5 Things I Learned By Going To Therapy
living well
Simon Thomas works as a copywriter for a Christian charity in England, where he lives with his cat and several thousand books.
There were about 15 years between deciding I should get therapy and actually booking my first session. The idea wasn’t in my mind the whole time, but it would often come to the surface in conversations – “Yes,” I’d laugh, “I should probably do something about that!” – knowing that I almost certainly wouldn’t nudge myself to do it that day, that week or even that year. So I’m writing the sort of article I wish I’d been able to read back then. The therapy I needed was very specific: phobia therapy. But I hope there are useful points of comparison, whatever sort of therapy or counselling you are considering.
I am arachnophobic – meaning I have a fear of spiders – which started when I was a pre-teen and got worse and worse over time. (Sidenote, in case you share this phobia: I will use the word ‘spider’, but there are no pictures or videos of spiders in this article. I don’t describe any encounters with them.) It’s a common fear, and a lot of people don’t like the creatures, but it was an increasingly debilitating part of my life. Fast forward to 2021 and it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t say the word ‘spider’; I was having panic attacks at the thought of them; I had regular nightmares about them.
But how did I go about getting phobia therapy? I couldn’t google ‘arachnophobia therapy’, because of the likelihood the search results would include pictures of spiders. I relied – not for the last time in this process – on the kindness of a friend, who told me about a service I could be referred to. There was a bit of a waiting period, and then my therapy started. Here are five things I learned along the way.
1. I could set the pace
One of the reasons I’d resisted taking the plunge to phobia therapy was that I’d only heard of the most full-immersion version. I knew I didn’t want to go straight in the deep end, or be forced to encounter the scariest spiders. But my therapy was totally at my own pace.
The therapist – let’s call him R – was very intuitive in our conversations. I could say the word ‘arachnophobia’ but I couldn’t say ‘spider’ and, let me tell you, it’s not easy to explain which word you’re unwilling to say! But R picked it up on my hesitance immediately, and matched my use of ‘creatures’ instead of ‘spiders’ without questioning it. Throughout the whole process, he was keen to emphasise that I didn’t need to do anything I was too reluctant to do, and it was also fine if progress wasn’t totally linear. That is to say, if a session started and I was finding things harder than the previous session, that was all part of the overall arc of progress. There was no condemnation.
2. Just being there was a triumph
After so many years leading up to therapy, the biggest step of all was the first step. I was so proud of myself for starting the work of therapy, and it is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I prayed a lot before it started and I cried pretty much non-stop through the first two sessions – partly because it was emotionally quite overwhelming to have made the decision to get help, and partly because of R. He treated my phobia seriously. Even having someone recognise that I was struggling meant an awful lot. He didn’t think I was weak or silly for needing therapy – he was a partner in this brave step of confronting something I wanted to change in my life.
3. I could set my limits
My form of counselling was exposure therapy. That meant I made an exposure hierarchy – a list of things I wanted to be able to do, starting with the easiest one and then working my way up in increments to the hardest one. It made the whole process manageable. I wasn’t going 0 to 100 overnight.
The first thing on my list was saying the word ‘spider’ – though at this point, of course, I just wrote ‘sp’ on my list. At the top of the list was watching a video of a tarantula. Crucially, I got to choose the end point. There are scarier things I could put on the list, but I knew I’d never need to hold a tarantula or go to the exotic spider enclosure of a zoo. The list ended where I wanted it to, in discussion with R. Making the list was quite scary, but it wasn’t hard to determine. Every phobic will tell you that this hierarchy already exists in our minds, even if we haven’t written it out.
Over the course of weeks and months, I’d repeat each step – staying in it for several seconds, teaching my body that I didn’t need to flinch and escape – until I was half as scared as I was initially. I didn’t need to be totally unafraid – I just needed to see sufficient change. Some weeks I took a step back on the exposure hierarchy. Other steps flew by. But the important thing was that I was still in control. R was there to encourage or prompt me, but I would never have to do anything I wasn’t ready for.
4. People were much more supportive than I expected
R wasn’t the only person whose kindness made such a difference during my therapy. I enlisted various friends to help alongside, particularly my brother, Colin. For instance, when I got to the stage of looking at a picture of a spider, I knew I couldn’t turn to google – a page full of image search results would be far, far too hard. So Colin would investigate pictures for me, and even bought an encyclopaedia of spiders for me – sending it to a friend’s house, so I wouldn’t have to open a parcel unawares. That friend sat with me when I got the book, describing the pictures I’d see before I saw them, so I could prepare myself. My small group prayed for me throughout the whole process. I couldn’t have done this therapy as successfully without the care of friends and family, and I couldn’t have that care without being vulnerable to them.
One thing that surprised me was how few people in my life were aware that I was struggling with arachnophobia. Looking back, it shouldn’t have surprised me – after all, I hadn’t told them! There were good reasons why I hadn’t said much about my phobia to most of my friends –people often unthinkingly respond with stories of horrible encounters they’ve had with spiders – but friends can’t support me if they don’t know I need help. People who don’t have phobias can never really understand the grip it has on your life, but they can still offer support, encouragement, sympathy and cheering on.
Several months into my phobia therapy, I wrote a Facebook post about it. Again, I felt nervous. What if people thought it was funny to reply with spider pictures and gifs? I knew I’d got to the point where I’d cope with a picture or two, but it was still a risk. Well, I underestimated my friends. People wrote such lovely and encouraging comments, and it meant a lot to have my courage recognised. Because, after all, only people who are afraid need to have courage.
5. Therapy changed my life
I am still arachnophobic - but now I can manage it. The point of therapy wasn’t to make me a different person or to totally remove something I find difficult – it was to make me able to clean the kitchen, watch a film, or buy groceries without being constantly fearful. I no longer have panic attacks thinking about spiders. I have dreamed about spiders once since therapy ended – but, in the dream, I put my exposure therapy lessons into practice!
When you compare my experiences to other people’s, it might seem a small thing. I didn’t have post-traumatic stress disorder, or the legacies of sexual abuse, or even generalised anxiety (though they did ask me that a lot, to make sure!) But I had something in my life that was slowly gnawing away at my ability to be contented and feel safe. Therapy changed that. I am so grateful to R, to my friends and family, and to God. I’m grateful to 2021-Simon who made one of the most courageous decisions of his life and sought help.
If you are wondering whether or not to have counselling – please imagine what it would be like to live more freely than you do now. Whatever is hurting you can be improved. It might not go away completely, but you can be helped to manage better. Asking for help might be scary, but I promise it’s worth the leap. You can do it.
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