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September 11, 2019: I started therapy again today. I haven’t been since I was pregnant with Kinsley.

Shes 3, almost 3.5.

The last several weeks, I’ve been increasingly aware of my anxiety building, feeling a general “off” or a funk, whatever you want to call it. I talked to (see: complained) my mom a LOT, actually whined to Aaron a LOT, and my dad just needed to hear me say “hey” on the phone or see my face to have the red flags of **PANIC ATTACK** wave. My mother suggested going back to therapy more times than I’d like to admit, and every time I’d say “ugh, but I’d have to tell the whole story and that’s exhausting….”. This also makes me laugh.

My backstory exhausts me.

I’d have to share all the past depression and anxiety and talk about leaving Eugene and why that still impacts me (which is something I actively avoid talking about because it makes me cry. Ya’ll have heard a bit about it cause I can type it without issue). That’s all so overwhelming. And being overwhelmed is part of what gives me panic attacks, soooo isn’t that KIND OF counter-productive???

Spoiler alert: it’s not.

HOWEVER – about 4 years ago I started going to therapy (again – I went a lot in college) and continued until I gave birth to Kinsley. I always intended to go back shortly after birth, and then…life happened and I didn’t. It was overwhelming, becoming a mom and juggling a baby and life and recovering from an emergency c-section and all that jazz and I did what a lot of moms do – de-prioritized myself. I was mostly fine, coping with life pretty well, and just went on my merry way.

Until recently.

I don’t think there was a trigger, I can’t even say that this is postpartum depression. Certainly, it’s been on my mind, “is this PPD?” and then my mother, “Go back to therapy, ya dumb cluck!” (Inside joke, but amazing). It took me some time to ponder, but I ultimately sent the email back to the amazing therapist I had previously seen, both because she was awesome (and will remain unnamed) but the added benefit was that she KNEW the backstory, at least to a degree. I knew that when I spoke, she could understand my references of a lot of things without a hearty explanation, because she’s already HAD the explanation.

“But Sam! You’re so normal! You’ve been fine! I would never have guessed you were struggling!!!” (this is what I imagine people who know me are thinking as they read this. Clearly I think I take up more space in other people’s brain than I actually do). Friends: I have a HIGH self-protective reflex (re: anti-embarrassment) and rarely show vulnerability to anyone outside my husband and my parents and also….I’m a theater kid. I can act!

So why am I telling you all of this?

Why do you, random reader on the internet, care about me, a person you’ve never met, who’s blog you found via Pinterest or an odd Google search?

Because the stigma of therapy and mental health needs to end.

I am not broken. I am not a mess. Nor am I destroyed. I’m OK, I just need a little boost of help, someone to talk to. And that’s OK. And it’s OK if you need to talk to someone too. The more that people, especially those of us with a platform, talk about therapy and getting help, the better it is for everyone. The more we all talk about this, the more the stigma goes away. You aren’t a disaster if you need a little boost of help, you’re human!

I mentioned the date I wrote this at the beginning of this post. I did this for two reasons – first, I don’t know when I will post this because I have epic procrastination skills, and second, because while THIS date has a huge unforgettable impact for Americans, the day BEFORE it is World Suicide Prevention Day.

Getting help is not a failure. Reaching out and not dealing with something on your own is a sign of strength, not a sign of weakness or failure. It’s finally deciding that getting better is far better than staying where you are, it’s remembering that “if nothing changes, nothing changes”, and saving yourself usually means asking for others in jump in. And I kid you not, if you look around, there are people who will dive headfirst into the hole with you to ensure you come out of it.

You are loved, regardless of if you feel it or not.

Suicide has been close to my heart lately. My sister in law recently lost one of her dearest friends. He left behind a lot of love for him, and I see her sorrow, I’ve heard her explain how her heart aches. The hole that he left in the world, not just in her world, but so many others, is massive.

So, friends and strangers, if you are hurting, if you are confused, if you are feeling left of center, PLEASE get help. Find a therapist who you love – see several until you have a personality click, do whatever you need to do, but hold on. Life gets better because we have life.

Project Semicolon has the most poignant description of their suicide prevention. People all over the world have the semicolon (;) tattoo. Why? Because a semicolon is “used when an author could’ve chosen to end their sentence, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.” (Amy Bleuel)

If you are in need, “just a little bit” or in a major way, please choose to pause, and not end the sentence. You do not need to fit the mold of “seriously depressed” to get help. If you have a cold, the flu, or pneumonia, you’re still sick. Yes, the severity is different, but going to a doctor is not frowned upon for a cold, just because you don’t have pneumonia. Get the help that you need, and continue on. There is joy in all parts of life, but sometimes the darkness blinds you. I’m here to tell you that the darkness lifts. It clears. Life gets better.