Do you have a therapist in my size? Preferably one that fits me?

My introduction to therapy was at the age of fifteen, with one of my high school subject teachers having the displeasure of being my first. I cannot pinpoint to date, what it was the school administration saw in her that made them believe she could give wise counsel to adolescent girls, but she got the gig.

I knew I needed to attend therapy. I had battled dark thoughts, low moods, tumultuous relationships and unpleasant symptoms for a very very long while. I could not ask for money then, for therapy from anyone, due to the fear within me that they would tell me what had already been said before; “You do not need therapy. It’s just puberty. A few years and you will have grown up” or my least favorite “Therapy is a Western concept.”

So there I sat, across her in a hidden room with a single bulb illuminating the room, adding to the somberness in the air. She sat, watching me, as I rambled on about every issue I felt had brought me there and I needed to discuss. After I was done and focused my eyes on her face searching for a reaction, she picked up a pen and played with it.

“Do you read The Bible?” she asked with an accusing gaze. I shook my head. Truth be told I only ever read the scriptures during the Religious Education class. I answered truthfully as I felt no need to lie because, to be helped I had to give her the facts? I was young and looking back on this session, I never knew any better.

“Have you tried going to church or speaking to a pastor?” she asked as she drew lines on an empty page on the back of a book. I shook my head again and she inhaled sharply. She went on a tirade about how God was using tough situations to teach me to revert back to Him. She went on and on about how what I had were not real issues that should be disturbing a young girl like myself and keeping me up at night; which I think was her response to my insomnia. An hour later she sent me on my merry way with a paper filled with a list of verses that could give me solace. I thanked her then proceeded to walk out bewildered because, everyone did get their merry share of problems from the creator they believe in or life or *insert where you belief the unfairness of the world comes from*. I crumpled the paper, throwing it into a bin and walked back to my class with what I could call a firm decision to abandon my faith at the earliest opportunity.

A number of people who have tried and abandoned therapy, cite the existence of a religious schism or difference between them and their said therapist as the reason they gave up on therapy. This may be due to seeing a staunch believer dabbling in therapy or is entrusted with giving therapy, who forgets to leave their religion at the door. This can be seen in subtle to obnoxious and then borderline, offensive ways. They could give personal stories on the goodness of religion in their life as something you should emulate and strive to experience. They could take offense at you not having any faith or even believing in any religion at all. The awkwardness if you both are spiritual who subscribe to different religions. One may face judgement over their life choices and situations with regards to contentious issues such as being a member of the LGTBQI+ and abortion, as well as questioning (bordering on gaslighting) their client on the accuracy of their recollection of events and/or symptoms that brought them to the therapists’s office. Granted, there are those who have a holistic or empathetic approach to therapy (which may or may not incorporate religion) but they are spread too wide and far too thin to be seen as accessible to the numerous people who need their service.

My third therapist was a sweet old lady who had been recommended by my psychiatrist and who I now saw with the full knowledge of the people who mattered in my life. She seemed to have seen it all in what she explained as a long career. She was not bothered by my views on sexuality, marriage and my abandonment of organised religion. She felt like an empathetic grandmother guiding me through the backlog of puberty’s issues in my young adulthood. However, nothing irked me more than the fact that therapy was strictly 55 minutes with the last 5 minutes being used to recap and summarize everything discussed or being given small assignments that I would report back on during the next week’s session. Soon, my problems and illness seemed like a repetitive story I told week in week out, receiving in turn the same response, week in and week out. Eventually, I ended up going in with rehearsed material and never speaking on any recent developments or noteworthy events and just like clockwork, she asked the same mundane questions and gave me the same tired response to all my replies. Going to therapy felt and reminded me of Eliott’s internal monologue at his therapist’s juxtaposed with what he told her in reality.

Given the cost of a therapy session, there is always this lingering hope, whether you speak on it or not, that this will be the therapist that comes and turns your life around. This will be the one who holds your hand and guides you through the valley of your trauma, illness and even in some cases, death. Now imagine incurring that heavy cost; every week, every two weeks, every month or unfortunately, only when you can afford to see the specialist for that one treasured hour…It’s easy to call it entitlement on the side of the client/patient but do you not see why they feel owed the help you are desperate for? Adding another dimension to this, you need to find one who is within your budget (whether paying cash or through insurance), fits into your schedule and accepts you for the decisions, illness and person who walks in for the session, just trying to get better and be a better version of themselves every time they leave a session.

I have my third session with my sixth therapist in two weeks. It’s looking really hopeful but I try not to form any attachments or set any expectations until I am assured that disappointing me will be more of a human err and less of an overpriced transaction. You spend a lot of time and energy trying on clothes and they may look good in the store; but that’s not always the same story once you get home.