This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.
Last year, I found out something that I was not expecting. Under my health insurance plan, therapist visits were covered (depending on who took what insurance), and all I would have to pay is a deductible.
I was never open to the idea of therapy. I’ve always figured that I should be the one to solve my own problems, that those guys were nothing more than overpaid buddies who would ask you questions about your mom or steer you in whichever insane direction they wanted to steer you. I though that therapy was only for people with serious issues, like soldiers, abuse victims, or Tony Soprano, and since I don’t fall into any of those categories, I would be taking away time from someone that really needed help. I needed to man up, internalize everything, and just figure shit out in hardship like my parents and grandparents did. That was the noble way.
Yet the fact that my insurance drastically reduced the cost made me consider therapy, and after admitting to myself that I was in a bad spot in my life (my girlfriend and I were close to breaking up, I had a lot of unresolved issues, the works), I decided to take the plunge.
I had two criteria: the therapist had to be a man (surprisingly hard to find), and he needed to be good. A few Google searches and a phone call later, I had my appointment.
When it finally came time to have our session, I was extremely surprised with just about everything. First off, there was no giant couch for me to lie down on: we just sat there in some comfy chairs, talking.
Or rather, I was talking. Occasionally, my therapist would steer me to a few topics here and there, but more importantly, he was asking me how I felt about all of them. For the first time in my life, I was clearly defining and expressing my worries, struggles and hardships, and the person I was talking to was not judging me whatsoever. It felt good.
I went back a few more times. It felt good, it helped change my life, but most importantly, it felt like all the change originated inside me. Yes, it felt like talking to a friend, but a friend that was objective and would not steer you in any untoward direction.
This was the most beneficial thing: the therapist was invested in my future, but didn’t have any potential payoff in any of the choices I made. Sure, your parents and friends will love you, but they almost always want to see you end up in a particular situation or scenario, and might actively steer you towards it, which at times makes their advice seem a bit less genuine (and at other times flat out wrong). My friends, for example, would unknowingly attempt to keep me in a destructive relationship, when breaking up was the much healthier option.
So if you have some worries, some nagging thoughts in your head and some feelings that reading forums just can’t help you get rid of, consider seeing a professional. If you’re worried about an attached stigma, keep it a secret. No one needs to know.
There is no shame in asking for help from someone that is extremely qualified. Plus, if you’re insured, it wont cost much, but the payoff is incredible. Had I known that the results were this great, I would have seen a therapist ages ago (and now recommend it to everyone).
Now if only insurance could cover a badass personal trainer…
Read Next: Happiness Sometimes Costs Money, So Spend It
The post I Saw a Therapist, and So Should You appeared first on Matt Forney.