One of my old refrains from my time in writing workshops was that I found “modern fiction,” annoying. Why? By my estimation, a lot of the problems in these stories could be solved if the characters in question would simply, “go to therapy.” The more I’ve thought about it, though, the more I’m hesitant to express that point of view. Here are a few reasons why.
First, not everyone has access to therapy. This could be explained in a myriad of ways, from a dearth of clinicians to medical coverage that doesn’t (or only nominally) includes mental health. Even where it is available, there may be long waits or out-of-pocket costs. Even when it is affordable, there is a stigma associated with seeking mental health care. Labels like, “crazy,” and, “not right in the head,” still permeate our culture. Any one of these might prevent a character from accessing mental health services. “It’s fiction, though,” I hear my past self proclaim. So: what if my characters had no excuse?
As much as I see the importance of therapy (and all the ways it has helped me cope with myself and my world), it is not a panacea. Aside from the fact that there is only so much that can be accomplished in a single session, what about the time between therapy sessions? What about the times when a therapist isn’t available? This is to say nothing of the fact that most mental health diagnoses are life-long and cannot be “cured” so much as managed. Depression doesn’t go away with a label. There are plenty of things that can help (medication, exercise, etc), but it will stay with a person until the day they die.
This brings me to my last point about therapy: it has its limits. No amount of therapy is going to address an empty stomach. No amount of therapy is going to ensure that there will be enough to go around, or that life will be fair. No amount of therapy is going to address global, systemic issues like climate change or disease. In short, therapy can only hope to address problems at the individual level. The further it stretches beyond that, the less effective it’ll be.
Without this quip at hand, then, what questions do I ask instead? I ask about setting. Is the story set in a place and time where the character could reasonably access mental health services? I consider conflict: how would the story change if “therapy” was added to it? Is therapy expected to serve a purpose it cannot fulfill (like asking the protagonist to become someone completely different)? Finally, I think about character. Would the character consider going to a therapy appointment? Moreover, how would attending one affect their standing among their friends, family, and community?
My past self might argue that she hit on some deeper truth – that writers could use more exposure to therapy and mental health care. Plus, sharing my belief helped me feel smart, like I knew something that other creatives wouldn’t admit or couldn’t address. With reflection, however, I’ve come to realize that the picture is much more complicated than I originally thought. Ultimately, the refrain, “they should go to therapy,” closes conversations and acts as a barrier to deeper considerations of character. As such, it is something I am happy to leave in my past.
