I did everything I was supposed to do. The right doctors. The right medications. The right support groups. On paper, I was doing it "the while technically doing okay." I did everything I was supposed to do. The right doctors. The right medications. The right support groups. On paper, I was doing it "the right way." But somewhere along the line, I felt myself fading — not because of the illness, but because I couldn't recognize who I was anymore. The version of me that existed before everything changed felt further away every month, and nobody could explain that part. There wasn't a diagnosis for losing yourself while technically doing okay.

Working with Shay was the first time someone didn't try to fix me or manage me. He met me in the space nobody talks about — not the medical side, not the coping-skills checklist — but the identity part. The uncomfortable question underneath everything: Who am I now, and does the life I cared about still exist in any real way?

I didn't walk away "fixed." That's not what happened. I walked away with something better — a way to understand what I'm carrying and why it feels heavy, and a clear way to move forward from where I actually am instead of constantly chasing who I used to be.

If you're sitting there wondering whether you're ready for this kind of work, I wasn't ready either. I was just tired of waiting for life to magically feel normal again — and realizing it wasn't going to happen unless I did something different.