Local Opinion: Therapy needed? Not me!

I’ve always thought therapy was a great thing — for others, that is.

As a matter of fact, I have even recommended it — for others, of course.

However, I never stopped to wonder, could I feel better?

There was just no time.

I was busy. No time to evaluate how happy I was or how well I was feeling.

If asked, “Good enough!” was my answer.

Besides, who has time for questions like that? There was always something on the “To Do” list to check off.

So it came as a rather big surprise when my body answered the question in a very different way. My heart apparently decided my lifestyle was not “good enough” and sped up, resulting in a trip to the ER that brought me to a full stop.

But no matter. No need to do anything too different. New meds, take a three-day vacation in San Diego, and slow down for a bit. All good now — I quickly went back to “normal.”

What I didn’t realize is that I had learned to very efficiently block out any annoying and distracting signs that it might be time to reconsider my choices. They say the body keeps the score — and indeed it does. Problems continued.

So walking into the house one day I was met by my family, sitting on the couch. I laughed, asking “What is this, an intervention?”

It was.

They had decided that if I would not give up my frantic pace, I should consider the idea of therapy, to “help put things in perspective.” Imagine that — they wanted me around a bit longer.

Of course, I was resistant. OK, I refused.

I didn’t need therapy! I was doing great! Therapy is for people who are depressed. I wasn’t!

It was for people whose past major traumas were impacting their everyday lives — mine were not. Therapy was for people who were not successful. I was — very!

There was probably nothing anyone could say to convince me, except for my daughter, Liz. “Everyone depends on you. You deserve someone who is there just for you.”

What a concept.

Someone there, just for me?

I remember thinking, that if we were talking physical therapy, I would go in a minute. It seemed OK to take time to place that on my calendar. But fitting something as superfluous as cognitive therapy seems pretty self-indulgent.

And besides, what would that be like — would I have to lie on a couch? And ultimately, if I change, other things might have to as well. It was all too much to consider.

But I agreed to “try” — although it was more of an amusing concept rather than an actual reality.

“Research therapists” became a haunting presence in my Panda Planner as I moved it from page to page. And finally, I scheduled an appointment.

It is the best thing I ever did.

Admitting I am wrong is hard for me, but this misjudgment I willingly own.

I am happy now. Really happy. I have returned to my best self — not the person I became by necessity.

Therapy helped me find the person I always wanted to be. It was painless and need-fulfilling.

The only time I did not want to go was when I was playing badminton with my own feelings, stalling, instead of dealing with why I’ve always worked so hard.

And along the way, I worked out a successful relationship with my Board, took my brother off his pedestal, bonded more deeply with my sister, set boundaries with a friend, became more present for my family, and reframed what I want for the remaining third of my life — because I plan to live to age 99.

A pretty good argument for therapy.

I suggest you try it. Even if, like me, you don’t really need it.