This past summer, I went to see a psychologist of my own volition.  I have lived a crazy roller coaster of events over the last three years…career change, divorce, promotion at work that was ANOTHER career change, and a romantic relationship that challenged me at every turn.  So, I decided to consult a professional to see if I did indeed have a few screws loose.

My reasoning was this:  If you think you have cancer, do you wait until it’s eating away at your flesh to call the doctor?  No.  Likewise, I figured it was better to seek professional help BEFORE I went too far off the deep end and wound up at Walmart at midnight wearing nothing but a chicken costume.

When I began this blog, my main goal was to smash stereotypes and negative connotations.  Therapy and mental health both carry with them such a stigma, and IT SHOULDN’T BE LIKE THAT, FOLKS.  For too long, seeking the advice of a counselor has been ingrained in us that you have to be “crazy” to ask for help.

NOT TRUE.

I have to stop here and admit I am much more fortunate than most.  I have an amazing support system…so amazing, in fact, that when life hands me lemons, my biggest challenge is deciding who I should reach out to first to help me slice the lemons up to make lemonade.  I’m not exaggerating, either.  My “tribe” stretches from my workplace to my own ZIP code, from Tennessee to Missouri, from seventh-grade friends to people I just met this summer.  Believe me when I say that lack of support was not a driving factor in my decision to ask for help.  But friends, no matter how well-meaning, are unable to be one hundred percent unbiased, because they have your best interests at heart.  (Duh…otherwise, why would they be your friends?)  No, I sought help because I wanted a professional, evidence-based, unbiased opinion.  Enter Dr. Rogers.

As a side note…before my visit, I kept picturing the scene in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” when the doctor wants the patient to tell him where he dreamed the Wonka bars are hidden, complete with a chaise lounge and a doctor with a bad hairpiece.  Dr. Rogers and her office were none of the above.  First of all, it was more like being in someone’s well-decorated living room.  Second of all, she had short hair, tattoos, and took off her shoes and tucked her feet up as soon as we started talking.  Finally, she let me talk…and talk…and talk…and when I finally came up for air, she told me point-blank:  “You don’t need to see a therapist.  What you’re looking for is a fortune teller with a crystal ball.”  Wow. Hit the nail on the head with that one, didn’t she?

…she also determined that I am, in fact, very sane and NOT crazy, nor did I have a need for any type of medication.  (Not that there’s anything wrong with any of those things, believe me.  We each find healing in our own unique way.  For some of us, that healing comes with medication; for others, it’s talk therapy, or EMDR, or a litany of other methods). For me, the “cure” wasn’t going to come from a bottle of pills.  Instead, I had to reach deep within myself and find the ability to forgive myself for my mistakes and shortcomings.  I had to learn to give until it hurt, and then give some more.  In fact, the only “prescription” she gave me went like this…

As humans, we yearn for a life that looks like we EXPECT it to look.  We might expect at age 40, we’ll own a house with a yard and have 2.3 children.  We might expect to still be able to fit into our high school-sized clothing (yes, please!)  Some of us might expect that by age 40, we will have paid off all our student loan debt (another yes, please, from this girl).  Others of us expect to have raised our kids to an acceptable age where we can travel with our partner while the kids frolic at home. We have expectations of others, from how our coworkers treat us to how our children should behave in public.  The hardest ones are the expectations we have of ourselves that we fail to live up to…the expectation that things SHOULD be different than they are.

Having said that, here is the “prescription” she gave me:

Every day, I am to take my daily expectations and realign them.  That is not to say I should LOWER them per se, just realign them.  I start at the bottom and choose the one, ONLY ONE, thing I have to have.  For me, I know what the answer is…I have to fall asleep curled in my partner’s arms. Always.  He is my safe harbor, the source of all quiet energy in my soul.  So, I start there.  And anything — ANYTHING — else is just a bonus.  My realigned expectations can only include my bottom line, my one non-negotiable.

There have been days since she gave me the prescription that it has worked miraculously.  I get all the grocery shopping done, my kids don’t draw blood from one another, my boys lift up BOTH SEATS every time they pee, my hair doesn’t frizz, and I catch every light green on the way home from work.  But there’s other days when every shirt I put on shows all my fat rolls (front and back), I have no tampons in my stash at work and then the machine in the bathroom eats my quarter and I have to track down the maintenance man to ask HIM to retrieve the tampon from the crummy machine, my leather seats burn my legs because I leave the sunroof open in my car, and I get behind a woman in the self-checkout who wants to write a check for her groceries.  And on those days…the prescription works even better.

I no longer see the therapist, not because I feel as though I have been “cured,” but because I now understand that it is up to me to work with the tools — the prescription, if you will — that she provided me.  We are, each of us, a work in progress.  If the progress of your work includes seeking counseling or outreach for mental health struggles, there is no shame in that.  Help me shatter the walls that have caused us to think we have to be “nuts” to ask for help.

And if you happen to see someone in Walmart at midnight dressed like a chicken, well…