself that I can’t do this whole “be everything to everyone and be me in the mix of it all” gig without some backup. And by backup, I don’t mean coffee, Target runs, or scrolling Instagram until my eyes burn. I mean actual, professional, sit-your-ass-down-and-talk therapy. What have I learned in the last few weeks, I have PTSD. We all have trauma, so I dont want this to be a pitty me thing, cause life is fucking hard for everyone no matter what walk of life we’re on. I have experienced a fun/terrifying amount of trauma apparently that I didnt know was trauma until my body was having a physical reaction to be treated like shit at work. YAY.

Here’s the thing: therapy isn’t some magic wand that fixes your problems. It’s more like having someone hold up a mirror and say, “Okay, but why do you keep running into the same wall over and over again?” It’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s brutal. But damn if it isn’t necessary, I’m happy I saw that reflection and could no longer recognize the person in that mirror, I needed to see the pain in my being.

For me, going back to therapy is about admitting that motherhood, work, school, bills, heartbreak, and just trying to exist in this world is a lot. I don’t get a pause button. I don’t get a do-over. But I do get 60 minutes where I can unload without feeling guilty or judged by someone who hasnt known me for more than a month, someone who is unbiased.

And let me tell you—there’s something powerful about sitting in a room (or on Zoom) and saying out loud the stuff you usually shove down while making dinner or answering emails. Therapy is like taking out the mental trash before it starts to stink up the whole place.

If you’ve been thinking about going back—or going for the first time—this is your sign. It’s not weak, it’s not dramatic, it’s not selfish. It’s survival. And honestly, surviving in this relentless world deserves a damn medal.

So here I am, back on the therapy couch. Not fixed, not perfect, but trying. And that’s enough for today.

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