I think it has been more than 6 years now, even though I don’t exactly remember the timeline of things and it is more of a spiral I keep coming back to.
The first time I saw a therapist was sometime between 2017 and 2018, not long after my mom passed away. The exact day is a bit blurred considering I have more recollection of the hospital hallways than the day I sat across from a therapist for the first time. To be fully transparent, it was my friends who pushed me into this, at first very subtly, then not to subtle until they just forced me to go see someone because it was quite obvious I wan’t gonna do it myself.
I didn’t have much money at the time, I was still a student and let’s just say I barely had money to make it through the month and therapy was definitely not on my budget, so you can imagine I didn’t go for the best of the best. I met a very well-intentioned lady who tried to help me but had no idea I was a master at performing for others rather than facing my own demons. I was so used to deflecting my whole life that therapy at that point did not work for me but it surely showed me how survival skills easily get mistaken for healing steps, which I fully processed years later.
Fast forward, I came back to therapy in 2020, not because of the pandemic or because the grief had been too much to handle but because I was in a relationship that made me question everything about myself and made me feel like I was the architect of its own failure. I did therapy online, hiding from everyone and feeling ashamed that I couldn’t deal with my emotions on my own. Eventually, I managed to drag myself out of that toxic relationship but I left with more questions that I had answers for:
Why did I end up in a toxic relationship?
Why do I choose specific partners?
Why do I believe I am not enough and why do I have to fight for everything?
For me therapy was like a disease. I go for a check up, I follow a certain treatment and I am healed, right? I was supposed to get fixed and move on with my life. The thing is you don’t do it once and stop, you just have to keep going. Now I see it as an ongoing practice, not a cure for something and if you are fortunate enough to afford it, I think it might help you more that you realise.
In 2020, I started CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) which was great at the time. A lot of frameworks and techniques meant to help you lead a normal life. But last year, in 2025, I moved into psychoanalyses, let’s say - by mistake. At that point, I felt my circle with my last therapist was closing, she considered I had healed from the trauma of guilt and my parents dynamic and we should “online-meet” less often.
Psychoanalysis is not for the faint hearted, it is very disturbing and yes, it really is like in the movies. You sit on a couch, the therapist is behind you and you talk more or nothing at all. It was also the first time I was doing therapy in person, and let me tell you, it is different and way more harsh. Lying back on a couch, long silences and uncomfortable truths that sometimes make the room feel gigantic. Mentally and emotionally it is more demanding but it healed something in me in a way that CBT never managed to touch.
For a long time I struggled with memory loss, partly because of the grief, partly because of my childhood and being always in fear or flight mode. Weirdly, psychoanalysis had been the only thing that gave me back those pieces of memory back to me, fragments from my first years of life that I thought, at first, were simply gone for good.
I then learned to listen to my own voice and to trust my intuition that often know earlier than my critical thinking what I should or shouldn’t do. Don’t get me wrong, critical thinking is still there, you shouldn’t jump off a bridge because your friends are, that kind of thinking. But I spent years trying to suppress that inner feeling, that older knowledge inside me. Learning to hear it again and listen to it changed how I moved through the world.
I learned to be okay on my own, to sit in silence and make peace with that. For most of my life I had surrounded myself with people no because I truly enjoyed it but because I was too uncomfortable in my own presence.
I learned to set realistic expectations for myself instead of holding myself accountable at the highest standard. The critic inside of me is most likely not satisfied with this change but I am learning to let her be unsatisfied and no letting her run the room for me.
I also learned I am not ready for the relationship I want to be in if I am not willing to become the person capable of holding it. I know it sounds like a cliche, maybe it is, but it also happens to be true. I still struggle with it, it doesn’t come easy but I truly trust that it will pay off in the end.
Most of all, I learned to love myself, not in a complete way but I have come a long was from hating myself to learning to tolerate and accept myself, to then liking certain things about myself to somehow loving myself most of the days.
If you can do it and have the means, I truly recommend therapy. If not, try journaling, try talking to people you know and trust and most importantly, don’t hold it all in. Don’t let that inner critic take over.
Love,
A.
As you might know, I am close to reaching 30 and I am writing about life and all its meaning through my eyes and my experiences. This is a vulnerable and intimate place for me and I hope it can get you to open up more. I write about grief, relationship, career, money and all in between. I hope you choose to stay. Thank you for being here. If it’s your first interaction with me and my articles, take a seat, we’re open.
I was completely immersed in your piece. The journey through therapy can be so challenging, and I couldn’t agree more with you about psychoanalysis — there’s something so powerful about bringing the unconscious parts of ourselves into awareness. 🤍