Confessions of a Girl in Therapy

Illustration by Wiktoria Orlicka

This is not The Met Gala! So, why is it that therapy is made to be so mysterious? I might be breaking some rules, but I’m about to share how the past few months of exposing my deepest feelings to a stranger have felt.

Words by Ieva Ozola

Living in a world in which Gen Z is called the depressed generation, you would think therapy is a given. I avoided that first email for too long. So long, it took a trip to Germany, where my sister had to break me down like the Berlin Wall, until I finally pressed send. Apparently, I suck at writing emails to therapists - ironic for a writer.

Finding the right professional-secret-keeper is as difficult as dating. You don’t have to trust everyone just because they’re breathing. Shop around until you find the right fit for you. After all, you’re the one paying.

I’ve broken the ‘no using WhatsApp’ rule several times with my therapist (let’s call her Julia). Feel free to expose yourself for 50 minutes, but then pretend it never happened. It goes something like this: “Hello, when could I book my next emotional breakdown? Kind regards, Ieva.” Thanks to Covid-19, I go to virtual therapy, and that comes with certain interruptions, most commonly Wi-Fi cutting out mid-confession. Don’t worry, I’ll re-enact my

emotional breakthrough once your connection improves. Often I have uninvited guests – my cats making an appearance, or flatmates eager for a cup of tea. Thankfully, to them hearing Latvian is like me trying to understand a drunken Scot. I’ve forgotten about my Julia dates several times. Receiving a reminder 15 minutes before, still asleep, occasionally not alone, does not give much of a putting-my-life-back-together feeling. Not to mention the untimely ‘I’m in therapy’ talk to have. I’ll never forget the look on Julia’s face when I had lost my voice but continued with an hour’s monologue for the sake of my wellbeing. My mental health may be improving, but my physical health is slightly different. Let me give you a sneak-peek inside the Met of mental health. There is no couch – only your bed and cuddly toy. It’s rarely ‘same time next week’ so start using reminders (I’d suggest setting it for more than 15 minutes before), and don’t expect big eureka moments. Therapy is an expensive roller-coaster ride - sometimes fun, often frustrating. The fun part is, surprisingly, homework. I’ve actually enjoyed getting extra assignments - is this what it feels like to be the teachDon’t worry, er’s pet? You get what I’m trying to do here, I’ll re-enact right? The whole ‘breaking the stigma’ thing. Therapy is useful, but it can be my emotional intimidating. Mental self-care is an intimate, personal experience. If you’re breakthrough not ready, that’s okay. Find something that feels like therapy to you, whether once your it’s walking, personal rituals, or spending time with people you actually like. connection For me, it’s getting a flat white and analysing my brain on paper. improves. There is life before and after you meet your Julia. It might sound like something from a coming-of-age movie, but live by your own rules. Do whatever the fuck you want! I know I’m definitely trying.