My life has had some pretty traumatic parts to it. For a lot of years, I lived in what I will call denial. Life is hard for everyone. Fairy tales aren’t real. Go to coffee with literally anyone and ask about his or her life and brace yourself. I have heard so many stories. Our world is fallen. We all struggle. What is very sad to me is so many people choose to put all their energy into pushing down all the hurt. Gotta keep that stuff hidden. Gotta pretend I’m fine… and it doesn’t work. I learned the hard way. Fortunately, for me, the hard way didn’t tuck me into a mental ward somewhere.
Someone close to me spent a good bit of time tucked into a mental ward. I have vivid memories of visiting, watching her hallucinate to the drugs she was on to keep her from trying to end her life. I was traumatized by having to be “buzzed” through doors to get to her, and bringing her gifts that were triple-checked to make sure there was nothing in them she could use to hurt herself. It was all very surreal… like I was living in a really badly written movie. At some point during those years, I decided that the mental health profession was a solid sham. I vowed to steer very clear of the profession forever.
In my mid-twenties I hung out with a group of women who for the most part were all in counseling for one thing or another. I thought it was weird. I wondered how in the world out of all the people I ended up bonding with the ones who let their minds be toyed with by mental health professionals. I loved them, though, and wanted them to do whatever they needed to do to feel good about their lives. The things I heard them say never changed my mindset, however.
If you have read my foster to adoption story, I am sure you understand what I mean when I say becoming a parent caused me to become undone. All of the sudden everything I had worked so hard to push down came spewing forth like a great volcano and rained fiery lava on everyone around me, especially my children. I was not okay. The very last thing I wanted was to hurt children who had already endured more hurt than anyone I knew.
Around that same time, I had become friends with a woman who was a big advocate for counseling. She told me outright that I needed to find a counselor. We talked a lot about it. She made recommendations. I went my own way. Ultimately, I found someone to talk to. That decision has been a life-changing one.
I will be honest with you and tell you that counseling is not a quick fix. It is a very lengthy, difficult, and at times painful process. It has fixed so much, though. I am not the same person who sat down the first time in my counselor’s office. I am much better and fiery lava no longer rains on my loved ones. Counseling for me will always remain a buoy. When I find myself going under and the seas are really rough, I make a call. I sit in that chair as many times as it takes to reunite with my boat. I feel zero shame. I actually feel victorious.
I don’t want to sound like a really cheesy infomercial, but I have to say my mind is changed about the mental health profession. There are some counselors out there who are worth their salt. I do still believe the system is badly broken. I think the mental health realm isn’t equipped to deal appropriately with the brokenness in the world. They seem to spend most of their time trying to fend off forest fires with squirt guns. I know people who have made some effort and not been helped at all.
If you are a person who feels at the end of your rope, there is help for you. You just have to be willing to commit to the process. It might feel harder sometimes than what drove you there. You also may have to try a few different counselors. They are NOT all the same. They are also NOT all shameless money grabbers who don’t care about you. Please let somebody help you.
