Who Needs a Therapist When (Pt. 20)

So. It is happening. I will soon have health insurance. And with that health insurance, comes the potential for reduced therapist rates! Now, I'm locked into the crappy provider list of the insurance company, which is a little bleak looking, but there are options—which is more than I could say before.

So, now begins the real trial: Finding a therapist who isn't a total waste of my time, and me a total waste of theirs.

Therapists have such a varying degree of attitude, practice habits, and type of engagement, so finding a good therapeutic fit is important. If only because I have a bad tendency of just lying and telling my therapist that I am fine and we can stop meeting, or just stopping attending altogether if I don't like my therapist. I'm an awful client who has a hard time admitting when I failed my homework, and an even harder time reacting in the moment to the issues brought up. My list of things that I hate that therapists do is about as long as the list of places I'd like to visit in my life.

And I'm dreading those first couple of appointments. Because invariably I'll get to do those first couple of appointments a couple times before I find anyone decent. I'll show up, bare my soul, list the dozens of things that are going on, and who knows what is underlying or causing what and who knows what isn't. And then, they will insist that I give aphorisms and self-talk another try, or they will make an assumption about my desire to have kids, or make assumptions about my spirituality, or they will get too confrontational and I will simply be unable to ever talk to them again. And I'll start over. Or I will chicken out and it will take a couple months before I even start.

But I need to. I am a bad therapy client, but I will be an even worse one if I'm not even going. And, based on how much crap is swirling around in my head these days, I clearly, clearly do need to see a therapist. If only so that I can verify that all these attempts at meds aren't destroying my health and making me even crazier. Or maybe they are making me crazier, but I need someone to actually tell me for real. Mostly, I think I've reached the peak of the amount of me that I can handle without getting someone's feedback, and I'm unwilling to complicate any of my personal relationships with a pseudo-therapist and pseudo-therapist relationship. I had that friendship once, and it was great, but it rose naturally and I'm not going to try to force that sort of emotional dialogue where it shouldn't be. No. I need to accept that therapy is a necessary part of me figuring out how to move to the next step of mental wellness.

So, I'm typing this to psych myself up. I've got to pick one, and make an appointment. There isn't much point in having the ability to go to a therapist if I'm not going to even try to find one that isn't awful. And hey, at least with my insurer the list of potentials is really small—so it shouldn't take me too long to get down the list and either rule them all out, or find someone who I like.

So, I guess you can all look forward to the thrilling adventures of Haybitch interrogating potential therapists until someone sticks. Maybe I'll keep this up as a journal. I understand from past therapists that it can be helpful on its own. But it is time to go professional, while I can afford it.

Last Week's (Pt. 19)

First Post