The first time I sought a counselor, I had just broken up with one girlfriend and taken up with another. I don’t remember what I was feeling then, but I thought I’d try it to see if I could gain any insight into myself. I don’t recall that it did much.
The second time, my wife and I both went to couples counseling to help us deal with my infertility. Eventually, she shifted us to a group with other infertile couples. I think the support group was effective because we shared information and kept encouraging each other. I read that people in fertility groups are much more likely to conceive than people on their own. It worked for us.
The next time I went was because I was starting to go crazy (although I didn’t know it). What I knew was that there were serious problems in my marriage and I was acting in ways I could never have imagined because of it. I found an emergency counselor (my employer provides this service), and then eventually, we brought my wife in.
It didn’t work at all. My wife felt ambushed and that the counselor was always on my side. Soon after that, she got sick and we dropped the counseling. But my problem didn’t go away.
Then I really started acting out, as they say. I had six or seven internet affairs in six months or so. Finally, I confessed to my wife—I thought she would divorce me, and at the time, I didn’t care if she did. I was so miserable and, more to the point, it turned out I had bipolar disorder.
My wife got me to a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me, and then, after a bit of a hunt, I found a therapist to work with. She turned out to be a good one for me. She didn’t really give me any advice unless I asked for it. She let me talk about what I wanted to talk about which was fine for a while, but after a year, I started not having things to say.
I think she helped me understand some of the causes of my behavior. She helped me understand who I was, now that I was different from who I had been before. She helped by guiding me, rather than telling me. She gave me some feedback, such as telling me that she liked me. I had a hard time believing that, because I thought I was paying her to like me, but in the end, I came to believe that she actually did like me, as a patient.
I graduated, eventually, but I am to call her for a “tune-up” when necessary. I have this habit of not reaching out for help until it’s just about too late. I carry a lot of shame around with me, wherever I go.
I just don’t know how to tell when I need a therapist or not. And even if I think I need it, there’s a part of me that wants to do it on my own, without help. I don’t let people get too close to me, I guess. Including my wife. Which is an ongoing problem that will drive me to despair if I am stubborn enough to refuse help. I can be very stubborn.
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