In my young adult life time, I have had encounters with a total of four counselors/psychologists. My choice to visit the "shrink" was indeed just that - a choice that I made for myself.
No I didn't grow up in an abusive home or suffer severe trauma. My parents never got divorced; and if they ever exchanged a cross word with one another it was always carefully out of earshot from my brothers and I. My childhood is filled with rich memories of summers with my cousins and holiday meals with my grandparents. The only behavior that even remotely resembles abuse would be the occasional smackdown received from my brothers per usual (most call this sibling rivalry).
Growing up however, I simply didn't know how to communicate my own fears/worries/anxieties very openly due to my own hellacious knack for self-sabotage. Eventually, as a young adult, I felt more at ease sorting through the demise with someone if they were paid to listen to me. And even with the exchange of a copay, it wasn't an easy thing to articulate.
I've often considered this to be a curious thing about myself, particularly because of the very line of work I am in. Then again, perhaps that's the irony of it all... I listen because I want to be listened to. How narcissistic that seems? Until I realized that to be listened to is actually, believe it or not, a basic human need; even for those of us who think we don't need it.
My initial decision to "shrink it up" took place in college. What I know and understand now to be anxiety and overwhelming yet vague amounts of insecurity, were at the time, thoughts and feelings that dictated my very existence. I needed a safe place to talk, share and be fully realized into the stigma of "mental." After all, taking the plunge to "talk" to a professional certainly makes you mental, right? It has been through my process of "shrinkage" conversations, that I realized that I am so incredibly normal.
Exhibit A: Only after about 3 visits with Counselor 1, I became the listener. Sometimes, while learning about active listening, body language and quiet ques in my graduate courses, it's probably not the best scenario to apply these when visiting with a counselor who's just as human as you are. I mean, this guy was quirky, socially awkward and just plain odd. That last visit I had with him, I walked out realizing that I just gave this guy advice... and I'm paying HIM to counsel.
So I stopped.
Exhibit B: Counselor 2 discovered in our visits that I am a Minister of sorts. This lead to what I like to call, "The Confessional." This happens sometimes with people who, upon learning my trade, morph into "sinners" and feel the need to either apologize, share excuses or clam up completely. However, not being fully schooled in this response as a young 26 year old, I was offering active listening to my counselor, as she shared with me childhood stories of religious baggage, dogmatic abuses, and the general sense of "I'll never be enough."
Wait... there's a reason why I pay to talk... because I don't really elsehwere. And I don't really here.
So I stopped.
Exhibit C: Counselor 3 was an intellectual of sorts; categorizing and implementing outlines for a "healthier' behavorial practice. I can appreciate this. However, a conflict of interest arose upon the discovery that this counselor also provided shrinkage services to various folks I knew... the very folks I was having the most difficulty with. Meh... safe place gone buh bye.
So I stopped.
Last and Final Exhibit D: Counselor 4 socked it to me. She was a sounding board that reflected back to me the very normalcies I presented. I was bemused by my own lack of awareness that I was aware. Basically, I paid her for the validation that I am human, flawed, wonderful and in need of a little time to heal. Only, I wasn't giving myself credit that I had it in me. This wonderful lady offered me tools to be simply human.
Tools that I have encouraged in others.
Tools that we all have access to.
And with that... I stopped. Grateful, and free of co-pays.
