(Mental health is priceless—and priced out.)
Let’s get something straight:
Healing has a price tag.
And if you’re broke, grieving, overstimulated, under-supported, uninsured, underemployed, emotionally flattened, or just trying to fcking survive—*
then the whole “go to therapy” thing starts to sound a hell of a lot like a punchline.
Because when rent’s late, food’s low, your kid’s sick, your trauma’s loud, and your bank app’s blinking like it’s about to call CPS on your budget—
What are you supposed to do?
“Just breathe”?
You can’t even afford the co-pay for the breathwork session.
Therapy is powerful.
But access isn’t power. It’s privilege.
You know what they never say out loud?
That most people don’t heal in therapy.
They collapse in it.
Because it’s the first time someone asked, “What happened to you?” and actually waited for the answer.
But collapse is messy.
And messy costs money.
The moment you start breaking open, you start breaking budget.
So you learn to ration your truth like toilet paper during lockdown.
One session a month.
Two trauma disclosures per visit.
No crying after the 47-minute mark—because they bill by the hour and healing’s not included in the out-of-network deductible.
You don’t want a self-help book.
You want self-help that doesn’t bankrupt you.
You want a place to say:
“I’m not crazy. I’m cracked open and carrying more than I’ve ever been allowed to name.”
You want a moment where your brain stops being a crime scene and starts becoming a canvas again.
But you can’t have that.
Not unless you can swipe a card for it.
And what about the ones who try to make do?
Who “settle” for that one free clinic with the six-month waitlist, or the counselor who talks like a voicemail prompt?
What about the people who can’t put words to their pain because their pain was never made safe enough to name?
This system isn’t failing.
It’s functioning exactly as intended.
Make healing exclusive.
Gatekeep growth.
Convince the hurting it’s their fault they haven’t “gotten better.”
But you know what’s more dangerous than untreated trauma?
Shame.
The kind that convinces you that you’re broken because you can’t afford to fix yourself.
So here’s your reminder:
You’re not broken.
You’re surviving a system that profits off your silence.
And you’re doing a damn good job with zero resources, no nap breaks, and an entire generation’s pain in your bones.
So yeah—therapy works.
But not if you can’t breathe first.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because what the hell else is there?
