The Magical Collective
Presents:
TM - @sr_queso_esq
I knew I needed to go to counseling when I was nine years old. I saw my first therapist when I was thirty, as a birthday gift to myself.
My stomach constantly ground on itself for the 21 years in between. The churning of the always-on rock tumbler was incessant, with a refrain that drifted through my mind: “You’re not good enough.” It took me 21 years to push back against this statement, even though all evidence was to the contrary: I knew I was good enough, but I didn’t feel like I was good enough.
The refrain deflated my pride when I aced a spelling test. The refrain was my doubles partner when I won my first, and only, tennis tournament at the age of ten. The refrain was my squatter roommate throughout college. The refrain continued after I threw back my nightly chug of Pepto-Bismol to ease the churn in my stomach. The refrain’s pestilence echoed as I dry-heaved before work every morning for seven years.
No matter what I did—quit a stressful, dead-end job—or accomplished—Latin honors, bonuses at work—the agita wouldn’t stop. For those 21 years, nothing I did or accomplished tranquilized the roil.
However, I am fortunate in that I knew the source of the swells: my parents were both open with me about growing up in abusive households and I was raised in a rural part of the United States where leaving your feelings unacknowledged is considered a virtue. (Protip: this cultural artifact of rural life is not a virtue, it’s a virus; moreover, it’s healthy to push back on your upbringing—traditions like these need to wither on the vine.) My parents were able to right the ship from their childhoods; I was fortunate to grow up in a loving home. Nonetheless, the refrain is transgenerational and communities like the one in which I was raised are underserved by mental health professionals. (Being underserved is exacerbated by the fact that rural communities shame those who see mental health professionals.) These factors provided the desolate canyon that allowed the refrain to echo. In other words, even when we know the roots of our refrain, and even when we understand the physics that drag us to self-insulation, it’s still hard to schedule that first appointment with a counselor. (I admit “knowing” and “understanding” excludes other hurdles that many people face, like uncooperative insurance companies, unsupportive families or partners, and a lack of time, just to name a few factors.)
If you’re reading this and it’s hard to make that first appointment, I understand. It was hard for me, too, and I know I had several advantages that many people don’t have. I hope your journey doesn’t take 21 years. If you’re reading site, then you’re already taken that first, momentous step. We’re all supporting you and every single one of us want the best for you.
Catch up with Tyler @sr_queso_esq