Why is it that in NYC, ladies meet for lunch and part of their conversation revolves around what their therapists think is best for them.

“Well, my therapist says I need to take care of myself more, pamper myself, get more me time, etc”

Whereas in NE, at least along the southern coast, to admit you’re in therapy is to allow yourself to be psycho-analyzed by your peers/parents/siblings behind your back!

“OMG!  Did you hear that ___ is in therapy?  Can you believe it?  Well, I always knew she needed help.  Ya, but who needs therapy?  So they can tell you what you already know?  Please.  Just shut up, pick yourself up off the floor, dust yourself off and get back out there in life.  We don’t need no one to tell us life’s tough.  We know that already!”

I started going to see a therapist after I found out that my 60 year old neighbor had sexual designs on my 4 year old angel.  It really messed with my head.  My world view was skewed.  It got to where I started imagining that every man in her life was secretly harboring a plan to get at her.  Yeah.  Over my head and a bit overwhelming.

So, I went to visit a therapist who specializes with families that have dealt with sexual trauma.  Thank God I did…

And yet going really went against everything I’d ever been taught growing up.  It’s basically our ‘religion’ as purists.  Something horrid happens and you just suck it up and deal with it.  Life’s gonna hand you some tough cards to deal with and you’re going to have to soldier on.

Until you can’t.  Until you’re paralyzed by your fear and/or anxiety.  Until it creeps into your head at the most inopportune moments.  Until you feel it affecting all aspects of your life.

And then, well, then you thank your lucky stars that there are professionals out there willing to listen, help you work through it and find a way to deal with things a little bit at a time, at your pace.

I’m with the cool cats in NYC…I think my therapist and therapy rocks.