Talking About It

My mom told me I needed to talk to someone about my anxiety before I went looking for further treatments such as medications. I called the same practice that other family members had been to. At first it was weird, giving so much information to a stranger I had met online only a few minutes prior. As I spoke, the therapist wrote things down in his little note book, nodding, but not saying anything in return. Because of this silence, I was a little nervous as I thought I may have overstepped and overshared.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked up, and said, “thank you” for sharing my stories and emotions. And that was it, the call ended and we set up a new time for the following week.

It was uneventful, but it felt good to get things off my chest. It was not as difficult as I had thought; words just fell out of my mouth to the man.

Therapy was not for me. I canceled my next appointment and any others following.