You are brave

brave

”You are so brave for talking about this.”
“It’s brave of you to share this, thank you.”

Those are the kind of comments I get on some of my posts – mostly to the personal ones. Like when I opened up about my depression, or when I shared unedited photos of my acne. Or when I wore my acne anti-coverage makeup. Or just for even sharing my life with thousands of readers from all over the globe.

But here’s what I think:

Brave? Me?

you are brave

Maybe, but there are tons of people out there, who are actually, really, being so brave. People fighting cancer. People losing their loved ones. People having their life stomped to the ground and still walking their head held high. People being so depressed, that there’s no difference between night or day, sleep or conscious.

I am just sharing my life. It’s really no different from anyone else’s. I smile, I cry, I laugh and sometimes I fall. Just like you do. I don’t consider myself brave in the way you might think. I mean, it’s not about who is saying what – who has the guts to write something on the internet. It’s just as wise not to say anything, not to write anything or even not to spend any time on the internet.

I guess what I’m saying is, is that there are worse things, that surviving something horrible. There are worse things, that having some pain. There are not so nice things in the world. We all experience them. So what I’m really trying to say is, that you’re not really that different from me and it’s just life.

We all know there’s no such thing as perfect – maybe it’s time to stop acting like it? Maybe this blog is my way of saying, that you are beautiful, even though your road is bumpy and you don’t always smile to your salad.

Life is a beautiful mess. But then you get to go home after a horrible day, hug your loved ones and eat chocolate on the sofa and kick your socks to the floor. A moment, where no one has to clean up or save the world.

We are all brave in our own ways.

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photos Inka Lähteenaro

The last time I went to psychotherapy

psychotherapy for depression

I remember the last time I went to my psychotherapy. I remember it better, than I did any of the other hundred times I sat on that bench and talked. And cried. I cried a lot.

I don’t remember everything we talked about, but I do remember some minutes. A few details, that stuck in my mind and will probably stay there as important moments forever.

The last time I went to therapy. That was the time – for the first time ever really – that I truly and purely cried from happiness. My therapist was always super professional, the best therapist I could hope for. She never showed emotion, cried with me or did anything else, that would have been uncanny. But for a second there, I swear I saw her eyes water just a tiny bit.

Happiness and sadness – they are not the opposites. Pain and joy walk hand in hand through the twisted roads, through the dark forests and into the blue waters. There can’t be one without the other. I had pain, but somehow that pain had transformed into raw, imminent and imperfect happiness.

We had several different lessons during my therapy. But the final lesson, the final assignment is what I remember the best. It went as follows: Picture yourself as a young girl, sitting under a tree. If you had a chance to go there right now, what would you say to that little girl, to yourself?

And I wanted to say everything. I wanted to hold the girl in my arms and brush her tangled hair. I wanted to lull her to sleep, and tell her that there were no monsters in this world.

I wanted to tell her, that she turned out to be a master piece. That the little bruises and cracks suited it perfectly, and that no one even saw them. And that her world turned out beautiful and good. And that she would have so much, that it couldn’t all be listed.

And I wanted to assure her, that she was perfect. That she was enough – more than enough. And I don’t know if she would have got scared, if I told her that I was her. That she should look at me – how I survived and I was standing there now.

When I finally opened my mouth to say something, she turned to face me and looked straight into the familiar eyes. And I didn’t have to say a word, when we just sat there, quiet and in peace.

And that’s when I smiled, cried and knew, that I would get through anything, that life would give me. 

Psychotherapy was (besides some other things) one of the most important things to help me battle depression. No one else can give you tools and help to depression, as professionals do (=psychotherapists, psychologists or psychiatrists). You’ll never read a post from this blog, where I tell you how to work out your depression – I am not your guru and I will never become one. I can only talk about my own experience, share my thoughts and tell you, that I do believe in getting better. I read a great column (in Finnish, by Maaret Kallio) a while back, which title kinda says it all: “When your mind is broken, you shouldn’t seek help from the powers of the universe or healing hands – Even a smart person can stray to easy promises.”

The next question might be a bit personal, but feel free to share if you want to; Have you gone to therapy?