I have a mystical side to me. Back when browsing bookstores was a thing, I used to enjoy visiting Thunderbolt Spiritual Books in Santa Monica. Though sometimes the incense burning was a little too pungent for my delicate nose, I adored running my fingers over piles of polished colored stones, gazing at the statues of deities, and looking at book titles.

One day I discovered a hardback volume called The Secret Language of Birthdays. It was perched on its own pedestal and as heavy as a giant bible. I carefully picked through the pages to find my birth date – September 24th – and greedily poured over the text which described a mix of characteristics attributed to those born on my special day.

(For those of you who are logical, linear types or in general steer clear of “woo woo” practices, I hear you. The therapy part is coming – I promise!)

Three words were listed in the book as my main characteristics:

Imaginative

Free-spirited

Giving

Come on! For those who know me – you’ve got to admit those words are really spot on. But then I experienced a visceral bolt of recognition when I came across this part:

“Those born on September 24 can experience rather serious psychological difficulties at various points in their lives. For this reason, it is recommended that they begin some form of therapy or counseling earlier rather than later.”

Bingo! I was 26 years old, and my roommate had just moved out. I was struggling just to get out of bed much less find a solution to my housing problem. I was underemployed, and I needed help. I remember being very disheartened when my new therapist, Dr. Leduk, told me that the process could take as long as six months. “Six months!” I thought. “That’s forever!”

It was at times agonizing to explore my hurts and disappointments in my therapy sessions. But together, month after month, we built a foundation of self esteem that would serve me for a lifetime. I found an adorable studio apartment. I got my first full time job. Life improved.

After a few years that therapist moved away and others followed. So many skillful women have helped me! Yet I think I felt an internal stigma for needing therapy so much and for so long. I was already deep in my therapeutic journey when I laid eyes on the birthday book. I loved reading the suggestion that there’s nothing wrong with me. My personality type benefits from seeing a professional. What a lovely re-frame.

Here I am – about to turn 50 – and I still find great value in therapy. I show up for myself every week, and sometimes – like this very morning – I have breakthroughs. I don’t think it’s something I’m going to grow out of. (I also still relish my mystical side and remain open to finding helpful support in delightful places.)

In preparing these words, I Googled the name of the therapist that I worked with in the 1990’s. Janet. I found her. She’s a consultant in the Pacific Northwest. I hope she knows how much of a difference she made in my life. Perhaps I’ll look her up and tell her myself. Maybe on my birthday.

Artwork: Stephanie DeAngelis