Why I Stopped Therapy

A few months ago, I hit a point in my life where I realised that while the anti-depressants were helping my anxiety, it was making it known to me that I had other issues to deal with. Suddenly I was more aware of routines I was doing that I hadn't even realised were happening. Such as washing my hands before and after going to the toilet. And also having to wash them with two pumps of soap, water and then two more pumps of soap and water to make sure they were clean. 

That was just one of the things I noticed myself doing and thus I self-referred myself for online therapy. I've done CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) in person before and it did help at the beginning by the last few sessions I was lying to the therapist because it was easier than feeling like a failure because I couldn't do something.

I thought this time would be different.

I'm not sure why but I just thought that it would be. Because I needed so badly to get better. And therapy just felt like the last straw for me. If this didn't work, I wasn't sure what else was left.

Obviously if you read the title of this post then you know that therapy didn't work but it also did. In a way that I definitely wasn't expecting.

I started therapy about three weeks after referring myself which was amazing. I was officially diagnosed with OCD and that part of therapy was, well, very theraputic. I suddenly understood so much of my life. Those teenage years that I thought I was just being, well, an angsty teenager? I was actually just struggling with undiagnosed OCD. So many little things in my life that I didn't even know were habits made so much more sense to me. Fears that I have about odd things, it all just sort of connected in my brain and I have to admit, it made me feel so much better. I suddenly had a reason for things.

Of course, just being diagnosed is not the end of the journey.

And thus my therapist and I started to tackle my OCD, tried to stop routines and habits using CBT techniques to re-train my brain. To let it know that everything will be okay.

It wasn't easy. But I also didn't expect it to be easy.

I was making really good progress and I was proud of myself. And then we hit a road block. I gave myself a behaviour to overcome that I essentially found too difficult to do. And I knew I could tell the therapist that I had done it and it was fine but I didn't want to lie again.

So instead I was truthful. Explaining that I had been too tired and busy to psyche myself up enough to break the behaviour down.

The response?

That maybe therapy isn't the right thing for me right now. That if I was too busy, maybe I should take a step back and re-refer myself when I felt more able to complete the tasks.

Queue my panic. My worry. My sadness. I was not cureable. I was going to be stuck struggling through day to day life forever. I was not worth the time to fix. I was just wasting everybody's time, including my own.

Recurring thoughts. Round and round. Spiralling out of control. I really struggled after hearing that. I had needed therapy to work. I had wanted to be truthful and get everything out in the open and I was told that I just wasn't trying hard enough so essentially didn't care enough about my own recovery. And that is where my brain took me and things got worse.

Until they didn't.

Until I realised that, at the end of the day, I am in control of my mental health. It does not control me. And I do not need a therapist to make me believe that I am a lost cause. I also do not need a therapist to help me.

Because I have incredible friends and incredible strength. I know what my routines are, I know what I need to do to break them down and so I am now doing that. I no longer wash my hands before every single meal. I don't even wash my hands before eating finger food. I know that sometimes I still feel I need to but just the fact I don't every time is a major step for me.

I also don't wash my hands as much as I did.

I have cooked in my microwave again.

I have eaten off of plates that haven't just been cleaned.

They are small steps. Small things. And things that other people may not even think about. But to me, they are milestones. They are things that I have overcome. Challenges that I have completed without therapy. Because I am strong enough. 

And so are you.

(Therapy did not work for me. But that does not mean it will not work for you. So please always try it. Without therapy I would not have the tools to help me continue fighting alone.)

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Safe Space Talks University

University is a big change for a lot of people. At eighteen it is potentially your first time of being truly independent, the first time responsibility is placed on your shoulders. It is also full of other people in similar boats and people in different boats. It can be a scary and exciting thing all at the same time. So today a few of us Safe Spacers are here to tell you about our experiences with university.

Faye: Before I went to university I actually spent a year on my own in Canada so going to uni did not feel like a big step to me, not really. For once I would at least be in the same country as my mum. But University was an entirely different kettle of fish than Canada had been. In Canada I had a job and could more or less keep to myself. University was people all the time. It was social. It was drinking. It was loud. It was an adjustment. In my first year I experimented. I went out drinking with friends, flirted, danced, experienced. I did a little more of it in second year and by third I realised it just wasn’t me. I didn’t like partying. I didn’t like drinking. I didn’t feel comfortable in clubs and bars. So I stopped going. And I wish I had done that in first year. Because university doesn’t have to be all drinking and play, it can be about just being you and learning. And somewhere you should find someone who feels exactly the same way. So if you’re worried because you don’t particularly want to party, don’t let that stop you. Go to uni and just don’t party. It’ll be fine, I promise.

Ray: My university experience is actually still on-going even though I originally began my studies in 2009. It didn’t start well; I had to go through Clearing & ended up at Aberystwyth University way out in the wilds of Wales. Don’t get me wrong it’s a gorgeous place but it was 3 hours by train from home & I wasn’t exactly great at making friends. My course wasn’t what I’d hoped & I never even had a meeting with my personal tutor. I got pretty isolated and spent most of my time in my room on the internet (oh hang on…) so by the time I got into my second year my enjoyment for the course had plummeted and since I’d have to do a year abroad for my 3rd year I decided dropping out before I tanked my grades was the best option.

Fast forward to 2012 when I signed up to the Open University just before the fees hiked up to try and finish my degree the way I wanted, doing the modules which interested me. I recently started what should be my final module so if all goes to plan (and I don’t bugger everything up), I should have a Open Degree with Honours by next July. If I’m really lucky it’ll be a 2:1.

It’s been a slog, I’m atrocious at time management, particularly when I have all the free time in the world. Somehow I get more done when I’m working full time at a school, studying both for the OU & a TA diploma and trying to write a book - riddle me that would you kindly? If you are unfortunate enough to follow me on twitter then you might have seen the epic lengths I go to in procrastinating my assignments - I’m not exaggerating when I say that maybe 5 out the 7 essays I did for my module last year were almost entirely written either on the deadline day or the day before. I can’t imagine how I would’ve coped at a traditional Uni with a dissertation.

I wonder sometimes if I should have bothered with Uni at all. I went more because I felt I was expected to go, because I was “smart” and academically “gifted” although that basically means fuck all after the age of 12. For the most part I never got into the “student lifestyle” and it’s not something I ever really cared about. I cared more about the education aspect which is hilarious because I’ve since realised that I hate learning stuff only to be assessed on it and I’m a terrible student. Just let me read books on stuff, don’t ask me to write essays about it & certainly not essays in french. Don’t go to university because others expect it of you, go because it’s what you truly want to do.

Louise: Leaving home at eighteen was a daunting but exciting time for me. It was the first taste of proper freedom and I was going to relish it, I remember thinking on A Level results day. I was going to be moving 130 miles away to Norwich to study; I couldn't have picked a further away place to do my course if I tried. It also included studying abroad for a year, something that pulled me in event further when I applied.

But once I'd arrived in halls and realised just how far I was away from home and my creature comforts, the more daunted and scared I became. This wasn't normal was it, to feel overwhelmed by being alone for the first time, ever? 

That first semester was hard for me; I was studying something completely new to me, I began to regret my degree choice and wanted to drop out. I found it difficult to make friends with people on my course because I felt I knew nothing compared to them. My housemates were constantly out clubbing and I preferred films and good food – still do. I never confided how I felt to anyone, even when I returned home at Christmas, I didn't want to be seen as a failure. I'm glad I didn't because university life did get easier for me.

It was only when I came to realise that I could really find out who I was whilst being on my own here in a new city, learning new things, meeting new people, having new experiences. And I did just that, explore. I found out what I truly am capable of. My year abroad only strengthen that. Those years – from the tender age of eighteen all the way to a ripe twenty-two year old – shaped me. And even though many people would say that I have wasted my time and money on a degree I don't even use, I don't regret it for one second. My life would be infinitely different without my time at university mixed in there.

Lily: My University experience is a bit of a tumultuous one that is very much still ongoing, as I’m a few weeks into my second attempt at first year. I went to University at 18 in Sussex near Brighton, fresh out of school. My first few weeks were fun but nothing outstanding, and I was finding it hard to socialise with anyone in my flat and all my other friends lived elsewhere. About 5 weeks in my mental health took a turn for the worst and I knew I needed to get out. It wasn’t the responsibility or looking after myself that was the problem - I’d basically been doing that since I was 14. But the pressure of academic work was getting with me and I was feeling increasingly isolated. So I took the decision to leave University indefinitely and go out and work. Six months in, whilst working in the United States, I realised I did want to go back and study, but not quite yet. I had submitted an application to UCAS in January to appease my Dad and so I accepted a place at a University in the Midlands, but deferred for a year to give myself some time.

Three weeks ago and nearing the big 21st birthday I moved into halls again, ready for a fresh start. So far it has been good - I get on well with some of my flatmates, and have quite a few other friends in my building, the work has been relatively interesting and I’ve been keeping busy. I won’t lie when I say I’m a little worried about hitting that 5 week mark again, but this time already feels different. I have friends in my flat, I know how to handle my mental health, and I just keep telling myself, if I managed 3 months across the Atlantic by myself, I can surely manage 12 weeks a 3 hour drive away from home right?!

In all seriousness though, University is about balance. Sometimes you just don’t feel like or don’t have the time to go on that bar crawl. Sometimes you need to take a break from that deadline and go and eat some chocolate cake. Listening to yourself and what you need, and talking to others is so important.

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Milestones without My Mum

I think it goes without saying that every day when you lose a parent at a young age is difficult. I’m 100% being truthful when I say that my mum pops into my mind every single day, even 5 years after her death. But there is something especially bittersweet about her absence when I’m about to hit a milestone.

My mum died of cancer when I was 15 years old, and she was my best friend. She came to all of my school concerts and plays, all of my riding lessons and shows as a child, every single parents evening and I know I was so lucky to have had a parent who could and would do that. Losing her at the age of 15 means that most of what people consider significant life events or milestones, I have experienced without her. My GCSE Results, my A Level results, my first kiss, my first time moving away from home, my 16th and 18th birthdays have all happened without her. And it’s not just these big events where I feel her absence; I remember wishing she could come and see my GCSE Drama production, or to see me off at the airport when I went to the USA for three months. Every birthday and Christmas is somehow tainted with her absence. And don’t even get me started on mother’s day.

For the first few years there was an extra factor into all of this; jealousy. It’s an ugly thing to think and I’m not proud of it but I couldn’t help but feel on my 16th birthday, or when I got my A level results that my brother got to do this with Mum. He’s three and a half years older than me and was in his first year of University when she passed away. She wanted to go up and help him move in, but she couldn’t due to being knee deep in chemo.

I remember opening my results for my GCSE’s quite vividly; I went alone because I didn’t want my dad to be there and he had work anyway. I went in, hands shaking and tore through the envelope. After a look through, I was pretty pleased with my grades and called Dad to tell him how he did. He was elated and very proud. After I hung up the phone, I almost went to make another call. But then I realised I couldn’t. I looked around the hall for my two best friends, who were both standing with their own mums a little way off. It felt like I’d been punched in the gut and I wanted to burst into tears. It felt so unfair that everyone else got to tell their mum’s how they did and I didn’t. I quickly composed myself though and got on with my day – I didn’t want to cry when I’d actually gotten pretty good results. I know that had she been alive I probably would’ve told her to stay at home as well, but it was the option to do so that I wanted. God, what I would’ve given to have been able to do that.

I found moving out to University for the first time particularly difficult. I remember having a dream the week before I was due to go. My mum and I were driving down a road, and then she was helping me unpack things in my room, and then we went to a café. I don’t remember the specifics but I remember feeling warm and happy. And then I woke up, and for a few blissful moments I thought it was true and would happen. And then reality crashed into me, that that was never going to happen. Moving in was okay in the end, but I was moving boxes and walking around my new campus feeling hollow and off the entire time. There were a few confused looks when I introduced my Dad and my Stepmum and I knew what they were thinking. What about her mother? Where is she? But most people didn’t ask. Apart from my flatmate later on that day, who I know got an answer she wasn’t entirely expecting. Not the best way to start off a relationship.

As I’m writing this, it is the night before I move into University for the second time. And I can truthfully say that I am in a much better place this time. A mixture of therapy and taking time to grieve and come to terms what happened means I am more accepting this time around of my situation. Maybe it’s because I’ve done it before and it’s not as ‘significant’ but I think it’s a good sign anyway. My 21st is later this year and I’m apprehensive as I always am for big birthdays because I just have no idea what I’ll feel like on the day. But I know in my heart that either reaction is totally okay. I do think about the future; how if I ever get married she won’t be there, if I ever have kids she won’t get to meet the grandchildren I know she so sorely wanted to meet. But I’m starting to accept this reality more than be angry about it – and I know that wherever she is, she’s watching, and she’s proud.

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