I go to therapy.

I actually go to quite a lot of therapy every few weeks for a variety of different reasons: anxiety, the ankle I sprained months ago on a water slide that has wreaked havoc with my ligaments and tendons, chronic neck and shoulder pain from these size DDD pendulous breasts, my history of childhood trauma, this tendency to strive and overachieve, and my incessant urge to control everything around me so as to make everyone believe I am perfect.

At 44, it’s my first time going to any kind of therapy (even though ten years ago I severed my Achilles tendon and had to have it surgically repaired followed by 12 weeks in a boot. At the time I thought, who needs therapy? Certainly not me. I’ll just rehab it on my own!)

Of course, for my patients I prescribe all manner of therapy. I encourage it. Recommend it. Condone it. Applaud it. But for me? Nah.

On the one hand, I’ve always told myself I don’t have time for therapy. I have too much to do. Too much to take care of. Too many people to cart off to school or soccer games or basketball practices. Too many emails to answer. Too many books to write. Too much to accomplish and too many people to please.

Plus, isn’t taking time out for therapy selfish? And self-seeking? Aren’t we taught over and over again that the mark of a ‘good’ woman is to be selfLESS? Someone who physically and mentally just limps along and serves others?

On the other hand, I’ve told myself that going to therapy means I’m weak. I don’t need help, I’m a strong, intelligent, and independent woman! Buck up, buttercup. Things could be so much worse. I can do this on my own. I know what I need, so I’ll just do that! I’ll look up some exercises and do them a few times here and there, shove away my anxiety, then mostly push through the pain. Other people ask for help…but never me. I even ran a half marathon exactly one year after my Achilles tendon surgery on my wimpy little atrophied calf just to prove my point.

But it turns out...

I need A LOT of therapy. And therapy is good and necessary and healing. Who knew?

In therapy we can look deeply into ourselves, into our pain and traumas and old wounds. Then the therapist across from us-- hearing everything we say--can see us clearly and understand with patience and curiosity who it is we really are and where we come from. Then they can nod and smile, and somehow, eventually, we begin to learn that we are okay. We begin to re-experience ourselves with a capable, compassionate, and caring other person. And we begin to feel loved despite the mess.

Now I'm wondering...

1. Where do you need healing today?

2. Could a therapist help put you on the path?

My friend, let’s remember it’s okay to ask for help. Therapy can be yet another tool on the journey to becoming whole.

I’d love to share my new book with you!!! Everything I Wish I Could Tell You About Midlife: A Woman’s Guide to Health in the Body You Actually Have