In our previous blog, “6 Things to Know About Your Therapist,” we shared that therapists also seek their own therapy. Today’s edition brings you some of my own therapy narrative. 

In December 2017, my first husband unexpectedly died. He was 32 years old, and I was 29 years old. Our son was 20 months old at the time, and I was 6 weeks pregnant with our daughter. A young family just embarking on life. It all happened fast, from the moment of impact to death was a little over a day. I delivered the news to the family, and later friends. Next was planning the funeral and figuring out life.

From the moment I knew my late husband’s fate, I knew I would need therapy. I knew the family would need therapy. In fact, I told the immediate family members pretty much in the same breath as the fateful news to find a therapist right away. None of us were ready for this, and I knew we would all need help processing what we had just endured.

January 2018 brought my first counseling session. Even though I was aware of the “grief cycle” and the phases (thanks, grad school), I also knew I really had no idea how to navigate all the feelings, being a widowed mom, being pregnant, continuing to survive, and hopefully move forward to thriving again. In all reality, the only things I was focused on in those early months were feeding myself and my son, working to maintain income and normalcy, and getting through the long weekends (pregnant, busy toddler, winter, and all family lived over an hour away).

My therapy was helpful to have a place to process a lot of anger and sadness. Let’s be real, how can one not be pissed off that their husband just died. Many tears were shed in my counseling sessions. Like buckets of tears. Gardens could have been watered. Some choice words were muttered. I often left sessions feeling exhausted but also relieved.

I went to therapy for 5 months. Not because it was fun, because it was necessary. It was the safe place to feel the feels, get constructive feedback (for those somewhat irrational moments *sarcasm*), process through symptoms, and move forward to healing. I also sought pastoral counseling through my church to navigate those thoughts and feelings.

I share this vulnerable piece of my story to let you know that I’ve been there. I have sat in the chair you have sat in, or may sit in. I have been challenged to think of things differently. I have been given “homework” from my therapist. I had moments I didn’t want to go to the session because I didn’t feel like crying that day or was tired or didn’t want to be challenged or didn’t want to think/talk about feelings, but went because I knew I needed it. I came out of therapy and the entire situation a changed person. I am thankful for my therapist, even when my therapist pushed me in ways I didn’t want to be pushed. Therapy can be hard. Those sessions can be a real pain in the ass. But they also can lead to something beautiful.

Think of therapy as a lotus flower. A lotus grows and blooms from the dirtiest water, but they are beautiful flowers. Therapy may be hard and ugly, but consider what beauty may come from the effort.