Fifty Years Late, But Right On Time

I never really saw counseling as something for me. Growing up, it wasn’t just ignored—it was unspoken. Where I come from, struggling emotionally wasn’t something you acknowledged. You worked, you provided, you pushed forward. And if you had pain? You buried it. That was strength. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
Add in the male bravado—this unspoken code that says “be tough, stay silent”—and you’ve got a perfect storm for never making that first call. I told myself I didn’t need it. That I could handle it. That things would get better if I just kept moving. But the truth? I was angry. I wanted retribution. Carrying the load. And it just kept piling up.
Eventually, a single event took place that eventually brought me to confront this stressor. It wasn’t one moment. It was a slow, creeping realization that has been manifesting for years. I had to address this feeling and the way I was reacting to people in my space. My anger grew along with enragement. This incident kept playing over and over in my head. I was stuck in a bad movie playing the same scene over and over.
Taking that first step into counseling felt like stepping into foreign territory. I didn’t know what to expect, and honestly, I didn’t want to talk about things I had avoided for decades. But here’s the thing no one tells you: counseling doesn’t force you to change who you are. It helps you unpack who you’ve been carrying, and why. And with that comes self-actualization, a space to grow.
Over time—slowly, awkwardly—I began to feel something unfamiliar: peace. Not every day, and not in every situation, but enough to keep going. I learned that a lot of my anger came from old wounds and heavy weight on my shoulders that I took ownership of that wasn't mine. I realized I had adapted to a ritual that somehow magically happens when you become a parent. I began to understand the difference between reacting and responding.
The biggest surprise? I didn’t come out of counseling as a different person—I came out more equipped with self-discovery of who I have grown to be. Somewhere along the way, buried under expectations and roles and ritual, I had developed a suit of armor with parts of me that no one ever asked me to wear. The process helped me identify that I have matured emotionally in an intrinsic way. I could not identify when and where it happened. And truthfully, I wish I had started sooner.
To anyone out there who feels hesitant—who hears “therapy” and recoils or shuts down—I get it. I was you. But if you’re reading this and thinking maybe, then that maybe is worth listening to. You don’t have to be in crisis. You don’t have to wait until you break. You can just be curious. Just tired. Just ready for something to feel different.
There’s no perfect time to start. I was nearly 50 years in when I did—and it changed.