My ‘One Word’ this week is: ASHAMED

When my wife first suggested I needed therapy (back in 2012), I was resistant.

You see, I grew up with a dad who would’ve seen emotional intelligence as a deficiency—had he even known what it was. His version of a pep talk was, “BOYS DON’T CRY!” His go-to emotional band-aid was a hearty, “SUCK IT UP!”

So the story in my head for years was that therapy was for the soft and unstable. I wanted to climb the corporate ladder, and I thought acknowledging my struggles would turn that ladder into quicksand.

But hiding from childhood trauma didn’t make it go away. My wife was also battling advanced breast cancer, and I had no tools to confront the possibility of my family’s future without her.

So I surrendered to therapy—with one caveat. It’d be my secret. If no one knew, no one could judge me. I went at night. I’d park my car behind a tree, then duck into the back door so no one would see me.

Now, I know I didn’t need to approach therapy like James Bond. But there was a bigger problem I was hiding:

I was getting 0 value from my therapist. Maybe my shame hindered my healing, but we just didn’t click. Every time I left her office under cover of darkness, I felt more confused than when I came in.

I thought, “I guess this is what therapy is supposed to be”—because I didn’t know any better. I saw her for almost 2 years.

When I confided to my wife that I wasn’t connecting with my therapist, she looked at me in utter disbelief.

“Rich,” she said, “you don’t have to stick with your first therapist! Just like you don’t have to marry the first person you go on a date with. You’re supposed to “date your therapist” to find the right fit.”

As always, my rock was right. I was so focused on hiding my therapy journey that it hadn’t even occurred to me to try someone else.

So we looked for a new therapist. My wife reached out to a colleague. “Can you recommend a therapist for one of my patients?” she said because I still wanted to stay undercover.

One day, I ran into that colleague. She happened to work next door to the therapist she recommended and said, “Oh, I knew that reco was for you.”

I thought I was a stealth agent, but my cover was blown from the start. But get this—she didn’t judge me. No one did. Everyone I tell commends me for working diligently on my mental health.

Years later, my new therapist is amazing. I cheerlead my way into her front door in broad daylight. The ‘One Word’ ASHAMED is no longer a part of my vocabulary.

Sometimes we have to confront our own reticence toward the things that are good for us. The things that challenge us. The things that require us to be vulnerable. Because those are the things that transform our lives.

My wife (and therapist) helped me on the path to stepping into my true identity. Her wisdom and support helped me identify the CATALYST I was meant to be.

Who’s helping you identify yours?