One Year Without Therapy
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One Year Without Therapy
One year ago this week, I ended 23 years of therapy with R. It was time; I was ready.
I want to share my experience of this past year, tell you what I’ve noticed and learned, and offer some thoughts on how I’ve changed and how I haven’t.
First—I miss R.
Outside of my family, she was the most consistent presence in my life for 23 years. She was a maternal figure, someone I relied on and trusted. She taught me almost everything I know about recovering from a lifetime of being unwell. I hear her voice in my head when times are rough.
And, dear readers, right now, times are rough.
Things at Stern Enterprises (as my friend Liz calls my endeavors) aren't going well. In every category except for pets, the mood at Chez Stern is bleak.
I share this not so you’ll worry, but to be transparent about my own mental health struggles.
This newsletter is my effort to help de-stigmatize such anguish, to make the invisible visible, and to openly unearth the unseen unconscious forces that can steer a person off course.
I tell you this because I know that many people are going through a desperately tough time.
If you are struggling right now, please know I am with you. You are not alone, even if you have never felt or been more alone in your entire life.
Moments like this test my ability to weather life’s squalls on my own, without a therapist. My 23 years in psychodynamic therapy taught me a tremendous amount.
My therapist gave me names to identify my all-encompassing wordless despair, and everything she taught me, I write about here, so you too can have the tools and language to identify your invisible pain.
R’s expertise, manner, guidance, and methods saved my life. There is no getting around that. Without her, and without my sister Kara, who has stood by me through all severe bouts of clinical depression and panic attacks, I am sure I would not be alive today writing these words.
Today, I want to tell you why I started therapy and what I learned in the 23 years I spent.
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