The Cross and Pen

Anyone who knows me has heard me say that therapy is for weak people, and asking for help is a sign of weakness. Bravado, you say? That argument could certainly be made, yes. But it's not valid in my case. For the past sixteen weeks, I saw a therapist - a second year psychology student in a Psy.D. program. My journey to therapy was decades in the making. You might even say it was a lifetime in the making. It has been an interesting and rewarding process to say the least. As a writer, and according to some, a scholar, I would be remiss if I did not chronicle my journey in some way. What follows is what I learned about therapy, mental health, God, and myself. As I indicated, sitting across from a therapist didn't happen on a whim. Much like visiting a doctor, you need a reason. In other words, something has to be wrong. And whatever is wrong probably didn't develop overnight. Okay, okay, yes, there are occasions where that does happen, but they are the exception, not the norm...