Talking to someone compassionate and intelligent is usually a thing I reserve for the pillow.  I don’t open up easily.  Most people only care about themselves so I don’t bother anyone with my problems.  Up until Dr. Pate, I’m not sure anyone ever asked.  When I finally sat down for serious therapy as an adult, self awareness was still a fresh concept.  A healthy mixture of loving support and yoga started waking me up.  I discovered a deep, personal pain and sought treatment for the first time in years.  Accepting help is the first step to getting better, so I chose my doctor on the recommendation of a close friend. 

I didn’t really want to go at first but my experience proves not talking about my feelings officially doesn’t work.  The first few sessions were stressful.  I felt awkward and out of place.  Fortunately, my therapist is a professional.  She sensed my nervousness and just asked questions to fill the silence.  Like a first date that’s really a job interview, a tentative relationship formed over time.  To my credit, I’m painfully blunt.  That level of transparency jives well with a skilled therapist.  After equal doses patience and perspective, she helped me remove obstacles I assumed were solid walls.  Going over my stress patterns with someone competent, I manage irrational thoughts better.

Having a place to voice fears and share meaningful discussions about my emotions is valuable.  It also comes at a high price.  In order to know yourself you first must accept yourself, including all the flaws.  Then there’s the literal cost.  I got lucky and had the support of Italian-based health insurance.  I was able to get comprehensive coverage for what I needed at a relatively low price.  Without that health insurance I might never have found relief.  One of my main sources of stress is money not to mention its other very-real limiting factors.

My genuine desire to improve my quality of life is also a huge factor in my success.  I went into the venture expecting hard work.  I was not disappointed.  I cried and moaned.  I fought with myself about what is truly important.  I made a liar out of myself and became a hypocrite, often in the same session.  Throughout all of it, my doctor remained professional and compassionate.  She didn’t agree with all of my choices and I didn’t take all of her advice.  After a year and a half, I stopped going to see her.  It wasn’t because I felt fixed and it wasn’t because she didn’t help.  It’s because one of the most important things I learned in that office is that most relationships aren’t meant to be permanent.