I was a sceptic, but it did get me to a point where I could move on. It is a luxury, especially for Black people like me. I was lucky to do it
I used to think anyone who went to therapy was automatically enlightened. These brave souls had taken a leap into the fortress of their minds, making the effort to unpick old habits, break generational curses and generally “fix” their mental states. Having a therapist was the ultimate form of self-care.
And yet I still avoided it for a long time – even as I started to feel as if I was treading water with no direction. Perhaps I was following a similar logic to the many Black people who seek help only when they reach crisis point. But I didn’t want to share the same fate. After a relationship breakdown, an ADHD diagnosis that spiralled into an identity crisis and the ongoing emotional repercussions of the pandemic, I decided to start therapy in 2021. I didn’t anticipate that I would be quitting it after only a year.
Niellah Arboine is a writer and deputy editor at Where the Leaves Fall, a magazine exploring humankind’s connection with nature
