Let the Light Shine In

Hi, my name is Ashley, and I go to therapy.

I go to therapy because the world and it’s problems are present and heavy.

I go to therapy because I have decision fatigue.

I go to therapy because I’m an introvert who feels misunderstood and doubts her presence.

I go to therapy because parenting is hard, and I’m not the mom I thought I would be.

I go to therapy because my kids are passionate and intense and that gets challenging.

I go to therapy because I’m trying to break some generational cycles. 

I go to therapy because I want my kids to feel heard and trust their feelings are valid.

I go to therapy because I’m a stay-at-home mom who feels really isolated sometimes, and making real adult friends is hard.

I go to therapy because I lost my sister, and I cannot figure out how the world still spins without her in it.

I go to therapy because I’m grieving losses – of people, of dreams, of spaces & time.

I go to therapy because I very often feel like a failure.

I go to therapy because I have two really good friends + a husband who didn’t stop encouraging me to go.

I go to therapy, and I think it’s changed my life, but if you would have caught me just over a year ago, I couldn’t have said the same. Growing up, therapy was something for people with really, really terrible life circumstances or challenges… not me, someone with a fairly shiny, simple life.

And then at some point, life started to become less shiny. The brokenness of the world crept in my backdoor, but I still didn’t feel like I needed to take up space on someone’s couch to talk about it. It sounded too personal, too weird and probably super messy. And I definitely didn’t have time or money for something so fluffy.

And honestly, even though I felt brokenness in lots of different ways, I didn’t feel like I deserved therapy. I didn’t feel like I deserved big feelings.

Enter: parenthood. Man, if there’s anything that makes you question what you know, need and deserve… it’s parenthood. I experienced a pretty dark time after having my second babe, and I realized that seeking therapy wasn’t a selfish ambition, it was a necessary support for my stability, for the future of my family.

Watching my sister be paired with therapists, I learned that who you see makes or breaks the experience. I did a lot of research about specialties, locations, personalities, insurance options, everything. And I worked up a lot of freaking courage to ask my husband to take the time off from work so that I could drive all the way across town and sit in the office of this person who I knew nothing about, but I knew would peer into my soul.

And ya know what happened? I hated it. I went twice, felt super awkward and embarrassed and quit. I obviously didn’t need to be there. My feelings obviously weren’t big enough. Or valid enough for therapy.

Enter: pregnancy number three. I knew I couldn’t risk feeling as lonely and terrible postpartum this time as I did the last. My goal was to find someone I felt a good connection with and have them on standby, ready for appointments once the baby was born. After my first consultation with her, though, I realized how much more I needed it, how many other mental and emotional walls I needed to break down, so I kept seeing her. And to keep an even longer story somewhat short… I attribute much of my ability to having a natural birth after two c-sections {one of my deepest desires} to those therapy sessions.

I exercise like nobody’s business, I fuel my body with everything it needs and sleep each night {ya know, like any parent of three small children does}. And I still go to therapy.

My family is supportive & sweet, and I have a few friends who I confide in. And I still go to therapy.

My husband knows me better than anyone, is my biggest source of encouragement and the one I tell everything to. And I still go to therapy.

I love Jesus, believe in his saving grace and talk with him daily. I still go to therapy.

My friends, there is no checklist, no right or wrong, no criteria for therapy. Whether I have these things and then some or none of them at all, my need for therapy is based simply on this… does it serve me? Does it help me cope and heal, learn and grow? Does it help me make better decisions, offer more intentional yes’s, offer more confident no’s? Does it help me be more intentional with my time, my marriage, my babies? Does it help me savor the moment, pour out more grace, shine more light and spread more love?

If the answer to any of those questions is yes… that’s the one and only reason I need {and you need} to have a therapist.

And, yeah, it is awkward and exhausting. It’s the kind of self-care no one talks about or actually wants to do because it’s not frilly or sexy. It’s the messy one, the dark and twisty one. But guess what… seeds grow in the dark.

Look, I don’t have it the worst, I know that. I don’t need a pat on the back, and I don’t need to shout it from the rooftops because I think it’s a cure-all. But what I do need to do, at least in my little corner of the world, is create some normalcy around therapy. I’ve seen too many lives go dark because they felt alone, felt misunderstood, confused, afraid, shameful or just tired. 

Therapy may not fix every problem, but I’ll tell you that it has the power, if you’ll let it, to lift some weight off your shoulders, clear some haziness from your eyes and shine some light in your darkness.

I go to therapy because I realized that I’m not just a person walking around doing things… I’m becoming someone. That someone has very valid feelings. And that someone deserves to become someone who feels good and radiates good.

And, my gosh… so do you.