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When I first suggested to my husband that I wanted to start therapy, he looked at me in total shock.
“You? Therapy? Are you sure you need it?”
Honestly, I couldn’t blame him. For the longest time, I didn’t think I needed it either.
Metaphorically speaking, I’ve always been everybody’s therapist. I’ve been my own therapist too. My mind possesses this innate ability to analyze problems, uncover their root causes, and fix them. Carrying my own weight (and quietly the weight of everyone around me) has been my default setting for as long as I can remember.
I also write self-help articles for a living. I get messages daily from readers asking for advice on their relationship issues, communication blocks, and personal life struggles. So, my husband’s reaction was completely understandable. Why would someone who always steps up, saves the day, and has all the answers need someone else to help them?
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