The hospital doors swing open as my dad and I walk towards them. My hands clammy, my mind racing, I can barely think. We check in and wait. After what felt like an eternity, we were welcomed in…It had only been five minutes. 

I sit across from her, my new doctor, and I know she can see right through me. The years of carpentry that it took to build my walls now felt like glass, fragile and see through. She knew I wasn’t ok. 

The beginning was easy. I didn’t have to share the whole truth just yet, just a few pieces. I shared the stress of school, work, friends, and everything in between. Junior year was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. It took everything in me not to cry. 

I was nervous to share my story and share my pain with an adult. Especially a therapist because I thought somehow she would say I was faking it, I was lying, or it’s all in my head. 

I was so scared to let go of my pain, even after it consumed me. 

“How are we doing?” she asked me. 

My ears ringing, my heart thumping, I could barely focus. “I’m good.” I lied. 

She looked at me, and I just knew she could see right through me and my fidgety hands. 

A little ways into the appointment we talked about how long I’ve had anxiety. It’s funny really because I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have it. But this past year, it came running into my life with colors I never wanted to see and music I never wanted to hear. But, she listened. 

Dr. Stine balances what I imagine is the weight of the world on her shoulders. She’s a friend, doctor, wife, and mother. There are so many other things she could do and yet she makes time to help me. She not only provides me with the reassurance that I need, she also doesn’t make me feel like a patient. 

When I’m in that room, she makes me feel like I’m not broken and that I’m not a problem; she makes me feel safe, validated, and like family. 

Maybe it’s the relationship we’ve established over the short few months, but the way she listens is something I’ve never had in my life before. There’s no interruptions, unsolicited advice, or laughing. She lets me talk, cry, and push through my emotions. No matter how uncomfortable they might be. 

While talking about my feelings isn’t my thing, I wouldn’t dare imagine where I would be without it. Dr. Stine taught me how to take care of myself again. She taught me the value I hold. She taught me how it isn’t the medication that helps me, it’s my choice of wanting to get better. And for the first time in months, I’ve been happy. 

Thank you Dr. Stine for allowing me to grieve the life I had and to welcome the life I’ve been given.