Today’s therapy session didn’t go as I hoped.
I was 15 minutes late — not out of carelessness, but because life has a way of throwing delays when you’re already carrying so much. It was supposed to be a one-hour talking therapy session, but the therapist told me we couldn’t do much now because of the reduced time.
What hurt most wasn’t just the policy. It was the feeling of being shut down — of driving all the way there, battling my own thoughts and exhaustion, just to be told there wasn’t enough time to talk.
And I felt vulnerable — not because of what we discussed, but because opening up itself felt like handing over my weaknesses. These things I carry as shame, I placed in the hands of someone who knows much about me… while I know almost nothing about him. That imbalance shook me.
Therapy, I’m learning, is a one-way street. You give your truth. You give your pain. You hand over your fears. And sometimes, you wonder if that trust could be misused — not necessarily by malice, but simply by misunderstanding or indifference.
As an overthinker, the whole experience drained me instead of offering peace. I walked away feeling heavier than when I arrived.
But here’s what matters: I still showed up.
Even when the odds were against me.
Even when I was late.
Even when fear and doubt whispered, “What’s the point?”
Maybe the session wasn’t fruitful. Maybe there’s a policy to uphold. But I believe there’s something sacred about showing up — for yourself — especially when it’s hard.
And that, I choose to hold on to today.
This post is for anyone who’s ever felt dismissed, unheard, or rushed. For anyone who struggled just to get out of bed and go face the world — and did it anyway.
You matter. Your effort matters. And your journey, however quiet or messy, is still worthy.
Thanks for being here with me.
– Wasif
Wasifreflects 