Content note: trauma, PTSD, depression, suicidal ideation, and mental health


Before anyone reads this, I want to offer a little context.

This poem isn’t meant to be an argument against therapy. It’s a chronological look at one season of my life—what happened before I ever walked into a therapist’s office, the years it took to gather the courage to go, and why I walked away after just two sessions.

Healing isn’t linear, and this wasn’t the end of my story. It was simply one chapter in it.

Today, I’m a strong advocate for finding a therapist who is the right fit. Its important to find someone you genuinely connect with, who challenges you to grow, supports your healing, and, above all, helps you feel safe. Sometimes the first therapist isn’t the right one, and that’s okay. Mine wasn’t.

If you’ve ever struggled to ask for help or had an experience that made healing feel even more complicated, I hope this reminds you that you are not alone.




“That Time I Quit Therapy”

Thrown into darkness
Like never before
So scared to be alone
So sick to my core
Everything was raw
Every nerve exposed
I felt overtly seen by the world
Yet my heart was decomposed
I was a mess
Everything felt like stress
It took everything within me
To just get up and get dressed
I couldn’t breathe
Without shedding a tear
I couldn’t eat
Couldn’t sleep
Couldn’t let anyone near
I called my friends
Who were all far away
They’d pray with me
And listen to
All of my disarray
So many spoke of counseling
Of therapy
Of help
I was too scared to seek it
Yet afraid that I needed it
A couple years down the road
I started the process
My coping mechanisms
Were all I possessed
Through smoking and drinking
Trying all I could to repress
All my problems
Anxiety
Hyperventilating
PTSD
Deep Depression
Suicidal Ideation
Everything undiagnosed
Every breath in my lungs
Every cry in my throat
Threatening to choke
Choke choke choke
Choke me straight out
I wanted life to end
All I had was burnout
Burnout from my life
At only twenty years old
The chains of my trauma
So heavy and so cold
I opted for therapy
I prayed for a win
But the therapy failed
To help me within
They gave me a therapist
In a cold darkened room
No windows in sight
A tall corner lamp
The only dim light
The room had no windows
And all that I knew
My heart rattled its cage
While the dark shadows grew
The man in the corner
Didn’t make me comfortable
I had asked for a woman
He said “It’s impossible”
I quit therapy
After just two sessions
Sometimes help can wound you
Behind good intentions