An enlightening and honest perspective on therapy from the client’s side of the couch, plus pointers on how to make treatment more effective, faster, and more fulfilling
I
staggered into therapy with almost three decades of unresolved emotional baggage.
My collapse — years in the making, but sudden in its occurrence — brought me swiftly to my knees. The drama laced in these words is no hyperbole. The dread that gripped me had no mercy; it clawed its way into my thoughts, crumbling any visage of safety I’d once held dear. Anxiety, and its faithful attendant, depression, dogged my steps relentlessly, rapidly bleeding life of its color.
There was precious little that was more important to me than stilling the pain, and my desire to live wavered dangerously. But in a moment of G-d-granted clarity, it came to me: Wherever I ran to, I, and all of me, would still be there. My losses, my struggles, my pain, would follow me, always. With that, I lost the will to end my life, and began the battle to regain it.
Swallowing back bile and reservation, I stumbled into therapy with all the grace of a wary novice client. Week after week, I clenched and unclenched my jaw in mindfulness exercises, deep-breathed, and gave color, shape, and a name to my anxiety. I gave up rituals and reassurances, willingly exposed myself to the object of my fears, and finally tolerated uncertainty. I struggled to recognize my triggers and the accompanying flight, fight, or freeze responses.
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