Is “doing the work” really worth it?
Capitalism makes mental health care look like a grift. Here’s my reality.
I ruptured one of my lungs last week. Good times!
At 33 years old, it’s a privilege to say I’ve never been injured in any significant way before now, and even now it’s has hardly been show-stopping; two light workouts in the gym instead of my regular five, with no change to my work schedule. Barely a blip on the radar of my life. But the biggest threat to my wellbeing hasn’t been the persistent shortness of breath or the faint, flickering pain on my side, but a brief break from what has been my healthiest coping mechanism since I began my C-PTSD healing journey: a few hours a day of consensually punching the shit out of people in a safe, controlled space.
Before I started going to therapy in 2019, ripping away one of my go-to stress relief tools would have temporarily ruined my life, especially if this came as a consequence of my own actions. I would have spiraled down the toilet bowl of self-hatred, 100% believing I deserve to feel terrible, that I’ve earned this, that this is clearly my punishment for being a terrible person. If you have depression, anxiety, or pretty much any other mental health disorder, maybe you know what I’m talking about. Hell, if you’re neurodivergent at all you’ve probably been…
