Part 24: My Journey With Counselling

 I went to counselling in the spring of 2020 after the intervention with my family. My dad is a therapist and my whole family has always been extremely mental health positive, pro counselling and aware of our feelings. Some people (who don't understand how mental health works) might not get why the daughter of a therapist would be in counselling, because "can't you just talk to your dad about all of your problems?" My dad is wonderful in endless ways, but no. He wasn't my therapist and it's not a secret that we all need someone to talk to who has no biases and can keep things confidential. 

I initially decided to target my break up with Gaston which triggered my fears of abandonment that I didn't even know I had. We had to meet over Zoom because of the height of Covid, but what was really going to help me was EMDR. I did EMDR for the first time when I could finally meet with my therapist in person. I am no expert on EMDR, but the simple version is that EMDR is a type of therapy that helps your brain process painful or traumatic memories that feel “stuck.” During it, you briefly think about a hard memory while following something moving back and forth (fingers, a ball on a stick, buzzers in each hand, etc) which helps your brain reprocess it. The memory doesn’t disappear, but it usually feels less intense and overwhelming afterward. If you want a better explanation, ask Ted. 

Then when my grandpa passed away, it was extremely traumatic. If you read that post, I probably don't have to explain why. When I was doing EMDR to target that trauma, it was so difficult and upsetting that halfway though, I stopped to throw up. Something I've learned about EMDR (after doing it for five years) is that when you're going back to those memories, it can trigger the same feelings you experienced in those horrible moments. I threw up when my grandpa died on that hot summer day. So when I was working through it, it brought up some similar physical sensations. 

Anyways, this wasn't the first time I had gone to counselling. I want to rewind my story a bit and take it back to the second grade, before boys called me stupid or before my best friend stole my date to the dance. I want to talk about when I was about seven years old and I was scared of the rain. I don't remember the exact moment where it started, but I was extremely afraid of extreme weather. Mainly the rain but also the wind. Someone at some point told me that a hurricane is when it's rainy and windy at the same time. This is a horrible explanation of what a hurricane is, but everytime it would start to rain, I would start to cry because to me, it was a hurricane and it was coming to kill us. I would also fear a flood coming that would wash us all away, and again, kill everyone. My dad would take me to walk outside in the rain and show me the drains in the ground. He explained that we live on a hill and that it would have to rain for years and years for all of the water to make it up the hill, fill all of the drains and cover our house. 

When it would rain hard at school, the pounding of the rain would echo on the glass skylight loudly. Crying seems like an understatement when I recall reacting to the weather at school. I would wail and curl up in a ball. The teacher would close the blinds or I would leave the room so I wouldn't see. I usually ended up in the hallway with an EA while the rest of the class watched the storm with fascination. 

My parents decided to take me to a therapist to try to get to the bottom of it all. I called it "Worry group" because one day it was in group form and I didn't know what child therapy was.Because I didn't know the word "anxiety," I just referred to my strong feelings as "worry." for example, "What's wrong, Rebecca?" "I'm just so worried." I remember one time it was storming and my parents closed the curtains and my cousin Erikka was making sure I didn't peek. When asked why she was guarding the blinds, she replied, "Becca is too worried to look outside." You get the idea. 

One day, I had to leave school for a few hours to go to worry group. My teacher, who didn't exactly ooze empathy, wrote "Rebecca's worry group at 2:00" on the whiteboard and I was absolutely mortified. I didn't want everyone in the class to know that I was so worried about something as simple as the rain. It was just rain, but I was so scared. 

I ended up leaving the worry group and just being one on one with the counsellor. I remember her asking me to draw my perfect day. She had paints and felts and pencil crayons with a big easel for me to work on. My go-to art piece when given the opportunity was a picture of a house on a sunny day with a happy family standing outside holding hands. When I presented her with my picture, she praised my great work. "I'm interested why it's sunny in your perfect day and not rainy." What seven year old thinks of pouring rain when they picture a perfect day? I thought it was a stupid question. She had me play with a box of toys in her little office while she sat and took notes. I was an avid Barbie player. In our house, Manda and I would play Barbie's and speak out loud, as most kids who are playing do. When I played by myself, I referred to it as "set upping" because I didn't speak their voices out loud, I just set them up around their house, or their cars, or pretended they were homeless and starving, I think most Barbie fanatics know what I'm talking about. Anyways, I felt extremely uncomfortable with this woman watching me play. I pull a little plastic person toy out of the bin and notice it has a bandaid on it's knee. "What do you think happened to his knee?" she interrupts me to ask. Um, how would I know?

At the end of the day, we walk to a different room and look at a fish tank. "How does the water in the tank make you feel?" She asks. I look at her like she's lost her mind. I'm worried about floods, not fish tanks. 

While we're in that room, I look out the window and it's starting to rain. It rains all of the time in the Lower Mainland. Like, all the time. My appointment is about to be over so as I start to get that really unsettled, sick feeling in my stomach, the therapist walks me downstairs where my mom would usually be waiting to pick me up. She's not there. One thing led to another, the rain is picking up and I'm starting to melt down. I remember covering my little seven-year old eyes so I didn't have to see it rain. I wanted my mom. We go back inside to escape the rain and that's when I start to really lose it. I drop to the floor and start to scratch my face like a cave animal. I lay my cheek to the floor and groan and cry wondering what could have happened to my mom that would make her forget about me. The therapist just stands there staring at me. I'm alone, I'm scared and I'm on the floor. 

Obviously my mom showed up eventually. I don't remember what the reason was that she was late. Probably something about having four other children and the weather being bad. I remember walking to our family minivan and saying "Wow, I was really worried!" and laughing about the whole thing. When re-telling this story to my current therapist in 2026, I had to laugh at the idea of this poor therapist watching me throw a fit. She probably felt like she was way over her head. "I mean, if I did that in our session wouldn't you feel a bit weirded out?" I asked her. She looked at me, her face filled with empathy and concern. She explained to me what she would have done instead, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized how damaging the therapists reaction really was. 

In grade three, I was still scared of the rain. Not as extremely but I do remember one day my class was walking in the hallway and I was crying because it was raining and because my stomach hurt. My teacher (who was oozing with empathy and understanding) put her arm around me and in front of the class, she asked me, "Do you have to go poop?" I couldn't believe she asked me that in front of everyone. I didn't have to poop, I was just worried. 

Eventually my parents started to just sit with me and hold me when it would rain. What was displayed as a fear of rain, was actually a fear of something bad happening to my parents. Otherwise known as separation anxiety. Instead of talking through it with logic, they started to invite me to come sit with them, cuddle and just be together. 

I didn't go to counselling again until 2020 when I hit rock bottom. We didn't play with toys or look at fish tanks. It was hard and worked through some very deep painful stuff. I still worry that bad things will happen to my loved ones, that's why my counselling journey isn't over. I am now seeing the most wonderful therapist (on Zoom :)) and I have made huge strides in my mental health journey with her on my side. 

Therapy is a marathon.  I'm so thankful for my opportunity to better myself and help make the loads a little lighter.