My story of therapy; on being a #patient

For years now I have suffered from intermittent episodes of depression and, for the last year, very marked anxiety. I was shaking, having nightmares, poor sleep, catastrophising. In the last 3 years I almost died and had a cancer scare.

So it was unavoidable that this would all come to a head, and around 3 months ago I started therapy (CBT ..ish) with a wonderful therapist we can call Sam. She was kind, inquisitive and very perceptive. Suffice to say, my walls were up from day 1.

The initial meetings were very much about learning how to communicate as a patient, and recognising how I would prefer to utilise intellectualisation instead of speak about how I felt. She buffered this and listened, and slowly guided me toward appreciating the emotion.

I learned that I had developed patterns of behaviours that had endured for over a decade, in response to things from long ago. In essence, I had built a retreat behind intellect and control and gradually removed myself from experiencing life as if it was new.

This had seeped not only into my dating life, but also my day to day. The defense mechanisms that had protected me had become a trap, and the thoughts of change easily snagged by the commiseration of potential happiness. And I realised that I could change it.

The first steps were listening to the emotion and learning to live with it being natural, realising that I could exercise choice over response, and spot patterns in myself the same way as I could with others. I started by treating myself like I would them, address the problems..

As such I was able to empathise with my own feelings, and realise their worth. At the same time the defense mechanisms began to fall away. I noticed that at work I was doing better, connecting more, and generally, enjoying it more.

Hope began to creep in, and I noticed that I was making little changes without even thinking. I would eat better, spend more time on things that were nourishing, read again, enjoy movies, see the world as bright and colourful instead of yellow and black lines.

In two weeks I say goodbye to Sam. But in essence her empathy and guidance has shown me that we are never alone in this world, and that even the most wounded of us can feel valued and develop the value for ourselves. She taught me to recognise my own challenges.

I will be generally sad to see her go, as she has become a link from an old life to a new, but in the same way the end is a natural process, and the time walked alongside made footprints pointing in the right direction. Therapy is something truly wonderful.

Anyway, I hope this helps people who may be starting it, or even nearing the end, or have never considered it. As a psychiatrist, I am a true believer of psychology first, medication second. And as a patient, I am damn sure to agree with myself.