“Hmmmn, was it exercising? You know, a bit of huffy-puffy to get that ol’ heart pumping like buggery?” Nope. Exercise makes me feel like a more coherent and less bloodied version of Rocky Balboa, but nope. “Ooh, ooh, was it adding spirulina to your diet?” That pond scum shit?! Heavens to Betsy, no. “Maybe it was utilising lube for anal relations?” A helpful addition, but no.
It was seeing a counsellor.
Everyone has shit happen and sometimes grief smacks us on the chin like an overenthusiastic, inconsiderate ballbag — maybe you’ve suffered a loss; maybe you’ve got chronic pain; maybe depression has sneaked into your life like a shadow; maybe you’ve been let down; maybe you’re the one who has been a bit of an arsehat. Or maybe you’re just struggling.
“You’re so brave seeing a counsellor!” a well-meaning person chimed. Huh? It’s not brave, it’s just bloody sensible! If some revolting mystery rash turned up on your skin you’d go see a dermatologist (or perhaps consult your Little Black Book for likely offenders). If your eyes are getting old as sin and you have to hold menus 1.7 metres from your face to be able to read them you’d go see an optometrist. So if you could use some help to navigate the lows of life then see a counsellor/psych! And don’t be ashamed about it — it’s a very clever thing to do. Your mental health is so very, very valuable.
Photo by the lovely Kate Dyer.