In 1994, I was 26 years old and experiencing severe depression, although I didn't know that's what it was called at the time. I was less than a month into my second marriage and felt like everything was spinning out of control. My husband and I fought most of the time and I felt increasingly helpless and hopeless about the situation. I found myself using alcohol to put up a wall between the two of us and since he was already a drinker, he didn't seem to mind. To make matters worse, when I divorced my first husband, I lost not only the church in which I grew up, but many of my close friends, as well. 

 

Suicide was often a thought in my mind and I would fantasize about the easiest way to make it happen. I didn't take my thoughts too seriously, but I was feeling worse. I went to my family doctor and rather than tell him what I was thinking, I talked about how stressed I felt because of the fighting and I asked for a tranquilizer. I really don't remember how effective they were, but I took them every so often and increased my drinking.

 

A few months later, after a particularly nasty fight, I impulsively took the entire prescription. He took me to the hospital, where they induced vomiting and I voluntarily signed myself into the psych ward of the hospital for a week. During that time, I was diagnosed with and I finally learned the name of what I was experiencing...depression. 

 

That week was eye-opening and the start of a counseling journey that continues today. I started weekly sessions with a social worker who helped me see where others stopped and I began. I had so many "a-ha" moments with her in that year and was fascinated by how the mind worked that I thought I'd tentatively explore the idea of going to college for the first time at age 27. 

 

I met with a school guidance counselor at the local community college and shared with him that I wanted to attend school very part-time, one, maybe two classes a semester, to become a counselor. He literally laughed at me and said, "Don't even try. You'll never finish." I was incredulous! His advice backfired because it made me determined to do something about it. I signed up for Psych 101, and had the absolute best instructor I could have asked for. It was a tough class but he encouraged me continually and I got an A in the class! I decided I was going to commit to this process for as long as it took.

 

Twelve years, several counselors, additional diagnoses of Complex PTSD and anxiety, and a couple of jobs later, I graduated with a 4.0 GPA, my professional license, a bunch of great new friends, and a rekindled faith. Soon after my second marriage ended and I eventually met my current husband.

 

I often think of the crazy path my life has taken and there's much more to the story that I haven't shared here. I realize that every event, every situation, prepared me to be the best helper for my clients. It is incredibly important to be intentional about my own personal growth and recovery and recognize that I'm a work in progress, as I will be until I pass on.

 

By no means do I have it all together. I still face my challenges and struggles, and I have to practice what I preach. I know the adage, "Easier said, than done," can make one scream, and I echo the sentiment.  I'm in the business of encouraging and guiding and empowering people so that they can do what they need to do and have an abundant life!