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M y first experience of therapy was when I was at school. I’d began struggling with my mental health, feeling incredibly low, and had started self-harming. I think my parents panicked and, in a knee-jerk reaction, sent me to see a therapist.

I remember sitting with my arms crossed in front of this woman as she asked me to complete a Core 10 form. I resented being there. She told me that my self-harm behaviours would negatively impact me in the long term and that I’d regret it. I rolled my eyes; I didn’t care. I wasn’t ready to hear it, or to be in a therapy space. 

Unsurprisingly I didn’t engage with the therapy, neither did my mental health struggles magically disappear. But fast-forward a few years, I found myself sat in A&E being treated for a severe self-harm incident with the crisis team, and my parents on the way to see me. I remember the anger I felt. I didn’t see the issue with the way I was living. I was still working full time, I was spending time with friends, so I didn’t see the problem. When I look back now, I can see that I was spiralling out of control, self-harming during my shifts at work, engaging in increasingly reckless behaviours, not eating, and scaring the life out of everyone around me. 

That night ended up being a blessing. Six weeks later I’d been given a diagnosis of ‘emotionally unstable personality disorder’ and found myself on an NHS waiting list for a therapy service for people with personality disorder. I don’t think I quite understood what I was getting myself into, and I wanted to sprint out the door as a psychotherapist explained that I would be joining a therapeutic community (TC) group, from 10am to 5pm four days a week, for 18 months. 

Before I started this therapy it used to infuriate me when my friends and family struggled with my behaviours or said that they needed a break. I used to think, ‘Oh, you’re finding it hard? Imagine how I must feel’ and ‘It must be nice to be able to have a break from me, because I can’t.’ 

Suddenly I was in this group therapy environment, filled with people who had similar struggles. I built relationships with them, I began to care deeply for them, and all of a sudden I understood. I was so immersed in my own struggles, but the group gave me an outside perspective of what it’s like to care for someone who’s struggling so deeply with their mental health.

What followed was the hardest 18 months of my life. All the therapy was done in a group, and the members were encouraged to speak more than the therapists. This meant that I wasn’t only attempting to unpack my own problems but also listening to everyone else’s, and trying to help them. It was also required that we support each other practically, and out of therapy hours. If one member of the group had self-harmed, another member had to go with them to the hospital. If someone was struggling in the evening they could send a crisis text to the whole group, and we could all reply with a message of support. 

The relationships that were built within that group were strong but boundaried, as we weren’t allowed to have friendships or contact (other than for emergencies) outside the group. It allowed me to unpack my trauma in a space where I felt truly understood, but it also meant that I was uncomfortably challenged over and over. A therapist may not have been brutally honest but another member of the group sure would be! There were times when I cried and stormed out, moments when I felt I couldn’t keep going, but due to the support of the other members I kept returning. I allowed myself to be vulnerable as I began to trust the group, and I found healing in the richness of shared experiences, laughing at things other people probably would have found horrifying, and building relationships that I will remember for a lifetime. 

I chose to end my time in the group after 16 months. It felt like the right time, and it felt incredible to say that I was ready to move on. I will forever be grateful for the TC. It changed my life. I wouldn’t be where I am or who I am today without it.