When I was 7 years old, my mother died. That’s when my depression started. I didn’t realise it until many years later. I was a kid, not really understanding all the attention and sad eyes I was getting off people. I vividly remember going back to school after she died and I had a picture of her on my desk. One kid walked by and asked about it, so I told him, his reply has stuck with me all these years later, “Now I feel like I’ve met her.” Those words still bring a tear to my eye.
12 years later I was preparing to sit my leaving cert. My trip through secondary school was not an easy one. I was bullied; I struggled with the work and my concentration. I asked my dad if I could go to talk to someone. I used the counselling services available in the Hospice in Renmore, Galway. I sat there and talked, but the tight knot in my chest wasn’t releasing itself. I did 3 or 4 sessions and declared myself okay again. I struggled through the rest of the year, got the course I wanted and moved on to college in Limerick. I was so excited. This was when I was going to make it all better. This was where I was going to make my life come together. Again, I started to struggle with the work. I say now I was young and stupid and enjoying being away from home, but the truth is I wasn’t enjoying myself. If anyone from UL is reading this, they have a free counselling service there to help you. I highly recommend you make use of it. Colleges are so on top of what their students’ needs. Don’t be afraid to ask about it in the medical Centre.
I dropped out in my second year. I couldn’t put my head down and study and some days I couldn’t get out of bed to go to my lectures. I came home and I signed onto the dole. This was around 2012 so I had a hard time finding a job with zero experience. My one out was camogie. But even there I was failing. I was at every training session, I worked my hardest and I still wasn’t good enough. When I started losing interest in it I was told I was being lazy and getting fat. Not what you want to hear as a depressed 22-year-old, but that’s my dad. The man never really could get the handle of supporting his youngest daughter through this. I am too like mam for him to ever be okay with me, but that’s his problem. I can’t fix that for him.
A little over a year later, I was dating a guy from my friend group. Oh man, I thought I’d hit the jackpot with this guy. He was kind and smart. He would’ve done anything for me. Around the same time, my sister moved out and my home life plummeted. My dad says he doesn’t have favourites, but this sister was the one he depended on the most. It seems so silly now, but this all started when after she moved out my dad hit me across the face and called me a bitch. So I left. I walked out of the house. I rang my boyfriend. He came and got me. I returned home after a couple of hours and started packing. My friend helped me move all my stuff out. And I was gone. I didn’t leave in the middle of the night or anything. I did tell my dad I was leaving, but I was somehow the bad guy. Here. Right here, this is where I started looking after myself and not putting up with less than I deserved.
During all this time, my sister had sorted a counsellor for me through her work. Oh man, I loved that counsellor so much. She was the kindest and most maternal person I had ever met. I didn’t realize until I started seeing her that that’s what I needed. I needed a mother to talk to, freely. I owe this woman my life. I used up my 6 free sessions and continued going. She was kind enough to drop her rate because I couldn’t afford the full amount. I was six months working with this woman for my mental health, and this was the best I’ve ever felt. After 6 months I was ready to try this thing on my own. She’d given me all the tools I needed to help with my depression and to deal with the negativity in my life. I did okay for a year or so, popped back in every now and then for check-ups. If you’re body needs check-ups then your mental health needs them too.
I can’t remember exactly when but my boyfriend started struggling too. He started leaning on me for support, heavily. He’d say horrible things to me and then disappear for hours and leave me alone, crying and miserable. During this time I went for a check-up. My counsellor, who was always straight forward with me, told me I needed to go back into weekly sessions. One problem, she had a full roster. So she gave all my details, with my permission, to a new counsellor.
Well, if I owed my life to the first woman, I owe so much more to the new one. Dawna is the most fantastic person I have ever met. She brought me through ending what had become a very toxic relationship, healing my inner child who had been ‘abandoned’ from a very young age, and becoming someone entirely new. I still visit her at least once every six months. I work in the evening so I can’t always see her when she is free, but she allows me to call her while she walks around her garden and talks to me. She’s not a counsellor, she is a friend.
Healing takes years. It takes patience. And you will probably always struggle, which is fine. I found that counselling helped me to no end, but don’t settle for the first counsellor. Counsellors are like jeans, sometimes you have to try on a couple of pairs to find some that are comfortable.
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