It's Okay Not to Be Okay
"If we start being honest about our pain, our anger, and our shortcomings instead of pretending they don’t exist, then maybe we’ll leave the world a better place than we found it."
— Russell Wilson
Nervous. Anxious. Unsure. Scared. Embarrassed.
The waiting room had the sounds and smells like that of a spa, but I was anything but relaxed. In the few minutes I sat waiting, I contemplated jumping up and running out of there as fast as I could so many times.
"Do I really need to be here? Is this truly necessary? I mean, no one's making me be here, so I should just go."
At that moment, a lovely woman with the warmest expression opened the door and gently called my name. I somehow managed to gather myself up and cross the hall into her office and onto the couch.
You see, I had been contemplating therapy for years but had always come to the conclusion that all-in-all, I was okay. In my mind, there was no super-traumatic experience...no devastating loss...no abuse...which I interpreted as "okay." It almost felt silly to me the idea of seeing a therapist—not because I haven't had my fair share of sadness and loss (I have) or that I don't think mental health is incredibly important (I do), but because I never saw my problems or issues or feelings as "that bad." I essentially had what I like to call the "Kourtney Kardashian mentality"—as in when it comes to the rest of the world's problems, mine sort of pale in comparison.
But after years of encouragement from one of my best friends and some recent "ah-ha" moments, I decided to finally take the leap, and here I was.
I had no idea what to expect. We started out making small talk—standard get-to-know-you chitchat and comments about the weather. Then it started to get real: she asked me about my goals and what I wanted to achieve through our time together, and I started to feel the panic set in.
I had filled out a form previous to our meeting that asked that question, and I had written down some fairly vague answers: "Better my relationships" ... "Process my feelings in a healthier way"...etc. But I hadn't really considered why I was going or what I was wanting to get out of it in the end. Again, I thought I was "okay" and my life was "okay" and everything was pretty much "okay," but then I opened my mouth to answer, and it happened...word vomit. I honestly couldn't even tell you what I said if I wanted to. It felt almost like an out-of-body experience, spewing all of these feelings and tears onto this poor woman. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of me, and I couldn't turn it off.
After rambling on for what seemed like hours, she kindly informed me that our time was up, but that she would like to see me again...once a week for the next few months. I stood there half-stunned, half-confused. I smiled and nodded as she discussed available dates, but in my head, I kept repeating, "But I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay...??"
I stood up, gave her a half-hearted "thank you", and walked out of the door to my car. I sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened when I suddenly felt this wave come over me—and I let out the most guttural, cathartic scream I have ever heard, much less produced, followed by uncontrollable sobbing. And that's when I knew...
I. was. not. o. kay.
So I went back, and week after week—slowly but surely—I could feel things shifting. And then, just a few weeks ago, I had a major breakthrough: it turns out the awful thoughts and feelings I had been experiencing most of my life that I had chalked up to as "normal" were in fact quite the opposite. Stress, work, politics, #life—albeit contributors—were actually not the cause of the moderate/severe progression of these thoughts and feelings in recent years.
Turns out I have severe anxiety.
Now, younger Lisa would have immediately thrown her defenses up, argued her case, and found every excuse to explain away the notion that there may be something "wrong" with her...that she wasn't "okay." But not now. In that moment, I felt this enormous weight lift, and I cried at its release—but these tears were different. These were tears of relief...relief in finally putting a name to the cause of the negative thoughts and feelings that I had accumulated and which had plagued me for so, so long. In a sense, it felt...freeing...
Because it's only when you can identify an issue—whether it be with your physical health, a relationship, or your mental health—that you can truly begin the process of healing it.
It has now been 120 days since I started my journey to better mental health, and I still have such a long way to go. It has been hard and, at times, downright painful. But my only regret thus far is that I didn't seek help sooner. I write this not only as a way to externally process my feelings or because it is #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, but also as an encouragement to anyone out there to not suffer in silence. Your feelings and experiences are valid. Full stop.
It's okay not to be okay...but it's not okay to not live your life as fully, beautifully, and freely as you deserve. And I wish nothing less than that for myself...and for you.