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Fun fact: I carry a slight aversion to therapy. I don’t think I’m above it, and I’m not unwilling to examine myself. Believe me, I know I have things to work through and have sought guidance through CBT many times. My resistance stems from sitting through too many sessions where the responses I received felt rehearsed rather than genuine or conversational. The well-intentioned, “Wow, that must have been so awful for you,” was delivered almost on a repeated track. That look of pierced lips, furrowed brow, and the head nod with “mmmmm, mhmmm” after everything I said. Statements recited from a psychology textbook or a recent training they took with the kind of compassion that felt overly practiced instead of present were so painfully obvious to me. Perhaps now it’s more noticeable, having taken so many psychology and behavioral health courses myself in my undergrad studies. Still, over time, it didn’t make me feel understood at all.

*Please know that not all therapists are like this, and this is solely my own opinion based on my experiences. I know many people who love their therapists and have gained so much from their sessions. And maybe that will be me again one day. I did have one incredible therapist in my early 20s who brought me out of the deepest rut I have ever been in, all because she talked to me like a genuinely interested friend while providing constructive suggestions and coping mechanisms that I still use to this day. When my insurance changed, I was devastated to lose her, and she has since set a very high bar for me and CBT.

What frustrated me the most was how easily pity replaced accountability. I wasn’t looking to be cast as a victim or soothed into some form of comfort. I felt I was clear when asking for help in confronting my own behaviors, patterns, and choices. Instead, I would leave feeling like my pain had been acknowledged, but my responsibility had been quietly excused. The result wasn’t healing to me; it was a repeat of previous sessions and left me feeling stagnant, which eventually led to fatigue, the kind of fatigue that makes me want to stop talking altogether.

About a month ago, I decided to give CBT another shot to help me navigate anxiety, personal boundaries, and career woes. I scheduled an appointment and filled out the 20 pages of personal history paperwork. I did my best to eliminate as much negativity as possible to enter this session as clear and unbiased as possible.

The session started, and my new randomly assigned Gen Z therapist was on camera with a hood on and was so clearly lying in bed with her laptop on her belly; her camera shaking violently as she typed. I’m not sure how I didn’t just end the call then. Not a great start to giving CBT another chance, and no, I didn’t make another appointment.  

Without really meaning to, I discovered that I was practicing a “cheat code” of sorts for my anxiety. While in undergrad, I was pleased to find an actual term for it: Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT). The irony is that I discovered it in a psychology book. ACT is less clinical, more autonomous, relatable, and reliable. Steven Hayes is a psychologist and professor at the University of Nevada who developed this method because of his own experiences with panic attacks. I appreciate this deeply as someone who is actively working in a high-stress career AND pursuing an even higher stress education and career. ACT may be a bit harder, but also somehow more practical by accepting that some things will not be resolved right away (or even that day or week), and choosing to stay present anyway. While holding my values and intentions closely, I am more aware that even when discomfort doesn’t disappear right away, my commitment to the acceptance of awful feelings will remain, and I will ride the wave until it passes.

In my work (which I always so vaguely talk about), this means sitting with another person’s fear without rushing to reframe it, allowing the frustration, hurt, sadness, and pain to exist without letting it harden into cynicism, and continuing to show up even when progress isn’t visible – yet. I spoke about this in my last post when referring to just shutting up and listening, without trying to solve a problem right away. For me, this looks like letting anxiety be there without negotiating with it. I try to acknowledge it while continuing to move forward.

Part of my job is presenting at our quarterly training sessions to a decent-sized group of people for about 45 minutes. I’ve been doing the same presentation for almost two years now, and I still feel like I’m going to pass out right before I start. Thankfully, this hasn’t happened yet. In the last session, my turn was coming up, and I immediately felt nauseous and dizzy. I stepped out to gather myself and just breathe when, randomly, I spoke out loud but quietly and said to my anxiety, “Hey girl, nice of you to show.” It made me laugh and took me from an 8/10 to 5/10, and I did the presentation without issues. While I did feel better, I don’t think ACT is meant to help you feel better. I think ACT taught me how to live honestly alongside what I am feeling because those feelings aren’t made up; they’re not all just in my head.

All of this to say, I have a ways to go in supporting my own mental health, but something I have been trying to work on professionally is my boundary setting. Frankly, setting boundaries is tough for me and give the potential to put me in situations that offer more stress than reward. My radar for navigating what I am capable of requires a long-overdue maintenance check, and thanks to my slightly challenged focus on self-care, it has yet to be fixed.

Can you stay late? Sure.

Can you take more cases? Sure.

Can you volunteer more? SURE.

If you catch me before I spiral into a black hole, I will likely make myself available because I like to help. I want to help. BUT, when I’m already bursting at the seams, this is not good – especially for the type of work I do. Let’s be realistic with our personal expectations.

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Many moons ago, I researched and wrote about why some people, particularly women, are more likely to consume true crime content and essentially become desensitized to it. I had trouble answering that question for myself, but my immediate thought was simply curiosity, which is still true. As I dug deeper, I learned that a large, collective reason is the desire for awareness and self-protection. With women constantly victimized in our society, understanding how crimes happen can feel like a way to prepare for or prevent something awful from happening to us. It can also offer empowerment through stories of survival, resilience, and justice. If we want to go even deeper, and what I’ve now learned to likely be my reasoning, is the longing desire to understand the WHY? Why did someone commit these crimes? HOW could they have done this?

In November 2023, I attended the American Society of Criminology Annual Meeting in Philadelphia, PA. This was my first time at a large-scale conference and my first time in Pennsylvania. I felt out of my element surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of leading academics and seasoned professionals in the field of Criminology, all of whom are deeply engaged in the study and treatment of criminal behavior and delinquency. I was thrilled to be invited and travel for work.

Throughout the conference, there were many breakout rooms of discussions and lectures for those who have researched their asses off to discover trends in criminology and how those trends will affect society. Some of it could come off as benign or perhaps obvious, but many of the lecturers brought some great evidence to our attention that supports a chain of action versus sharing what we already know – crime sucks – but it’s a lot more complicated than that.

I attended as many lectures as I could while struggling with the time change, still recovering from the prior few days in New York (visiting and interviewing folks at Sing Sing and Bedford Hills Women’s) before arriving in PA, and not realizing my exhaustion was actually the flu by the time I was to board the plane home. It was a lot, but so incredible.

At the conference, I met a psychologist who introduced the term, Vicarious Trauma. This psychologist counsels professionals who are subject to occupational hazards that involve working with people who are experiencing crisis, trauma, violence, etc: first responders, law enforcement, correctional officers, social workers – any person who works professionally as a helper to those navigating through a traumatic circumstance.

When meeting with this psychologist in an extremely informative conversation, I shared my work history and how I recently left my position working in a county jail. I felt the need to defend myself in my reasoning for leaving to avoid it being viewed as my inability to handle a high-stress situation. Blaming burnout felt too simple. It was more about working in a constant state of crisis. Every day required a level of vigilance that never fully shut off, especially with the amount of overtime I was working. The constant urgency, screaming in the background, facility alarms, and just the emotional whiplash of one emergency after the other. In the moment of crisis, I was making it work, doing my job, and just barreling through each minute, but my nervous system was shot.  

What I didn’t fully understand or expect at the time was how deeply that environment had lodged itself into my body. I was so hyper-aware and exhausted at the same time – all the time. My position was physically in the thick of it, but on the paper-pushing side. I could only imagine how first responders feel daily.

I was confronted by a psychologist who said that leaving that job wasn’t an escape from hard work but an act of self-preservation; a reward for listening to my body and not allowing my prideful mind to destroy it. Putting a name to an experience that so many people have regularly matters.

The word trauma in my professional life does get thrown around a lot because, well, that’s the type of work I choose to be involved with. My job now is nothing like the jail, but the context of the cases I manage is severe. However, I hear trauma so often that the severity of the meaning seems to lessen over time. But I’m reminded by this psychologist that the word has several different meanings. The prominence doesn’t fix it, but it did give me appropriate language to stop minimizing what working in that environment does and continues to do to people. I was taught a new, humbling perspective about my experience. I found more compassion for the worst experiences, and the intention to continue wondering and learning about the why is stronger than ever.​

In a field saturated with trauma and uncertainty, these little lessons have become my anchor, helping me navigate the complexities of helping others and myself.

-E