3 Books With Neil Pasricha

Do you have a therapist?   Do you meet up with someone on a regular basis to open up, talk about yourself, and get into the weeds of your emotions? Maybe the ones you can articulate, the ones you can’t articulate, the ones you’re angry about having, the ones you’re confused about having.   I started seeing a therapist about 10 years ago.   After the loss of my marriage and my best friend, it was suggested by my parents that I would benefit from seeing a therapist.   I’m embarrassed to admit I said no. “I don’t need a therapist! I don’t have problems! That’s for people with problems! That’s not me!”   Maybe it was the years, decades, generations of stigma and taboos around that word? Therapy. Growing up I never heard about anyone going to therapy except in the context of some desperate, last second attempt to salvage something like a failing marriage at the eleventh hour.   Maybe that’s why I’m talking about it today! I’m very lucky to have a therapist. And proud of it too, I’d say. My wife Leslie is, too. We