Like for so many, my injury completely turned my world upside down.
I can remember as I finally started to emerge from the twilight of propofol, I could not fathom the immensity of what had happened to me; it was surreal and nightmarish. Shock and disbelief gave way to constant tears mixed with numbness; I felt hopeless, unmotivated, devastated. The nursing staff at the rehab hospital noticed. As a result, I found myself in “optional” but strongly suggested weekly appointments with the mental health counselor and a prescription for antidepressants. Besides two very brief visits to the student counseling center in college, this was the first time I had ever been in therapy. And I was not impressed.
In one of our first sessions a comment was made to the effect of, “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling…if my wife put her hand on my knee and I couldn’t feel it, I would be devastated.” I remember replying, “but I have sensation.” And then I thought, what an out of touch thing to say to someone who is actually devastated. I can remember later sessions where we would just watch YouTube videos. In other sessions, I sobbed uncontrollably with no idea how to regulate my emotions. Every time I got back to my room after a session, I thought to myself, what is the point?
Eventually, I left rehab and went home. I was set up with nursing, PT, OT; I was pointed toward multiple resources and organizations to help me re-integrate into my community; and it was suggested that I seek counseling. My answer was an emphatic no. I reasoned that if what I experienced was any indicator, I didn’t need it. I’d rather watch YouTube videos by myself anyway. My understanding of what therapy is and what it can do was skewed so negatively that I did not seek therapy again for another five years. When I finally did, it was the beginning of a journey I wish I had started sooner.
Maybe that first therapist was burnt out, or maybe he was having a rough few months, or maybe he didn’t know how to help me – it’s impossible to say. What I do know is that therapists are human beings with flaws like anyone else. We have our own mental health struggles, our own lives, our own battles. Ideally, most ethically, these things do not interfere with our ability to provide appropriate treatment to others. But the ideal is not always the reality. And sometimes, we are just not the right fit. It could be personality, or counseling style, or scheduling, or any number of things, but the realization that you can “break up” with a therapist can be an empowering one.
My hope is that previously bad experiences will not stop you from trying again and that you can give yourself permission to find a new therapist if you’re seeing someone that isn’t working for you. I would not be where I am today if I hadn’t tried again, and as both a client and clinician, I firmly believe in the transformative power of therapy. But if trust and rapport are not present, if the therapeutic relationship is not strong, it can be difficult to tap into what therapy is all about. I almost missed out completely on the growth and insight therapy helped me develop (not to mention that it led me to a career I love). I hope that you feel empowered to search for someone who can help you do the same.
