Confessions logo

My first ever counselling session

It did wonders.

By RuthPublished 2 years ago 5 min read
1

I will never forget my first counselling session. After repetitive pleas from my friends to go, I finally booked an appointment. Even then, as I was booking, I was still skeptical. I had deluded myself into believing that I was supposed to do it all on my own, that I needed no help.

Back before I entered uni, I knew something was wrong. I wasn't the same, especially after I graduated high school. Friends were unimportant to me, and I never kept in touch with most of them. I was just disinterested. Then I heard about therapy, and I asked my mother if I could book a session.

What came immediately was a frown. "What do you need therapy for? You're not crazy. Come one tell me what is wrong with you. I'm your mother after all." She said. I knew the moment I told her what was happening to me, she would do two things: One, she would completely invalidate my feelings and tell me nothing was wrong with me, that I was spouting nonsense. Two, she would tattle to my father and we would have a whole discussion of them missing the point. I couldn't have that happen, so I dismissed it, never to bring it up again. Never ask for any form of counselling again.

How wrong I was.

A lump formed in my chest. Then it started becoming heavy. Each time I would fake a smile and act like everything was okay, each time I would forcefully stop myself from crying, each time I would be there for my friends but none would be there for me. It kept getting heavier.

I automatically created this trash can. That was the image I had in my mind, and it quickly started filling up. Each time I faked a smile and acted like everything was okay, when I forcefully stopped myself from crying, and when I would be there for my friends, but none would be there for me. It kept filling up.

Then, it became a norm. I was numb. At that point, it had filled the house in my heart. After six years in high school, one year in preparation for college and a year in university, the load was huge, but I gaslighted myself into believing that I was okay and was overreacting.

Then, I heard you could go for counselling. Of course, it wasn't the first time I heard of it, especially now that I am in my second year, but I didn't care. Like I said before, I wasn't going to concern myself with it. Then someone finally noticed. It was random, it was weird. I didn't like it. I was used to being ignored. she was in my class, very extroverted. She was friends with everyone. She told me back then that I didn't look okay. Of course, my first instinct was to deny it, which I did. "I'm fine." I smiled forcefully. There was nothing wrong with me.

Of course, she didn't believe me. Then she told me to go for counselling, and I was offended. Did she think I was crazy? Noticing my anger, she immediately corrected herself, telling me something shocking. She said I was drowning. I was speechless. No one was supposed to know. Then, I felt ashamed of myself, not because of what she said but because I felt I didn't hide it that well. She gave me a slip. It was the location of the office. I stared at it for a while before telling her I would think about it, then I left.

It wasn't until after a month that I booked my first session. It was early in the morning. 8:30 am to be precise. I went into the office and I felt nervous. I was cold. I felt like I was in the hospital. Then, a lovely lady approached me and told me to fill out my details. I did so quickly, ignoring my hand tremoring. She could see it too but said nothing. She took it afterwards and another lady led me into a tiny room.

I remember the sensation. I couldn't look her in the eye. We hadn't even started, but I wanted to leave. I felt like I was about to be scolded. Then, she comforted me and ensured me that it would stay between us and I nodded, still keeping at the back of my mind not to share too much in case she tattled to my parents.

We got to the basics. What year I was in, what I was studying, and so on. It was getting boring, and then she asked me the dreaded question: "What made you come here?"

I froze. Why was I here again? Then I told her it was because I was crazy and she frowned, immediately negating the statement, and telling me that counselling or therapy doesn't mean crazy.

Before I knew it, I was spewing I was just saying everything, practically vomiting my words. Telling her what was wrong. By the time I was done, I was on the verge of tears, but I wasn't going to allow myself to cry. I was waiting for her to judge, to do anything but she did the exact opposite. She handed me a box of tissues.

"Cry it out." She said.

I shook my head. She nodded.

"Cry it out," she repeated.

By then, a few traitorous tears lipped out, still pursing my lips, refusing to cry. Then she said this.

"It's okay to cry. You are not weak for crying."

I burst, crying, crying that day, for the first time in two years. I let it all out, crying for the next minute. She said nothing, didn't pat me on the back or tell me I was going to be okay, neither did I want to hear it.

When I finished, she smiled. "Are you ready to get started?" and I smiled, nodding, my heart already feeling light. I knew there was a long way to go, but I was well on the way.

Oh, by the way, I am now good friends with the girl and my counsellor.

Humanity
1

About the Creator

Ruth

I am here to see how creative I can be :) Enjoy.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.