Why I Go to Therapy

For a long time, I thought therapy was something other people needed. People who had “real” trauma, who couldn’t keep it together, who were broken in ways I didn’t want to believe I was. But the truth is, I started going to therapy because I got tired of pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.

I go to therapy because there are pieces of me I’ve carried for years — heavy, quiet pieces that never got the space to breathe. I go because there are moments that replay in my mind like background noise: the things I should’ve said, the people I shouldn’t have trusted, the parts of me that learned to shrink just to survive.

The Breaking Point

I was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that sits in your chest and lingers no matter how much coffee you drink. I had reached a point where my emotions started spilling out — anger where there should’ve been calm, sadness when things were actually fine.

There’s something humbling about realizing that your coping mechanisms are no longer working. I had spent years trying to manage my emotions in silence, labeling them as “drama” or “overreacting.” But silence is a form of self-abandonment too.

Therapy became the space where I could finally say things out loud — the kind of things that sit in your throat for years until someone gently says, “You don’t have to carry that alone.”

What Healing Really Looks Like

Therapy isn’t some magical fix. Some days, it’s uncomfortable. I leave sessions feeling like I’ve been emotionally unzipped — raw, exposed, but a little lighter. Other days, it’s quiet progress: small realizations, softer self-talk, moments of grace I didn’t used to give myself.

It’s learning to name my emotions instead of running from them.
It’s unlearning the belief that vulnerability is weakness.
It’s sitting in discomfort without assuming it means I’m falling apart.

Healing isn’t glamorous — it’s messy and nonlinear. Some weeks I feel proud of my growth; other weeks I question if I’ve grown at all. But therapy taught me that both are valid. Progress doesn’t always look like forward motion — sometimes it looks like rest.

What I’ve Learned About Myself

Therapy helped me see how deeply I’ve been shaped by survival. How much of my identity was built around people-pleasing, perfectionism, and fear of being “too much.” It showed me how easily I gave grace to others while denying it to myself.

But more than anything, it reminded me that healing doesn’t mean erasing the past — it means understanding it enough to move differently.

Now, I go to therapy not because I’m broken, but because I want to stay whole. I go because I’m learning to communicate instead of shutting down. Because I’m learning that love doesn’t mean losing yourself. And because I deserve to feel at peace — not just sometimes, but always.

My Advice? Go.

Go to therapy even if you think your pain isn’t “bad enough.”
Go even if you’re scared of what might come up.
Go because you owe it to yourself to be seen, heard, and understood — by someone whose only job is to hold space for your truth.

Therapy isn’t about fixing yourself; it’s about finding yourself — the you that exists beneath the noise, beneath the performance, beneath the pain.

And that version of you?
She deserves to be cared for, deeply and intentionally.