Therapy, like exercise, became part of my regular self-care regime.
Other than a couple of close friends, however, no one knew this. After all, it's not something that's talked about in casual conversation. What would people think if they knew? Would they assume that I was unhappy, that there had been some kind of big traumatic event, that I was a downer of a friend, that I was hiding some big scandalous secret? I didn't want the judgment, assumptions or gossip, so I kept it a secret.
After a couple months, I stopped seeing my therapist. I was feeling better, less angry and and coordinating the weekly appointments became too stressful in my already busy schedule. So my self-care routine returned to the typical menu: exercise, the occasional glass of wine, a fair amount of complaining, and binging on chocolate while hiding in the bathroom. I didn't think twice about telling anyone and everyone about these ways I cleansed my emotional palate. In fact, I shared selfies with spoonfuls of cookie dough. I joked about the chocolate and the complaining. And I shared memes about wine on Facebook. After all, these forms of self-care aren't just accepted, they're celebrated in our culture, especially within the down-in-the-trenches-of-motherhood world.
But after a few months away, parenting and life got the better of me and I realised I would probably benefit from a mental and emotional tune-up. Parenting is hard, and life is hard. Good and beautiful and amazing, yes. But also hard. So, recently, after swallowing my pride and taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone and made an appointment. It was a hard call to make, but even more humbling than making that call was publicly sharing on Facebook the fact that I made that call. I'm am returning to therapy, I announced and waited for the aftermath.
My decision to share that information wasn't taken lightly. I went back and forth about whether to post this news. I worried about the judgment and the assumptions people would make. I wondered if sharing too much might be self-destructive. And I considered sticking to the wine and chocolate self-care stories because, quite frankly, they are a whole lot easier and more accepted.
The landscape of self-care and mental health in today's world is riddled with minefields. Share a meme about #winemums and you'll get a hundred likes and shares. Joke about locking yourself in the bathroom with chocolate and a margarita at the end of the day, and women will giggle right along with you. Tell someone that you go to the gym or get regular massages, and you'll be met with pats on the back and maybe a few envious sighs. But admit that you take medication or that you need therapy? Well, that's a different story. People look away, clam up and rush to judgments.
The double standards and hypocritical narrative about self-care and mental health are stark. Mothers-who-wine are trendy and cool. Chocolate and complaining are appropriate and welcomed. But medication and therapy are hushed and hidden. All of which makes it painfully obvious that there are "acceptable" ways for us to deal with the struggles of being human, and "less than acceptable" ways. Wine and chocolate are acceptable. Medication and therapy, not so much.
So I considered keeping my return to therapy to myself. Even if I'm not ashamed of going to a therapist, and even if I know it's healthier for me than the wine-as-therapy option, there's a difference between not hiding something and announcing it to the world. Perhaps I could just let that information trickle out to a few close friends, instead of letting it rain down on all my social circles. I considered keeping the therapy hushed, while openly sharing the wine nights and chocolate binges.
But I realised that if I am going to continue to joke about the glasses of wine and the candy bars and the occasional massage, I can't not admit that for me, self-care also includes therapy. To omit that would make me a hypocrite and perpetuate the dangerous double standards I despise. And this narrative that there are acceptable and unacceptable ways to take care of ourselves has to stop.
There is no right way to take care of yourself. I love a glass of wine on a Friday night as much as the next person, but this acceptance of wine-to-cope-with-life can get awfully dangerous, especially when we celebrate booze while at the same time condemning therapy and prescription medication as viable forms of self-care. Therapy doesn't need to be an option of last resort, and it isn't necessarily reserved for those who have suffered a trauma or loss (though it can certainly be helpful in those situations). Rather, therapy can benefit anyone trying to better manage the challenges of being a human in this complex world.
Mental health and self-care are important, regardless of whether that includes regular girls' nights out and yoga, or weekly therapy sessions and medication. We should never be ashamed of doing what we need to do to be healthy and happy, so we can live our best lives and be our best selves. We need to change this idea that there are acceptable forms of self-care and less acceptable, hushed and hidden, forms. We need to take care of ourselves and take care of each other.
We need to take care of ourselves so that we can take care of each other.
Earlier this year, I started seeing a therapist. After months of feeling irrationally angry, unsettled and even more emotional than I usually am, I realised I could use some professional help in managing my emotions and the day-to-day challenges of parenting, adulting and being a human in this challenging world.
Washington Post