This is not a topic I write about lightly, but something I feel is vital for us to discuss. Mental health, counselling, depression, anxiety… all words we hear often but ironically are still taboo subjects personally for many people and cultures.

We are living in a time where future generations will be reading about COVID-19 in history books and studying the progression of scientific research in textbooks. We’ve sacrificed our mental health for our physical health these past several weeks in lockdown, with some of us proudly finding a healthy rhythm and others imploding with irregularities. Personally, I started off really great! I adjusted to working from home, my flatmates and I became a little family cooking and eating together, and I put in healthy habits to help with the isolation.

But, as time passed and the lockdown extended, everything that I repressed for the past couple of years chose this time – this time of isolation – to make an appearance. Suffice to say, I wasn’t impressed and defaulted to my favourite characteristic, stubbornness, which I cleverly disguise as determination.

Let me explain…

We were well into the COVID-19 global lockdown. It was week three for us in the UK and I was struggling a little with boosting my immune system. It wasn’t the symptoms of the virus, more like that swollen throat feeling and struggling to sleep. Was it allergies? Ironically, I have severe hay fever during the month of May through June and that was beginning to creep up at a time when you definitely didn’t want to be coughing, sneezing and red-eyed in public.

As the week unfolded, my throat got worse, even a warmth around my neck and shortness of breath. As a very determined (or stubborn… the jury is still out on that one) woman, I kept pushing through – working from home, exercising on the endless array of Instagram lives, and eating as healthy as I could. It wasn’t until a disagreement with a work colleague that became the “cherry on the cake”, or more like whiplash from an abrupt stop.

I realized it wasn’t allergies; I was experiencing anxiety. That throat tightening, chest heavy feeling that sits even now as I write.

For weeks it had been growing and I was in a state where I felt the mental and physical disconnect – my mind could do all the self-talk and meditation it wanted, but my nervous system had a life of its own as my body responded to deeper subconscious pains. This was exasperated by limited movement outside my home and human connection. I needed more than what I could offer myself.

I’ve never been shy talking about what’s going on in my life, so the thought of counselling never deterred me. But in the last couple of years, I’ve avoided it, using that world-famous excuse, “I keep forgetting!” The betrayal I had experienced in the past during counselling had shaken my trust in therapy and the opening of wounds that hadn’t healed, well, wasn’t necessarily in my top five things to do in my spare time.

But, when I dug deep and laid out all the cards of what was currently happening throughout my mind, body and soul, I knew that if I didn’t get help soon, I would have a breakdown.

This is not something I confess lightly, but it’s something I confess truthfully. It wasn’t the first time I quietly confessed this to myself. I’d been confessing it for years when situations in my life got overwhelming. But I pressed on. Pushing, dragging, and willing myself forward in this thing we call life.

Sometimes it takes a little bit of faith to believe in the truth – in the reality that we aren’t immortal, and we are definitely not Superman. We feel the scrapes and bruises, we are full of emotions (whether we acknowledge them or not), and our nervous system responds to our environment, with or without our control. Life is hard. Relationships are hard. Faith is hard. Work is hard. And now we have been thrown an epidemic where so many are at risk – in health and livelihood – and we are overtly aware of 2020’s trending word of the year… ‘isolation.’ 

Why was seeking help so hard? I didn’t know the answer, but I knew that the walls were closing in and I needed to stop “forgetting” and start prioritizing. So, after months (more like years) of debating and days of procrastinating, I took to my email and asked for a virtual counselling session. 

Right about now is when I’d love to say, “In the end, I only needed a couple of sessions and I’m feeling much better! I’ve found a new zeal for life and I’m ready to take it on.” *she says as she skips into the sunset* 

But, that’s the furthest from the truth. In my first session, we hit gold within 30 minutes. And by “hit gold” I mean we uncovered one of the sources of my anxiety. As we dug deeper, it dawned on me that I had developed deeply rooted coping mechanisms that helped me personify my squeaky clean, unbothered self. And when my session ended, my counsellor kindly and graciously informed me that this may take time (not a couple of sessions like in my rose-tinted dreams), more sessions, and that restoration of those memories and years was not all but lost.

At that point, after flooding tears all over my session and finally feeling a true sense of relief (only after my initial thoughts of shame and embarrassment over my word vomit)… I was ready. Hope was surfacing, if only for a moment.

So, why did I return to counselling?

It wasn’t because I felt like it was the right thing to do or that someone had talked my ear off long enough to convince me. No… it’s not that simple. It was because I made a choice. I was done with feeling anxious and out of control of my turbulent emotions. I was ready for change. I didn’t want to just get through life, I wanted to live life – this beautiful and extraordinary life we’ve been given! That’s why I returned to counselling.

Let me tell you, it’s not going to be easy. I feel like I’m at the bottom of a jagged mountain with no equipment, and the only way is up. Note to self: start rock climbing lessons. But the beauty of it is I’m not alone. I have my counsellor (who is incredible, by the way) and my friends who have been cheering me along the way. If I fall, they won’t necessarily be able to catch me (they aren’t Clark Kent and that’s too high of an expectation of any loved one), but they’ll be there to help me recover and start again. I’m putting that determination (or stubbornness) to good use now, and ready to take the climb. *big sigh*

Here goes nothing… or a better and more accurate saying… here goes every ounce of my being! 

Written by: Kaila H. Johnson