I Thought Therapy Was a Waste… Until My Therapist Did This

Two weeks ago, I walked into my therapist’s office wearing an oversized hoodie, sunglasses, and the biggest “don’t talk to me” energy possible.

It wasn’t my first session — but it was the first time I didn’t want to be there.

“Rough week?” Dr. Kareen asked, sliding me a cup of chamomile tea like she was serving peace in a mug.

I shrugged. “More like a rough life.”

Her office smelled like lavender, and the sunlight streamed through sheer curtains, painting the walls gold.

On the bookshelf, plants leaned toward the light like they were stretching for a hug. Meanwhile, I was curled in the corner of the couch like an introverted pretzel.

She didn’t push. That’s her style — quiet patience until I speak.

After a minute, I sighed. “You know what’s funny? I’ve been doing all this mental health stuff — journaling, meditation, working out — and I still feel like a fraud. I tell my friends I’m okay, but my brain feels like a browser with 47 tabs open, 3 frozen, and I have no idea where the music is coming from.”

Dr. Kareen chuckled softly. “And which tab is playing the loudest song today?”

“Guilt,” I said instantly. “For not being happy when I should be.”

She leaned forward, eyes calm but sharp. “You’re not broken because you feel this way. You’re human. And sometimes, the healing is just… showing up. Even when you don’t want to.”

I laughed bitterly. “Well, I’m here. So, where’s my award?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked over to her desk and pulled out a small glass jar filled with colorful folded papers.

“This,” she said, placing it in my lap, “is the jar of survival.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The what now?”

“Every client who comes in and survives a hard day without giving up, writes down one thing they did to keep going. It could be something small — like brushing their teeth or sending a text. You don’t have to read them now. But… pick one.”

I hesitated, then pulled out a yellow slip: ‘I didn’t text my ex back.’

I laughed — an actual, from-the-gut laugh. “That’s gold.”

She smiled. “Someone else survived by doing that. You’re not alone in the struggle.”

I picked another: ‘I ate one real meal today.’ My eyes stung.

That’s when it hit me — everyone in this jar had been where I was. And they were still here.

“Your turn,” she said. “What’s your survival thing today?”

I thought for a moment, then wrote: ‘I showed up to therapy even when I didn’t want to.’

I folded the paper, dropped it in the jar, and felt… lighter.

When I left her office, the sun felt warmer.

Later that night, I got a DM from an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in months: “Hey, I don’t know why, but I thought about you today. Just checking in.”

I smiled at my phone. Maybe the jar worked in mysterious ways.