Confession #12: A Diagnosis Did Not Help

Mental Health Care Is Not Enough

*Full disclosure, I am a licensed mental health professional.  

In 2009, we were navigating our first year of middle school.

It is all retrospective now— I can see myself looking out of the small window beyond the long desk in that grey office where he was given an official diagnosis. I felt validated. And sad. And overwhelmed.

After the results of the testing were charted, I drove him to a prestigious university once a week to undergo nine months of evidence-based treatment. It was a 45-minute trip, one way, on an expressway notorious for dense traffic and delays. He missed school. He missed sports practice. I missed not having to chart his levels of discomfort for the therapist to review each week.

On a scale of crying face to big cheesy grin, how do you feel?