Awhile back, Kat grappled with the question whether to enter therapy, wondering whether it would help her to go, feeling reluctant to spend money on it, and dealing with inertia. This prompted me to reflect on my own experiences in therapy — as a client.

In my twenties I went to therapy for five years, first from 1983-84; then my therapist left, and I was transferred to someone with whom I did not “click,” so I quit in January 1985. That year, my depression did not abate; it worsened. Recognizing that I was stuck and concerned that I would self-destruct, I decided to seek therapy again in 1986.

I requested a male therapist. I knew I had anger and distrust toward men that I wanted to work through. In the first session I stated my ground rules, something I’d not done before. I told him I was a lesbian and did not see this as a mental problem; that I had issues with men and did not freely trust him; that I was not interested in religious guidance (it was a pastoral counseling center); and that I did not want to be in therapy for the rest of my life with him. I didn’t want him as my crutch.

The way he responded was exactly what I needed. I’d thrown down the gauntlet, so to speak, and he was game. He said he regarded being gay as just another aspect of being human. He acknowledged my distrust and invited me to let him know if I felt particularly threatened by or angry with him at any point. He assured me he would respect my wishes regarding religious issues. And he offered to make a promise — that if he sensed I was “getting stuck,” he would share that with me and we could discuss what I’d accomplished and what else I wanted to work on.

So we began to work together. Through those years I challenged my own beliefs, challenged him, grappled with issues of my sexuality, experienced rage toward my father, the Church, society, myself. I examined my fears of rejection, life-long poverty, and worthlessness. I went from living as a victim to harnessing my anger constructively, in ways that would propel me toward what I wanted. I made a commitment to a degree major. I identified my long-term desire to be a therapist and kindled it with hope. I decided to apply to college full-time in order to get moving more quickly on my degree. When I decided I’d accomplished my goals, he respected this. We said good-bye; in our last session, he told me what an honor it had been to work with me and that he would miss me. Periodically over the years I’ve written him brief updates, to share the satisfaction of my momentum.

Something else about this round of therapy significantly differed from the previous therapy I’d done. During my prior work, I developed a balance of fees owed. Finally my therapist addressed the issue with me, that I needed to pay for the sessions and not get behind. I did not like this one bit. I wanted to be taken care of. I wanted her to listen for free. I wanted her to be available whenever I needed her. I felt angry, hurt, rejected. Yet she was right to set that boundary. I complied (grudgingly at first) and never had a balance thereafter.

When I decided to seek therapy again, I made a pact with myself. I acknowledged that if I were attending church and tithing, I would be paying the same amount to the church as the sessions would cost me. So I decided that I would be my own church. My emotional health — I — was worth the investment. Sure, it was an “extra,” a luxury. But so is cable television, eating out, buying books, and many other ways I treated myself. I elected to spend a little less on those to accommodate therapy.

It was an investment that paid off well. Since then, I have periodically returned to therapy when I have reached another threshold that I couldn’t, for whatever reason, cross. I’ve developed a high degree of self-knowledge. (No one can ever accuse of me of living an unexamined life!) With this knowledge has come vision and confidence — not all at once, but steadily.

True change and real transformation are always costly experiences. Old ways of being are sacrificed. Your fee is a real and symbolic expression of this costly sacrifice and needs to be carefully valued. Imagine that every time you write that check, you are buying back a piece of Yourself, Inc. Always remember that you are the best holder of your own stock options. The fruits of this sacrifice – your time and your money — are your “pearls of great price.” And their value to you is worth more than money.

–Jennifer R. Harper, M.Div., Your Time And Money: Why psychotherapy is worth it