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Psychotherapy

I am writing this blog because my therapist encouraged me to. I had blogged before (about cosmetics and beauty) but kind of fell out of love with the process. But then I had some incredible breakthroughs in therapy last year and my therapist encouraged me to share my experiences. She actually suggested writing a book but I find this format a bit less daunting.

It’s hard to convey how much my therapist did for me last year. Of course, she would argue that I did all the work but she certainly nudged in the right direction. And this is why I’m here to tell you: if there is any feasible way for you to get therapy, please do. I think everyone should get therapy. I know that it’s almost impossible to access in some countries (which will never fail to piss me off…). I also know that therapy doesn’t have the answers to everything. But it will have the answers to a lot of your problems. If you find the right therapist.

Because I’ve wasted MANY years on bad therapy. One psychiatrist wasted an entire year of therapy sessions just sitting there and occasionally nodding while I rambled for an hour. I don’t think she ever suggested anything to help me apart from writing me a prescription for an anti-depressant. They did absolutely nothing for me (I know that they work brilliantly for many other people). Then she took me off the medication too quickly, and I ended up feeling a lot worse than before. Another therapist tried to talk me into intense psychoanalysis with 3 sessions per week. She told me to ask my parents to pay for it (wow). And then there was this lovely but incredibly flaky therapist who admittedly DID help me through my panic attacks and my agoraphobia (I doubt you truly ever overcome these things) but she completely failed me in the end. She firmly believed that my walking issues were being caused by a psychosomatic illness. When I finally got diagnosed with a genetic illness, she refused to believe it. Very helpful…not.

After all of these adventures, I was kind of over therapy and decided to fend for myself. However, by the end of 2017, I felt myself slipping again. The agoraphobia was creeping back in, and I felt incredibly sad and unmotivated most of the time. I didn’t want to get up in the morning. So I decided to give therapy one last chance. I had no idea where to find a good therapist and was intrigued when I found out that our local university has a group practice where the right therapist for each patient is carefully chosen from a pool of therapists after a very thorough initial assessment. I went through a couple of assessment sessions, filled in questionnaires (as did my husband), and all of this was taped and then analysed by the therapists. In the end, I was matched with an incredible therapist who was just an absolutely perfect fit. The entire process had taken a while, but it was all well worth it.

My therapist was able to guide me through my ongoing issues. We talked through every issue I had encountered in the previous week, and yes, we did take a deep dive into my past, which made a lot of sense in my case. However, we did not dwell on the roots of my issues but worked out strategies for my everyday problems. Some of her ideas were incredibly creative and helped me reframe my often painful life journey. I was able to contribute ideas and approaches, and the whole experience was just incredibly uplifting and invigorating. That year in therapy really changed me on a fundamental level and I finally found a way to be content, no, happy with my life.

So yes, I know that finding the right therapist can be a pain. Sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs… Wow, what a bad analogy lol. But it can be worth all of that trouble if you find someone who can help you change your life and make sense of the jumbled mess in your head.

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Who I am and the Chicken thing

Hello dear reader, my name is Gabi, but I will be going by Chicken. No worries, I will explain why in a bit. At the time of writing, I am 38 years old. I was born and raised in Switzerland and still live here with my lovely geeky 42-year-old husband. In high-school, I developed a deep passion for the English language and this eventually lead to me getting two Master’s degrees, one in English linguistics and one in translation. Even though my mother tongue is German (Swiss German, to be precise), English has somehow become a more natural fit for me. I often dream and think in English and since starting my small translations business 7 years ago, I’ve spent about 50% of my days writing or reading in English. Most of what I read, watch, listen to is in English. And I’ve made some wonderful internet friends who are all English speakers. So yes, writing this blog in English was a no-brainer. So get ready for the occasional awkward sentence, this is a German-speaking Chicken blogging in English.

None of the above is massively interesting or warrants a blog. But here’s the thing: I have been to hell and back. I have hit absolute rock bottom, and I’m here to tell the tale. I was viciously bullied from age 12 to 16, I developed an anxiety disorder and terrible health anxiety in my teens. I never managed to develop self-esteem and have major body image issues that probably border on body dysmorphia. In my mid-twenties, I developed a neurological illness that put me into a wheelchair. And I wasn’t coping. For about 7 years, my life was hell. My days were filled with crying fits and suicidal episodes. I developed a panic disorder, agoraphobia, self-harm tendencies and depression. Becoming disabled is the most painful process I have ever gone through, and so little of that pain was caused by the disability or illness itself. I was rejected by society and plunged into the reality of being a ‘marginalised person’. I got misdiagnosed several times. As a result, I expected to recover, and everyone around me expected the same. For 7 years of my life, I was convinced that I had become disabled because I was lazy and worthless. I battled my own body every single day. I spent years in therapy. But then last year, with the help of the right therapist, I finally found a way back to myself.

And this is why I’m here writing this blog. I was swallowed by darkness and clawed my way back. I think there’s value in that. My lovely therapist encouraged me to share my story, my thoughts and the things that have helped me through all of this. Over the years, many bloggers and YouTubers have helped me by sharing their stories and their insights, and I’m hoping to do the same for some of you.

And last but not least: the Chicken thing. I met my husband when I was 17, and he was 21. Four years is a big age difference when you’re that young. So at some point, I thanked my then boyfriend for spending so much time with a ‘chick’ like me. Chick is ‘Küken’ in German and has no derogatory connotations. It just means ‘very young’. The pet name stuck. My husband, who’s always been very creative decided to draw a little cartoon chick for my 18th birthday, and the Chicken was born.

I always use the Chicken as my online alter ego, and it has developed its own personality. It is feistier than me and more fearless. It is a fierce little bird and who I aspire to be. So in many ways, this blog will also be my journey to truly becoming the person/chicken I know I can be. And I hope you’ll come along for the ride.