Yesterday was October 10, which I didn't realize was World Mental Health Day. It was also the day I started talking to a therapist.

I've spoken to professionals before. I spoke to one in the fifth grade when my teacher thought I had ADHD. My single mom took my brother and I to family therapy when I was in six or seventh grade. My wife and I recently sought couple's therapy – which still sounds scary, because society has trained me to believe that couples that see a counselor must be doing it as a prelude to ending their relatonship, which we were not. It was intensely helpful for us.

But I've never, ever spoken to a therapist just about me. My anxieties. My depressive spells. Stress.

I was afraid to do it. For years I've advised friends and family to talk to someone if they needed it, but I wasn't able to make that decision for myself. I always had an excuse for why I didn't need to, or why now wasn't the right moment, and so I just didn't. I figured since I was managing myself well enough, that I was fine.

Now I wish I'd done it sooner.

There's probably more to say on this topic. If you're considering therapy but aren't sure how to start, or if you just need an ear for a moment, I'm happy to talk. I'm, @joncanady on Twitter, and if you're into that sort of thing.