The first rule of therapy club...

...Is that that it's OK to be there.

Each Wednesday is when that happens for me. I have a late slot with a psychotherapist starting just after 9pm for 50 minutes.

His name is Dave.

Sometimes I come out of the conversations feeling sceptical about the benefit it's bringing me. Other times I feel like I've really got something off my chest and given myself an opportunity to move forward. But the fact I know those sessions are in the diary every week is reassuring, irrespective of how I feel at the exact time we sit down and chat.

Last week's conversation was a strange one. It was the first time I can say I walked into the session not just feeling OK, but actually happy. It felt a bit weird. Normally I would have been deliberating over something consciously or otherwise that was having a detrimental impact on how I had been feeling. Not having that cloud my thinking was great, albeit alien.

Experiencing therapy for the first time

But today's post isn't about Dave and the chats we have. It's about CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy), the initial treatment I had when I was taking time out from work in 2017/18.

If you've not experienced it for yourself, CBT is really helpful if you're a willing party.

Essentially, it helps you to understand the impact of changing small things about the way you react to situations. Unearthing your 'triggers' for anxiety, low mood or depression and starting to feel a degree of control over them can have a really positive affect on your overall mental well-being.

If that sounds a little abstract, let me give you a very specific example of a change it helped me to put into place. And apologies for the picture of my finger nails as they used to be.

Nailed it

For my entire life, one of the physical forms my anxiety has taken is nail biting. Over the course of 30+ years I absolutely shredded my nails. I've bitten layers off them and caused my fingers to bleed more times that I can remember.

Sometimes I had fair reason to chew them. I distinctly recall sitting on the sofa watching England vs Cameroon in Italia 90, with my Pop (read Granddad) forcing me to sit on my hands because I was nervously biting them.

But most of the time it had become a default behaviour, triggered subconsciously and going on to cause me no inconsiderable concern. I became increasingly aware of the wretched state of my fingers. I would sometimes take plasters into work to cover the tips of them so other people couldn't see the damage I'd done.

I'd tried the coating that's meant to stop you biting them, but they ruined the end of a good packet of crisps - that lovely point where you get the residual matter off your fingers by sucking them. That meant it wasn't going to work for me.

Handling meetings

In meetings, I would move my hands around a lot when talking so people couldn't focus on the state of my fingers. Otherwise, when quiet, I'd keep them out of sight, hidden in a notebook or under a table.

I started to notice the state of other people's nails, especially other men's, when I was in meetings. I would draw all kinds of assumptions based on the state of theirs.

If they were in good nick, that meant they were clearly not an anxious individual. They would be confident, hold the attention of the room, command respect and know better than me, whatever the subject. To all intents and purposes, they were a threat. I should keep my head down when they were talking.

On the other hand - no pun intended - if they were in anything like the state of mine, that person was vulnerable. They were not a threat. They were not going to blindside me. I could tackle any points they raised.

The trouble was, the amount people with nails in a state like mine were few and far between. So I became anxious and spent more time damaging my own. The vicious cycle was seemingly endless, and it was yet another reason to heap doubt upon myself.

The impact of my CBT experience

I discussed this in a CBT session. I won't go through the entire process in detail here but essentially, my psychotherapist got me to think about why I was biting my nails and, crucially, what would happen if I stopped. She got me to contrast that with what I thought would happen if I continued.

This was a great move for getting through to me. I like logic, I just forget that when the clouds descend.

Looking at it in those terms meant I was forced to choose between ongoing anxiety about it (biting) or a sense of calm (not biting).

In addition to that stark contrast, she helped me to realise that nobody else was thinking about it the way I was convinced they were. That I'd built this up to be an insurmountable issue, when in fact it was entirely manageable.

The result? The penny dropped. I walked out of that room and immediately stopped biting my nails. After more than 30 years of doing it and believing I could never stop. Two years later, I've held tight.

Through all of the highs and lows that have followed, my nails have remained intact. I've been using clippers, nail scissors, etc. to keep them in check. Having nails of any length has caught me out. I've inadvertently scratched my face on more than one occasion while getting used to it.

The power of thinking small

I want to stress I've not gone on to cultivate luxurious cuticles! But my fingers are no longer a state. The picture I shared earlier represents an ugly reminder of the past.

I don't get pre-occupied by the state of mine - or anyone else's for that matter - and that means I can be more present in the conversation. It' giving me a better chance of doing myself justice.

So, the point I want to finish with is this. If you're reluctant to see a therapist because you're sceptical about the good it can do, don't be. My hands are evidence of the impact it can have.

If you're worried about what other people will think should they find out you're seeing a therapist, don't be. When I started talking about it, I was floored by how many other people had sought professional support. It is not unusual. It's not freakish. It's not a last resort.

It's the support you might need to move forward, one small step at a time. It might just be the way you help yourself to nip things in the bud before they escalate. It could be the key to starting micro-changes in your mindset that will lead to you being in a far better place.

There is nothing to fear about it. Only good things will come from it in the long run, however painful it feels along the way.