Member-only story
How Therapy Fails Women With Autism
Or how I spent hundreds of pounds not solving my biggest problems really slowly
Nice white lady #1, 2015
Trigger: A friend pushed me to go to the doctor after I admitted to having suicidal thoughts. (Apparently, this is alarming. Who knew?)
I cried to the GP and was given a prescription for Citalopram and a number to call the Talking Therapies team. Three months later I sat in front of nice white lady #1, wondering what the hell to talk about.
It was CBT, apparently, but it felt aimless. I was horrified to find that I seemed to be leading the sessions though I had no clue what was going on.
It was strange being listened to. Getting to finish all of my sentences. I discovered that I felt very distant from my family. Talking about them made me cry. I learned that consistency was important to me, and almost entirely lacking in my life.
Six weeks later, my NHS-funded therapy was over, and I felt… better. Kind of. I’d learned that it was okay to tell people what you were thinking. That it was okay to ask for what you need. Recommended, even.
I learned that just because my boyfriend drank, it didn’t mean I had to. I felt empowered. Proud of myself for ‘working on…
