By Jaila Macklin
As a woman living with bipolar disorder and anxiety, my journey with therapy began at an early age.
I was 11-years-old the first time my mother hauled me off to a therapist. My therapist was an elderly white woman whom I initially felt no connection with. I didn’t believe I needed to be there, so I was reluctant to open up to her. Eventually, I let down my guard and cried puddles while confessing my feelings. At such a young age, I was depressed.
Over the years I’ve lost track of how many therapists have come and gone in my life. I’ve skipped appointments and showed up on time. I’ve had therapists I strongly disliked, felt no connection with, and therapists I loved. I spent time in denial thinking maybe I could manage my mental illnesses and heal from past trauma without therapy, but now that…
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