Deconstructing Therapy: You Are Worthy of Getting Help
“You don’t need a therapist if you have Jesus.”
“The world uses ‘mental health’ to distract us from the gospel and separate us from Jesus.”
“As long as you have enough faith, you’ll never experience depression or anxiety.”
These are just a few things that I was taught, growing up, about mental health.
I was taught that, while there may be some extreme cases where medication is necessary to improve someone’s quality of life, those are exceedingly rare. God was enough to handle any genuine concerns.
When a close family member showed signs of extreme anxiety, our automatic response was, “just have more faith” because, “perfect love drives out all fear.”
When that same family member began to exhibit rage issues, it was seen as a sin issue; one in which I became complicit when the rage was directed at me. The glaringly obvious fact that this person was in mental distress, and I was caught in the crosshairs, was ignored. We were both in sin, and it was on both of us to get along and keep the peace.
The message that I internalized with all of this was that I was truly alone. It was up to me to keep myself safe and to never let anyone know that I was struggling in any way.
This looked like crying myself to sleep at night for far more nights than I can count, careful to never cry too loudly so others wouldn’t hear me.
This looked like numbing out and distracting myself from my feelings through hours of mindless TV & movie watching.
This looked like learning to soothe myself by filling numerous notebooks when my every thought and feeling threatened to explode from my bones because I had no one to share them with.
Then one day, in 2013, it all became too much. I had my first panic attack while driving home from work.
I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. My chest felt like it was about to break in two. The tears were flowing so hard that I had to pull over to the side of the highway. There, I sat, and I sobbed for close to an hour before I regained control of my body.
I didn’t understand what was happening to me in that moment. All I remember thinking was that my life was over, and nothing would ever be okay again.
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Flash forward three years later; I was browsing through a bookstore with a friend. She picked up a book that she told me had changed her life and said that I had to read it too. The book was called, When The Body Says No by Dr. Gabor Maté.
This book went through all of Dr. Maté’s research on what happens to the body when trauma was left unprocessed. He pointed to numerous cases he’d researched linking unprocessed trauma to serious illnesses like cancer and Alzheimer’s disease. As someone who has watched a grandparent fade away through the fog of dementia, and as someone who has tested positive for the late-onset Alzheimer’s gene, this got my attention.
I knew I needed to start processing all the trauma I survived during my 30-odd years on this planet.
But where was I supposed to start?
Therapy felt off-limits to me for two reasons:
1. Therapy was expensive, and I was living paycheck-to-paycheck
2. Therapy had always been presented to me as dangerous. Not just for my spiritual health, but also for my relationship with my family.
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I was told that psychology had demonic roots, and that therapists had an agenda to turn children against their parents and wives against their husbands. My world presented therapy to me, not as a tool, but as a weapon that would destroy me and everyone I cared about. So, even as I began to deconstruct my life and started to see that I needed some kind of help, therapy remained off-limits to me.
But I had books. Books became something of a savior for me.
I remember picking up a copy of Brené Brown’s book, I Thought It Was Just Me. It was the first time I ever really understood the concept of shame and could finally see how my immediate family had been bathing in shame, leaving us isolated from outside support. It gave me a framework to understand myself and my origins so much better.
I read, Boundaries by Henry Cloud and John Townsend, and I learned that it was my right to feel safe in all my relationships, including relationships with my family.
I came back to Brené Brown and read The Gifts of Imperfection, and learned that I deserved the gift of compassion towards myself.
The more I read, the more my ingrained defenses against therapy began to fall away. Finally, I hit a point where I was ready to go to therapy.
I clearly remember my first session with my therapist. As I opened up and entrusted her with my story, I caught myself thinking that I had never felt so loved and so seen before.
My therapist showed me, week after week, that it was okay to break down. It was okay to not be okay. It was okay to seek the help I needed for my mental health.
I know now that it is not a sin to prioritize mental health, nor is it wrong to seek out help when I am struggling.
On the contrary, if there is a God, and if God is indeed good, then why would we ever try to argue that it is God’s will for us to ignore mental health, and instead choose to do that which we know is dangerous for us: ignore the signs of a mental health crisis?
If you need someone to say it, let me be that person: You matter, and you are worthy of getting the help you need—including therapy.
Shari A Smith is a survivor of religious trauma, who seeks to remind other survivors that they are not alone. She has written for For Women Who Roar and Ezer Rising. Currently, Shari is a co-host for the podcast, Survivors Discuss along with Cait West and Clare Heath-McIvor, where the voices of other survivors are elevated, and where listeners can hear for themselves that there are many paths to healing. Website: Shariasmith.com; Instagram: @shari.a.smith; Twitter: @faithandcoffeee