Staring Down Stigmas (Part 1)

I like to think that I’ve “put in the work” at this stage in my life. That’s not to say that in my mid-30s, I feel as though I’ve had my fill of life experiences; I know there is more to come and I will learn many more things in this life when all is said and done. I welcome this. But there’s something to be said for having come so far, and still, in some ways, feeling like you’re right back where you started.

It’s super frustrating.

I spent 10 years in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy as a kid working on handling my OCD, initially just to simply function, but eventually to learn how to thrive with it. I’ve gone through periods of reflection, both personal and spiritual, taking the time to seek a connection with myself that frankly, I’m not sure I ever really had. I returned to therapy after about a 10-year hiatus, albeit begrudgingly, when I realized that the things I was experiencing that triggered my anxiety were more than I had bargained for.

As a kid, I went to therapy because that’s what the doctors said was appropriate—my parents agreed, rightfully so, but also, I was 8 and had never really had to think for myself when it came to something so profound as my mental health. I didn’t know what mental health was, to be honest. It just wasn’t something I had heard about before.

My years of spiritual reflection in my mid-20s, though ultimately voluntary, didn’t start out that way. In the midst of a downward spiral, at a crossroads in my young life, I found myself back at my church for the first time in years during a bike ride one summer afternoon. After years of skipping weekly services and limited religious or spiritual practice, the visit was definitely not a premeditated one. I just kind of wound up there, drawn there.

My most recent foray into therapy—unlike my unexpected bike ride that ended at the church—was much more of a conscious decision. Begrudging still, yes, but it was very much intentional. I wasn’t necessarily thrilled about it, but with my mind drowning in its obsessive-compulsive thoughts, it needed to be done for my own sanity and well-being.

I had a lot of hesitation about returning to therapy back in 2014. I was in a relationship that took a sudden turn, seemingly out of nowhere. Things were great, and then, all of a sudden, they weren’t, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. When logic fails to bring clarity, the imagination wanders, and wow, did it wander.

I was certain something was wrong (turns out, it was), but the inability to figure out what or why or how nearly drove me crazy. All the checkmarks were there—the obsessive, intrusive, unwanted thoughts, and the compulsive checking of my phone for texts of reassurance that didn’t come. All the marks of “textbook” OCD.

via https://iocdf.org/about-ocd/

It made all the sense in the world to return to therapy, but stubborn me being stubborn, prideful me, I’d been there and done that already and I didn't want to need it. I shouldn’t have to go back to therapy. I spent 10 years in therapy, I know what I’m supposed to do. Why should I have to do something I’ve already done to deal with the same thing over and over again? I’ve learned how to cope with this… so why can’t I just f***ing cope with this? Was all that therapy for nothing? Are you ever going to come to a point where you don’t need therapy, or are you stuck in this forever? What the f*** is wrong with you, Mike?

Through all of these previous life experiences with OCD, I had learned—about therapy, about myself, my tendencies and interactions with others, and the way those interactions resonate inside my ever-active OCD brain. I didn’t particularly like everything I learned along the way, but I’d be remiss to say that I haven’t made progress—I’ve definitely come a long way. But still, I found it hard to go back to therapy, to find a new therapist, and start fresh the process of peeling back all of the layers of your internal onion to yet another stranger, just to gain some inner peace.

It was hard to bring myself to accept going back to therapy. And then, when I found myself feeling disconnected, I found it hard to bring myself to stay in therapy. And then, when my group therapy session ended, I stopped seeking it. That pursuit has come and gone from my radar since. I’ve made several calls and I'm sitting on an authorization number. I just have yet to return to therapy. Some days, I feel I could definitely benefit from it, but it’s been at least 9 months now and I have yet to find my way back.

I think that part of this struggle, at least in the past, had something to do with stigma. Although, to be honest, I'm not exactly sure if it's the social stigma itself that is holding me back, or an adapted and more personalized variation of that stigma. Whether or not I'm internalizing the common public stigmas about mental health and therapy or simply beating myself up, as I often do, for not being far enough along to have permanently “graduated” from therapy for good, there have been, and continue to be these roadblocks, these mental hurdles between me and that seemingly ever-elusive state of inner peace. I want inner peace, it just doesn't come naturally to me. And the conscious effort it takes to be peaceful feels counterintuitive to being peaceful in the first place—if I'm constantly fighting an uphill battle against my own inner anxieties and turmoil, how can I ever truly be at peace?

The good news is that while the peace may never be fully natural and effortless, I have come to believe that there are ways it can be achieved, but first, some stigmas, whether public or personal, need to be addressed…

In Part 2 of this mini-series, we focus on aversion towards, versus acceptance of, mental health challenges.
Share your comments at the bottom of the page.

© Whaitsmyhealth

Special thanks to our resources:

https://www.apa.org/ptsd-guideline/patients-and-families/cognitive-behavioral

https://iocdf.org/about-ocd/