I love what therapy and self-discovery have gifted me over the last 5 years. I love that I get to uncover new ways of thinking, find better ways to understand myself and gain insight into some of the unhelpful perspectives I’ve accumulated while growing up.
What surprises me most is how therapy has become a space where I consistently choose myself. Month after month, I show up not because it’s easy but because I’ve learned that this kind of intentional self-examination is how we break cycles we didn’t even know we were living in.
I love that each time I go to therapy, as hard and as painful as the session might be, I love parts of me more and more deeply. There’s something profound about sitting with your own contradictions, your patterns, your wounds and somehow finding compassion for all of it.
The relationship itself has taught me so much about what it means to be truly seen. My therapist isn’t a stranger anymore—after years of sessions, she holds space for me in ways I deeply need. I love that I can be completely raw and open, knowing that this vulnerability is met with understanding rather than judgment.
Sometimes, I think about who I was before I learned how to do this work—before I understood that feelings weren’t meant to be pushed down or that my reactions often held vital information about my needs. That version of me was doing her best with the tools she had.
In just a few days, I turn 35. I imagine those younger versions of myself looking at who I’ve become, and they would be proud not just of the work I’ve done but of the person I’ve chosen to become through that work.
