The degrees that used to hang on my office wall now collect dust in a closet.
The therapy manuals and psychological test kits are scattered on bookshelves, stored in boxes, and shoved in drawers. If I were smart, I’d get rid of them.
They are nothing more than reminders of what I used to be—- a practicing mental health therapist.
But why wouldn’t I want to be reminded of what I accomplished in those ten glorious years?
I helped clients tackle depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, PTSD, and more.
I helped women navigate the effects of domestic violence.
I helped children with abandonment and attachment issues learn what a healthy relationship is.
I helped people. And I did it well.
So when Multiple Sclerosis hit me in 2008, I knew that I could no longer serve my clients because I could barely function myself.
Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis zapped my energy, affected my memory, made it difficult to walk, and made everything feel like I was in quicksand.
Fast forward to today and thanks to a newer medication, I’m much better than I was then. But I won’t ever go back to being a practicing mental health therapist.
It still stings to type that.
So what do I do with all the knowledge and skills I acquired during grad school? What do I do with all of the experience that I gained as a therapist who worked in residential facilities, drug treatment courts, domestic violence centers, jails and prisons, and one-on-one with clients?
It’s finally time.
The stories are screaming to be told.
The stories of clients who overcame.
The stories of clients who learned how to manage.
The stories of clients who went from hopeless to hopeful.
The stories of families who went from broken to beautiful.
These stories must be told because someone out there needs to hear them.
So here I am, ready to share stories from behind the couch (therapist’s point of view). Maybe you’ll identify with one of the clients. Maybe you’ll pick up some tips to apply to your own life.
Maybe you’ll finally feel seen.
The mental health crisis in this country will continue until people feel seen.
Although I can no longer be anyone’s therapist, I can still be therapeutic. Words are powerful and I hope what you read feels like a balm to your soul. Or ignites a revelation. Or soothes a long-lasting wound.
And because I know what it’s like to feel hopeless, depressed, anxious, etc., I’ll also be sharing my own experiences as a therapy client (on the couch point of view).
Consider this your invitation to join me.
I see you. <3