If you enter therapy assuming it will cure all your worries or rid you of inner demons, you’re bound for disappointment. We need a little “crazy” in our lives, if only to ensure we don’t go completely mad. But what happens when therapy itself goes bonkers, when the healing process generates new maladies?
Therapy encourages introspection and self-correction. If I can identify cognitive distortions and challenge negative thoughts, my behaviors will change. If I behave rationally, I’ll feel better about myself—and then think clearer, act more rationally and feel better, on and on ad infinitum.
But therapy has unwittingly taught me to question my motives in even the most banal, nonthreatening situations. I’ve internalized the voices of my therapists—their inflections, cadences, turns of phrase—such that I can’t hear myself think anymore. I’m willingly suspended in disbelief of me.
Then again this fear of psychological takeover might be a manifestation of my illness. I’m afraid of losing myself in the piercing gaze of rational-thought enforcers. At the mercy of an overactive superego, I follow the program to avoid reprimand.
Perhaps my self-critical nature, solidified long before my first session, finds comfort in a soul-searching, hyper-analytical exercise. Isn’t this post—and my entire blog—an example of over-thinking?
Maybe I should share this concern with my therapist, to process how I think it makes me feel.