Thank God for therapists
An ode to therapy; the thing that saved me and continues to save me.
By Merrina O’Malley | Writer
[Editor’s Note: This piece was written for a Writing for Social Change class at Bethel University as part of a package with a Q&A with clinical psychologist and professor Angela Sabates.}
COVID-19 was hard. I remember the world shutting down. I lost my job, friends, and the rest of my high school experience. I never walked and held my diploma until it was mailed to me a month into summer. There were no graduation parties or celebratory dinners. Just Zoom meetings and email threads. I was so busy thinking of all these things that I missed, though, that I hadn’t realized what sort of impact it would have on the availability of mental health services. Online counseling services were an extremely new concept and like many counselors, mine was unfamiliar with it.
So, I gave up and fell into regression. My diagnosed anxiety and depression became worse, and along with it, my self-recognized body dysmorphia. I became a monster in my own eyes. I would cry for hours each time I glanced at myself in the mirror and fall to the ground to avoid looking down at my own feet. I’d pick at my skin until it was bleeding and red, not caring how much it hurt. Leaving the house was a painful, solemn task, one that required an XXL t-shirt and baggy pants. I was almost thankful for having to wear a mask over my face.
In the fall of 2020, I moved to Arizona and began attending classes at Grand Canyon University. I was dizzy with assignments and roommate drama, and looking for a new therapist was beyond me. These were some of the most damaging years of my life. I was up until 4 in the morning and slept until 2 p.m., then I would get up and barely make it to class on time. I dreaded group projects and left as soon as the professor flashed the last slide. I always opted for pickup food because I was too scared to interact with anyone. I didn’t have friends. I didn’t interact with anyone except for the long calls I’d make to my mom. I was isolated from the world around me.
After moving back home in 2022, I decided it was time to find a new counselor. I spent hours on the phone with health insurance, parents, and counseling centers. No one had openings. I nearly gave up.
Then I got an email back. The woman was a marriage and couples counselor and I wasn’t sure if her experience was relevant to me, but I took it. We didn’t make a lot of headway, and much of our back and forth felt meaningless. We couldn’t break through my logical patterns or find the After a few months, I gave up.
At this time, my life was peppered with mental struggles. I was living on my own, juggling my college classes with a job and attempting to build a social life in a place that felt foreign to me. Minnesota no longer felt like my home and the only friend I had was my boyfriend.
Then someone I knew was murdered that spring.
I remember catching up with an old friend from Arizona. “Mercedes died,” she said over FaceTime that night. Outside of murder, the people who knew her didn’t know much at first. As time went on, more was revealed. Mercedes Vega was murdered — stabbed, shot and left burning on the side of the road. I kept waiting and waiting for someone to bring the person who did this to justice. It’s been over a year now, and the authorities still haven’t found the person responsible. I still don’t feel safe. I still have panic attacks each week when I realize that there is no guarantee that I’ll be safe when I get out of my car at night and walk into my fourplex. I could die, just like her.
I got lucky, though. I found a therapist that same spring of 2023, and yes, I am an anxious mess at times, but I am grateful to be living my life. I still keep an emergency kit in my purse just in case someone gets shot or is dying from an overdose. I still share my location with my friends when I’m going on a date, and tell them what time I will be home. I still question if the way I walk is wrong. I still struggle to breathe when I think about all of the things on my to-do list at times. Most days, though, I can leave the house, and for me that is progress.
I probably would not be as fortunate if I had not found help when I needed it. I am thankful for receiving state health insurance to help pay for my sessions. God knows I couldn’t do out-of-pocket or even partial payments. I am also grateful for the wider availability of therapists. When I logged into Psychology Today for the Minneapolis area, I saw at least two times as many options as I had the year before.
I can only hope that as the years go by, more and more people will understand the importance of establishing a connection with a therapist or at least considering it during hard times in their lives. I know the impact that it had on me, and I know so many people who could benefit from counseling. I was one of them.
Thank God for therapists.
