Once Again, It’s Time To Talk

Recently, I resumed seeing a therapist.

More than a decade ago, freshly out of grad school with an M.Ed. in counseling, I thought it important to try therapy for professional purposes.

As a school counselor, recommending therapy as an option for some students, it made sense to experience what I recommended. At the same time, I wanted to understand not only the similarities but also the differences between our work.

I made that initial appointment – and quickly learned I had deeper, more heartfelt reasons to continue. Each week for a few years, I dealt with wounds and internal conflicts often decades old.

At a certain point, I felt satisfied and ready to move on.

So, why a sequel?

In short, where I am at 60 is not where I was at 49.

Since then, both my parents have died. In the past year two longtime friends died by suicide. My husband is 18 years older than I – a few years younger than my mom was when she died in December. And I have been struggling with hearing loss and its attendant disconnect from students, colleagues, friends, and family when I cannot discern what they’re saying.

Questions of life, death and loss abound in a way they did not when I was a teen or young adult.

Fortunately, my original therapist was still in business, seeing patients in person (not an assumption one can make in this post-COVID, increasingly telehealth era). He let me know in my inquiry call that he will be retiring later this year.

I found that less of a burden than a benefit. I had finite time to work with him on my concerns and must zero in. If my concerns need more intensive work, I can pursue continuing with someone else.

It seems to me that our society applies the same dualistic thinking with therapy that it does with most other subjects:

Either it’s only for people with mental illness, or it’s something that ought to be the first recommendation for any immediate concern.

In a time when people struggle to find available help, I do think there’s value to discerning when a therapist is essential or even beneficial.

As for the other assumption, just as we go to the family doctor or dentist for check-ups, not just when we’re ill, so can our relationship be with mental-health practitioners.

For most of my life, without my conscious awareness, music has served as a primary form of therapy.

The day I know I can’t be affected by the Grass Roots’ “Sooner or Later” is when I need serious, immediate intervention.

Seeing a therapist need not equal a years-long commitment nor a specific diagnosis.

At the same time, there’s only so much the Top 40 can do. And so, for now: I’m back on the couch for my weekly work.

And, just as I find when I go to Mass, the real work begins when I head out into the world.

Beyond the stuff in my head to what comes out of my mouth, my hands, my heart.

And just like the first time:

I’m confident I’ll know when that work has moved from a shared, supported therapeutic effort to the daily living I can tackle with a little help from my friends.

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