Therapy? OMG I know her.

Therapy is highly recommended and extremely mainstream these days. When someone says “ask for help”, they usually assume that means to seek therapy. I’ll share my journey with therapy thus far and will make some recommendations in hopes to help set you up for a more positive, streamlined, and productive experience than mine…

What is therapy? Therapists cannot officially diagnose you with any kind of mental illness, nor can they prescribe medications. They can encourage you to seek out an official diagnosis if they feel that’s necessary, but that is the extent of their involvement in that process. Therapy, as it is known today, is mainly a tool for learning healthy coping skills, talking through trauma, and licensed therapists can provide helpful, neutral insights to make lasting behavioral changes and build other social and interpersonal “soft skills” (also known as Emotional Intelligence).

First things first - ME.

This is the longest story as short as possible:

The very first time I went to therapy was actually shortly before my mother passed on. She (finally) noticed my mental wellbeing was not good, to say the least, after being home full-time for the first time in my life. I remember that the woman I was seeing, Sandy, was friendly. I played my flute for her a lot and she was the first therapist to suggest journal writing.

I continued to see her for a while after mom died, but I can’t really remember how long. Maybe six months? I think it became an issue getting me to appointments due to my father’s work schedule and I’m sure I was more than happy to stop, not realizing how important it was at the time. I didn’t try again until my senior year of high school.

I had a moment of crisis after my best friend “broke up” with me because I didn’t go to her 18th birthday party at a club one weekend - I was visiting my boyfriend at the time instead (the much older one). I’ll never forget, she called me a “boyfriend girl.” I had a complete breakdown in the bathroom at school over it, called my Dad, and he scheduled me an appointment with a woman later that day (if I remember correctly, it may have been a day or two later). She told me I needed Jesus in so many words, so that was the first and last time I saw her.

Cut to college, my second year. I had another crisis over my boyfriend at the time, who I found out had cheated on me (not the much older one). I followed the same steps as above, as I was still on my Dad’s insurance at the time. The only memorable part about this one was that I got in a fender-bender on my way home because I was still very upset and didn’t realize there was a traffic jam on the on-rap of the expressway until it was too late.

Shortly after that, I made another appointment, but never went [there] again. That was around 2012. It wasn’t until 2018 that I started taking it seriously and knew I needed to get some real answers, as well as long-term care post-suicide attempt and involuntary hospitalization. I had been self-medicating with alcohol mostly at that point, but also via recreational drugs and night-time medication. The hospital I was at post-ER was in Winston-Salem North Carolina. They diagnosed me bi-polar I, PTSD, and generalized anxiety disorder, as well as insomnia.

I took an LOA from work and stayed with my sister in Michigan for three months. She kept me sober and took me to my psychiatrists and therapy appointments during that time, but I had to put together a whole new team when I got back to Charlotte. I had to find a psychiatrist that didn’t have a 6-8 month wait time, which was challenging. I found one in Greenville SC (two hours away). I would drive two hours once a month for several years to see this man for medication management. Eventually I was able to do virtual, but still had to go in once every three months for physical evaluations.

When I was searching for a therapist, I didn’t want a counselor. I wanted a licensed psychologist (PhD) that specialized in diagnostics to get a second opinion because I wasn’t very confident in the hospital’s accuracy given my short stay. I saw him for two years - for diagnosis (lots of tangible, meaningful testing) and talk therapy. He confirmed bipolar I, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, and encouraged I try AA or a treatment center specifically for alcoholism. The day I told him I went to AA, he had started the session with, “let’s talk about what it’s going to mean if you do not get sober.”

Ultimately, he was a good match for me at that time. He gave me the support I needed on a weekly basis from 2018-2020. I stopped seeing him after covid because I personally dislike virtual therapy. I was living with two people at the time and never felt comfortable during virtual sessions. It started to feel like I was paying money to simply have a conversation with another person. I leaned into AA pretty heavily to compensate.

I’m going to circle back to when I got back to work after my medical LOA in 2018. I could write a book about how completely unprofessional, disrespectful, and shady this company was and still is. To keep on track with the topic of therapy, I’ll just say this for now: they passive-aggressively pushed me out slowly over the next three years because of my disability. They couldn’t fire me without legal repercussions, so they made damn sure I felt more and more incompetent and unwanted until I broke.

It took THREE YEARS. Keep in mind, I was trying to focus on figuring out what treatment(s) would work for me by trial-and-error at the same time. Driving to Greenville monthly, going to intensive therapy weekly, dealing with medication changes and side-effects galore. I wanted to die.

2021 rolled around and I had to take another LOA because I was crying everyday just thinking about work. I was trying to get my footing back and began seeing my psychiatrist weekly, making a lot of med changes trying to get to a place I felt stable. Three months later, I was worse than ever despite doing everything I was “supposed to” be doing. Not asking - begging for help.

I had to go back to work because I didn’t have the option to extend my leave. I went back for less than a week and put in my resignation. It just wasn’t worth the emotional and mental trauma anymore - I was torturing myself by staying. Doing all I could and it was never enough.

After six years with this company that was a start-up with only a handful of employees at the time I was hired - a company I moved across the country for and played a big part in their growth and success - could not care less about me. It was a rude awakening and I’m working on the rage I still harbor for them to this day.

That said, I left in July 2021 and in October 2021, I purposely overdosed. I was quite upset when I woke up - I truly was done, needed to be done.

I felt like a useless, helpless, hopeless, waste of space. I felt I was a complete burden to everyone, especially myself. I deeply hated myself. I’d never felt worse about my body. When I got home, I knew I had to do something different immediately or I would succeed the next time - there would be a next time.

My dad came down to North Carolina to stay with me at home for two months while I was on a waitlist for a PHP (partial hospitalization program), just so I wouldn’t be alone. My husband was around, but he worked A LOT during those days. I ended up starting at the PHP place in December 2021 and discharged in April 2022. The therapist I had during my stay ended up moving on to her own practice at the same time I was discharged, so I was able to continue seeing her outside of PHP.

I continued to see that same therapist until I moved back to Michigan, so for about a year altogether. She was the best therapist I’ve had to-date. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with how raw I was in PHP, but she was also the first female therapist I’d seen for an extended period in adulthood. I ended up being much more comfortable working through sexual trauma with her, which was a bigger deal that I thought. Much of my childhood trauma was sex-based and for every story I’m open about from my teens and 20s, there are five more I haven’t openly discussed.

Moving to Michigan was one of the best decisions I’ve made in recent years, but finding a new mental healthcare team was daunting, as always. It took me about a month to find a Psychiatric NP (nurse practitioner) to manage my medication - she’s the best I’ve had to-date. She asks thoughtful questions, does her research thoroughly before suggesting changes, and she’s made herself available to me in times of crisis.

A therapist has been more challenging to find, still. I saw someone for a few months, after being on a waitlist for months. I have not been able to find an affordable replacement.

In the meantime, I have reached out to and met with a queer life coach (one time so far). They have an online presence that I’ve resonated with for a long time and I’m feeling a strong connection with them, as well as potential to work on areas I haven’t touched much in traditional therapy. They have asked me tough questions already, so I feel pretty good about making progress where I need it right now.

Now that you’ve heard my story, here are some things I hope you take-away and can apply to your own journey:

1. Check your intents and purposes for seeking therapy. Is it just to try it because of the hype? Is it to gain insight on mental health in general, or for yourself specifically? Are you wanting to work on behavioral changes? Improve your relationships? Any reason is valid, but be prepared to answer the first question you’ll be asked: why are you here? Where do you want to start?

2. If you’re not feeling comfortable, safe, or productive with a therapist you’re seeing, seek out someone else. Therapy usually comes with a price tag - make sure you’re getting what you’re paying for. Progress takes work. If you feel like you’re not connecting, it’s time to try something or someone else. Communicate what you need.

3. Make sure you’re challenging yourself to talk about the uncomfortable stuff. The trauma you need to acknowledge and work through (when applicable). Know the difference between not feeling comfortable with your therapist and not being comfortable with a specific topic.

4. Have you been seeing the same therapist or counselor long-term and feel stuck, stagnant in your progress, or just plain lost? Re-evaluate the first question: why are you (t)here? Don’t lose sight of your goal(s), otherwise you’re both flying blind.

Blog topics coming up next (eventually)…

Toxic Workplace Environment Rant,
Involuntary vs Voluntary Hospitalization,
Medication Management,
and Suicidal Ideation.

Everybody has a Bottom

Pun intended.

Since creating this space, I’ve had a handful of people reach out with questions about sobriety. One of the most common questions is always, “when/how did you know you were an alcoholic?”

First, I will say that my story includes the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. As such, I will do my best to honor the twelve traditions in keeping what I share, as it relates to AA, to what I’ve learned as a result of my experience.

That said, I will start by sharing what my first drink was like. I was about six or seven years old and I was in my mom’s lap while she was mowing the grass on a riding tractor. I told her I was thirsty, so she handed me her Bud Light. I felt like a cool kid and it didn’t taste as bad as most would think, to me anyway. But Bud Light is practically water, so does that even count?

If it doesn’t, the sips I stole here and there over the next few years doesn’t count either. The first time I got drunk, I was at a party the summer before my Senior year of High School. I was just drunk enough for the room to be spinning when I went to sleep, but I didn’t get sick. I liked it.

Shortly after that, I started dating the man much older than I was (see: Robbing the Cradle). Naturally, I would drink with him and his friends when we were together. The first time I got blackout drunk was the winter of my Senior year. I had gone bar hopping as the DD of my best friend’s 21st birthday.

When we got back to the House Party, I did beer pong with the birthday girl. She actually didn’t like beer, so our cups were filled with shots of vodka. Since the birthday girl was already drunk, I drank most of our cups. We lost. I did snow angels in the nude and passed out. That was also my first memorable hangover.

From there, it turned into binge drinking and blacking out most weekends. When I lived in the dorms, I actually drank much less than I had been the previous year. Going into my Sophomore year of college, I moved in with three friends from the area. Our house became the party house. I used to get so overwhelmed and anxious around so many people I didn’t know. I would lock myself in my room until they all passed out or left.

But the more I got to know these people, the more comfortable I got, and the more I began to participate in the binge drinking (again). I was working multiple jobs and going to school full-time for a period, then I stopped going to school, but I was still working three jobs. I look back on it and I have no idea how I was functioning. When I found derby, I cut it to one job. But my drinking got worse.

Moving to California was exciting AF. I had a new blossoming relationship, I’d just gone to Europe, and I got to live with my sister in Los Angeles. I was starting a new life. I still drank a lot, but mostly socially and not so much that it raised any eyebrows (yet, mostly). I had a few notably terrible, embarrassing nights, but I wasn’t drinking all the time. I couldn’t afford it.

When I moved to Charlotte NC is when it went from zero to sixty in no time. The job I’d moved for wasn’t what I was promised almost instantly, I felt trapped, I didn’t have any family there, I was broke, I missed my derby community at Angel City, my relationship wasn’t in the best place… I was not okay. But it was more affordable to drink! I also regularly took NyQuil just to put myself to sleep.

I did not get sober until 2019, so those first three years in Charlotte went to Hell in a handbasket. The best way I can sum up those three years: painful, embarrassing, and miserably lost. I don’t want to do too much of what the AA community would call a “drunkologue”, so we’re going to move along to the better part of the story: recovery.

A friend took me to my first meeting. This wasn’t the first time I’d looked into local meetings or thought about needing AA, but it was the first time I was desperate enough to take it a step further. I picked a backrow corner spot, just like my grandfather always did in Church. My friend sat next to me. I had no intent on participating, but I blurt out half-way through the meeting, not even knowing how sharing worked at the time: “I’m an alcoholic. I’ve never said that out loud and I’m terrified.” I was.

A tall, skinny, white, middle-aged bald man beelined to me when the meeting was over and said, “I’m glad you’re here. You don’t have to mean it, just keep coming back.”

The fact that he is what I was afraid of about AA; but ended up being the person that made me the most comfortable and welcome, is quite ironic. Seriously, I assumed all AA meetings would be predominantly middle-aged white men pushing Jesus. Don’t get me wrong, those meetings do exist. But most cities have many different meetings available and sometimes those Boomers will surprise ya (in a good way).

The following three years still had their challenges, but I stayed sober and was able to lean on the fellowship for the support I needed. That skinny bald guy became my sponsor. I worked the steps, I built new relationships, and I mended old ones. I really started taking my mental health seriously and was able to those things because I stayed sober.

My husband and I had the most challenging year of our marriage (so far) that last year in Charlotte. I almost drank, but I didn’t. We decided to move back home to Michigan and I have celebrated my fourth and now fifth years sober with my family. I haven’t been to a meeting in a little over a year now because I have so much support from my family, but I know they are there if I need them. And they will be there if you need them, too.

Now, to answer the “how did you know” question… I couldn’t be honest with anyone, even myself, when it came to drinking. I was hiding it and lying about it constantly. It became the root of most of my problems without me realizing it and it just made me feel like shit all the time - mentally, physically, emotionally. I was ruining all the relationships that meant the most to me because of it.

I tried to manage on my own for a long time and it didn’t do me any favors. My motivation to commit to AA was to save my relationship with my now husband, but I’ve stayed sober because of the life it gave me. Because I know who I am now and that person is better sober.

If you’re struggling, it’s okay to know you have a problem and not be ready to commit to sobriety at the same time. Give yourself grace and don’t overcommit knowing you’re not ready - we don’t need to give ourselves reasons to feel even more guilty than we already do. Just keep trying to do the next right thing until you are ready.

Resources:
https://www.aa.org/meeting-guide-app

https://alcoholicsanonymous.com/find-a-meeting/

Robbing the Cradle

I have been in long-term relationship after long-term relationship since I was in the first grade. I’ve learned this is called “serial monogamy”. As a child, I was exposed to sexual acts as young as 3-5 years old. I was tricked into performing sexual acts as young as 3-5 years old. Physical attraction and romantic relationships were my focus throughout most of my life (thus far) because of this and grown men certainly took advantage of that as I matured into my teens.

Especially after my mother passed, I became emotionally attached to a boy down the street from my new home. He was the first person I “trauma bonded” with. His father had also took his own life just a year prior. It didn’t last long - he broke my heart and, in hindsight, I was obsessed with searching for that feeling again and latched onto anyone that gave me attention.

The summer before my freshman year in high school, I began dating a senior that I met at band camp (classic). He was the complete opposite of me and only wanted to be with me because of my physical appearance (though HS boys that think they’re “good guys” would never admit that). He wanted to marry me (LOL) and when it started to set in that he was serious, I bolted (that wording is hilarious if you know who I’m talking about).

I then dated someone he absolutely hated - also a senior and also in band - almost immediately after I broke up with him. I was 15 - cut me some slack. This guy was sweet, but I’m also fairly certain the interest was based on physical attraction more than anything else. I had extremely low self esteem and did not believe I was anything special, so I promise this wasn’t me capitalizing on that. If that were the case, I’d be going after hotter boys.

That said, leading into my sophomore year, I started dating my woodwind instructor from band camp (classic). I was with him for about 1.5 years. All of my free time was spent visiting him at his dorm and talking about how much we were in love (ew), but I did love this one. It fizzled out and I decided he wasn’t right for me, which of course crushed him. That was really difficult, especially since he was my first consensual long-term sexual partner. I found out later he was planning to propose to me the day I broke up with him and I’ll forever feel sad about that.

I very shortly after started seeing a 23-year-old grown ass man that I worked with at a restaurant in town (I was 16, junior in HS). He was awful to me and it took me far too long to realize that he was outwardly only interested in physical connection. I always felt weird about my sexuality being that I knew most people having been through non-consensual abuse were not into sex most of the time. Being hyper-sexual so young made me feel ashamed.

This leads into something that never should have happened. But it did and I learned from it, so I don’t regret it. I started dating a 25-year-old grown ass man that was already a college graduate and had a real career in coding. Why would that person have any interest in a 17-year-old that was still in her junior year of HS? I don’t know. But it happened and we were together for 1.5 years. When I started college, I was living in the dorms and we were planning to move in together the following year. He bought me a $4,000 dog and in hindsight, that freaked me out. As excited as I was and I really wanted to keep her - that really was a grand gesture - it didn’t feel right. I broke his heart too and that sucks, but again, this relationship never should have happened. He threatened to commit suicide about a month after we split. We haven’t really spoken since.

Keep in mind that throughout all these relationships, I was not okay. I was cracked mentally all my life. I had meltdowns that were not normal and clearly did not know wtf to do with myself. I was also battling an eating disorder that began as early as the age of nine.

But I had an “old soul” and had been through so much, I was viewed as strong and wise beyond my years. That’s bullshit.

After that relationship, I had three brief “flings” before my Resident Director at the dorms started to express interest in me and again, in hindsight it was physical attraction that brought him to me and I broke his heart (he was nearly 6 years older than me as well). He was the first person I was ever honest with about all the trauma I’d been through, though. I completely broke down and he’s the first person that tried to diagnose me through anger.

And ironically enough, I think this launched me into my first serious manic episode. Unfortunately I found another boy to trauma bond with and ended up in a two-year toxic AF relationship. This is when I began drinking heavily as well. I dropped out of college after my second year, which actually ended up working out for the best. But still - I am not proud of who I was those two years. Then I found roller derby, which made me stronger and more confident, leading to my relationship with my husband (still 3 years older).

We’ve been together nearly 10 years! It has been more challenging than most will ever know, but I’m sure as hell he is my soulmate and have been sure as hell since the day he showed up in California, moving there with me less than six months into dating. Clearly this guy is “crazy” too - it’s a match!

That said, the point of this very long story was only to vent about how grossed out I am by the much older men that took advantage, even when it wasn’t intentional. Men in their 20s should not be going after girls that are still in high school, period. And I will stand by that, because everyone thinks they are the exception. If I could go back in time to give my younger self advice, I’d tell her to focus on her damn self. Still, I’m grateful for where it all landed me: here, sharing this with anyone that needs to hear it.

Don’t settle, my friends.