"I saw a psychologist but I'm not crazy"

Image: Kristie Mercer (supplied)

I went and saw a psychologist last week. Not because I’m crazy, though – I swear.

Crazy people cry all the time, but I sook in the toilet so nobody even knows. Crazy people have no idea about personal hygiene, whereas I run a brush through my hair at least every fourth day. And crazy people are constantly trying to convince other people that they’re not crazy, whereas I’m merely presenting you with the overwhelming evidence that I am indeed a relatively sane individual.

It annoys me that I even feel the need to defend my mental wellbeing, but for some reason I do.

My dad called me as I was walking into my first ever therapy session recently. Without thinking I answered the phone, “Hey Dad, I can’t talk now I’m at the doctors.”

“Oh, what’s wrong?” he asked, as any parent would.

“Umm…” I panicked. What the hell was I supposed to tell him? The truth? That I’ve cried every day for the past few weeks or that I wake up every two hours in a cold sweat hyperventilating about the future?

What a joke to not be coping with such a great life. How shameful it felt to appear ungrateful for how lucky I know I am.

“Oh, I’ve just got a bit of a sniffle,” I lied, and badly at that. I guess I was embarrassed; afraid to tell him the truth, afraid to show weakness for fear of what he might think of me, of how disappointed he’d be. I imagined him snapping, “Ha, therapist? What do you need to see a therapist for? What do you have to be depressed about?”

What a joke to not be coping with such a great life. How shameful it felt to appear ungrateful for how lucky I know I am.

Therapy makes sense though. Think of all of the things you do to maintain other elements of yourself. Dragging your ass to the gym thee times a week to keep your weight in check. Rubbing moisturiser on your crow’s feet each night before bed. Going to the physio every three weeks to have your back cracked into place.

Yet our most important asset, the element of ourselves we need to take most care of – our minds – are neglected. What do we ever do for them? How do we ever keep them in check? Overloaded and under-rested, we just expect our brains to run without a hitch. It’s like running a computer all day, every day, without ever shutting it down. How can you expect to be fast, efficient and effective if you never give it the chance to reboot? Surely our minds should be given the same graces we allow our family computer?

I’m starting to think of seeing a psychologist as a band-aid – there’s no point in putting it on a gaping wound when it can help a small paper cut at best.

But for some reason, I felt ashamed to tell even my closest family members about it. I think we’re all so used to ‘just getting on with it’ we forget there are trained professionals a phone call away that can arm us with the tools we need to chip away at whatever it is taking up the front row of our lives.

I’m starting to think of seeing a psychologist as a band-aid – there’s no point in putting it on a gaping wound when it can help a small paper cut at best. I know I’m helping myself in the long run by putting a band-aid over my small cuts before they develop into anything more. I’m proud of myself for that; proud that I’m doing something for myself. And you can consider this my first step towards being proud for anyone else.

This was first discussed on Thinkergirl: The Podcast which you can hear here.

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