I originally wrote this short essay in early 2021 as a submission for a collection of essays that would be published together. It wasn’t chosen and it’s been sitting in my drafts for a little over two years. I thought there was no better time to share this than during Mental Health Awareness Month. So here it is untouched for over two years and yet I feel just as strongly about these words today as I did then.
I hope it finds the people who need it the most.
It seemed as if most people didn’t understand the pain I was in. At least not the way I needed them to in order to feel supported and comforted. Everyone had an opinion on how they would handle the cards I had been dealt but only I would have to live with whatever I decided. I made the decision to start going to therapy in April of 2019. My reasoning, to unpack all of the “baggage” that had become way too heavy for me to manage on my own. The year before, I ended a long-term relationship and realized I didn’t have a strong self-identity, I was repeating poor habits I saw in my parents and I needed to heal some childhood trauma. It started with a quick Google search of “Black therapists near me” and before I knew it, I was filling out prospective client forms. I never anticipated receiving anything more than a pocket full of coping skills and a better understanding of why. Why I behaved the way I did? Why I made the choices I made? Or why my relationships tended to feel unbalanced. Within the first year of my journey in therapy, my life was struck by a domino effect of unfortunate events that quickly began collapsing on one another. I remember walking into my therapist’s office one Saturday morning, it was February 29th and unusually warm for that time of year. One of those dominoes I mentioned had just fallen over and it was taking everything in my being to keep it together. I had been betrayed by close friends, caught off guard by employers who undervalued me and my cries had gone unheard for so long. I sat in the waiting room as the clock slowly approached 11 am. As I waited I listened to the sound of the white noise machines and breathed in the familiar office smells. She rounded the corner to greet me as usual, with a warm smile, and said “Robin! It’s so good to see you!”. I replied, “It’s good to be seen” and followed her back to her office. I settled into the chair, sitting crisscrossed placing the decorative pillow in my lap as she found her way to the chair across from mine. This had quickly become our unassigned assigned seats and I was comfortable with it. She looked at me empathetically and said “Wow, let’s unpack that. ‘It’s good to be seen.” What followed was a conversation about how I was having a hard time processing what had occurred over the last few months because just when I began to tread water, someone or something troubled those waters. I began to release all the heaviness that weighed my tongue down, unpacking each emotion one by one as I fiddled with the embroidery on the pillow. It had become my way of self-soothing during our time together. Every sentence I spoke that day was followed by heavy tear fall and deep sighs. She listened intensely, reassuring me that this time and space was meant just for me to fall apart if that’s what I needed. It was my respite. It seemed that the days between sessions during that period had been filled with countdowns until we’d met again. I was desperate to escape from my mental prison and my constant default of “I’m fine”. I wasn’t fine. To others, these were blessings in disguise, necessary evils, or cautionary tales if you will. To me, it was proof that I was undervalued, underappreciated, unheard, and disposable. But in our sessions I not only feel seen and heard, I feel validated. There are no “wrong” or “right” feelings. There are no empty words of comfort like “You’ll be fine”, “things could always be worse” or “There’s no need to cry”. No, crying is encouraged, feeling is encouraged. There’s no guilt about being too much or taking up too much space. I never knew how deeply I yearned to be seen, heard and understood. I didn’t realize how much relief could come from hearing, “It’s so good to see you” or to have someone hold space for you to feel all the emotions that you withhold. Being seen is empowering. It grants you the capacity to be vulnerable and to show up as your authentic self. And allowing yourself to be seen opens a whole new world of possibilities.
We could go our entire lives without being seen, felt, or heard. What a sad existence that would be.
I wish for every individual to be seen just as they are.
To be comforted with words that soothe their soul.
Or simply the space to express themselves without feeling like a burden.
This is for me as much as it is for you;
I hope it resonates.
Remember...
Be gentle with yourself & keep evolving!
Mental Health Resources:
nami.org/help
therapyforblackgirls.com
PsychologyToday.com
TherapyDen.com
OpenPathCollective.org
mhanational.org/surroundings/healthy-home-environment
mhanational.org/get-involved/b4stage4-where-get-help-0
1 800 950 6264 National Alliance on Mental Health