After having what some would call a nervous breakdown in my early 40’s, I finally conceded to the idea of going to see a therapist to discuss my mental health. I’ve always believed in and advocated for the benefits of therapy. But it was a hell of a lot easier when recommending it to someone else.
As a man living in a culture that perceives vulnerability as weakness, it’s the whole pride thing that fucks with your head. I could never disclose to anyone that I had been taking antidepressants and anxiety medications for years. I could never disclose my recent panic attacks. And I could never tell my family about my inherent weaknesses. I was supposed to be the strong one. The leader. The supposed head of the household.
Eventually, I was left with no choice because it was clear that I needed help. So I quietly flew under the radar and began shopping for therapists. I interviewed several just to give them a test drive. Think speed dating for the mentally warped using a quasi-Tinder app for available therapists…swipe left for a potential love connection. I didn’t necessarily have some predefined criteria or qualifications to look for. I knew I wanted it to be a male. I also wanted someone who would get straight to the point so they didn’t waste my time. I’m a lifelong finance nerd and naturally I’m hypersensitive to hourly rates and those annoying 15-minute incremental charges.
Following a few rounds of the quintessential introductory speed counseling, I finally found my guy. An 80-year old dude from the Bronx. He was rough around the edges. Direct. Straight to the point. He called me out on my shit with no reservations whatsoever. I fucking loved it.
After 5–10 minutes of small talk in one of our first conversations, he asked me why I was there and what I had hoped to get out of therapy. With a ridiculous amount of misplaced confidence, I told him that I didn’t want any regrets when I lay on my deathbed as my time here is coming to an end. His response: “You’d be the first in the history of mankind to not have any regrets.” And then he told me to go find a new therapist. Excuse me? My confidence evaporated. I squirmed in my chair avoiding eye contact for a minute. His point was taken. That was clearly impossible.
Therapy was hard. There’s nothing even remotely enticing about someone holding a window into your soul straight to your face and saying what the hell is this? It took me six months just to trust him, much less vomit out all my shit during what I thought was supposed to be a cordial conversation. And he called me out on that, too. Despite his old age, feeble body, and (unbeknownst to me) deteriorating health, my guy was on point. Every time.
I saw him once or twice a week for over three years straight until his health finally got the best of him. In one of our final sessions and knowing that he had limited time left, I asked him if he had any regrets from this long and beautiful life that he had experienced. After a long silence and a smirk, he responded, ”You damn right I do.” It was a powerful statement from a man who had absolute power over his own persona.
So what did I get out of those three short years? There were benefits beyond anything I could have ever comprehended. Far too many benefits to list. And the theme of my journey evolved over time and clearly it differs for everyone. But as I reflect on that journey, I can characterize it with a short and succinct phrase that I still use to this day. I am being unapologetically me. Interpret it how you want, but it works for me. And it’s exactly what I needed at a complicated time in my life to be able to move forward.
Life can be hard. Dealing with my own shit wasn’t any easier or harder than someone else having to face their own obstacles. What I do know and firmly believe is that the solution lies within us. It requires courage to face our fears, humility to embrace our imperfections, and grace to forgive ourselves and others. Contrary to what our culture tells us, the strength we’re perpetually looking for is resting in our ability to be vulnerable. Only then can you finally be unapologetically you.
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