Last week I did something I have been avoiding and dreading, for nearly twenty years. I talked it up to other people; encouraging them to go try it, and truly felt that of course everyone should have a professional to guide them through things that were holding them down/back. But, I never did it myself, because I was afraid. After gathering recommendations, completing introductory screening calls, figuring out fees and schedules, (just a few of the many steps that go in to helping oneself in the United States of America’s medical systems), I, Lauren Knochelmann, crossed the threshold from busy city, in to a serene and spa-like psychotherapy office in San Francisco.

I’m not going to lie; every single fiber of my being wanted to turn on my heel and say goodbye just as soon as I’d said hello. But, I knew from experience that if I was avoiding something that much, it was high time to rip the bandaid off and get it going. I’ve talked to lots of humans I know IRL about certain aspects of their therapy experiences. What it seems to boil down to, is that this is going to be a real, “gotta hike your own hike” situation. No two humans experience the same moments in the same way, so obviously something as personal as therapy is not going to be prescriptive. How deep will you let yourself dig? How badly do you really want to get to the root of some of your issues? How damaged and traumatized do you feel from events that shaped who you are as an adult human? Is it possible to conjure them up, and have confidence that you can build up the skills to ground yourself to move through those past-traumas in the moment? I have no answers y’all; as I said I just started.

While I’m not going to delve in to our actual talking points, I will say that within ten fucking minutes, my therapist and I had already brought something out in to the light that I honest-to-goodness didn’t know I was actively working so hard at shoving deeeeeeep down in to my soul. I felt a piece of myself crack open that I hadn’t realized I’d walled up with such effort and detail. As I was tearfully recounting this realization to Anne, in the safe-space moments that only the post-sunset darkness of your own living or bedroom room can bring, my chest started to heave uncontrollably and I could barely get the words out. I found myself in front of my wife in that place where your tender vulnerability can bloom in a way that feels freeing, instead of frightening. We metaphorically held each other in that moment, as she whispered that I had never told her about this specific piece of my history in our 23+ years together. I started shaking my head no, like that couldn’t possibly be, even though as soon as she said the words aloud I knew it to be true.

I know that every single week isn’t going to carry a revelation with it like the one I had last week. I’m scared of what I may uncover beneath my decades-old coping mechanisms of positivity, and my incredible skills of packing up emotions I cannot control and therefore find uncomfortable. Alas, I already realize that each time I unEarth a dusty, old trauma nugget that inner-child Lauren packed away hoping never to be found, I take one more courageous step forward on the lifelong path of self-discovery.