I did therapy in a different language. It allowed me to be real.

• My parents are Dutch but I was raised speaking in English.
• I moved to the Netherlands for college and had to go to therapy in a foreign language.

I first went to therapy at 17 years old. I had cryptically asked my parents if I could see a therapist but remained unwilling to tell them why. I needed reassurance from the therapist that something really was wrong with me, that I wasn't just exaggerating everything. It didn't matter that I was self-harming daily, that I had regular suicidal thoughts and even plans, or that my life was being controlled by my bulimia, as I didn't believe the severity of it myself.

That first attempt at therapy wasn't successful.

The next time I tried therapy, I was 19 years old and still struggling with all of the same issues. I had just moved to the Netherlands to go to university. The only English-speaking option was a counselor, who wasn't equipped to handle my level of mental illness. I was sent away with the advice to make a playlist of happy songs and put it on whenever I had the urge to hurt myself. I felt dismayed and began wondering if I was even capable of getting better.

Things got a lot worse

Then I turned 21, and things got a lot, lot worse. My father died after a short bout of illness, and my life suddenly felt too heavy to carry. I tried to get on the waitlist for therapy again, and I told them honestly that I was scared of how dark things were getting. They offered me a Dutch therapist, as this held a far shorter waiting list in the Netherlands, where English-speaking therapists were few and far between.

My parents are Dutch, so I've been raised around the language for my whole life. But I was born in the UK, and until 18, I lived outside of the Netherlands. I had always studied in English, read books in English, and spoke to all of my friends and my sisters in English, and I think exclusively in English. But I could hold conversations in Dutch, and I was desperate to get help, so I agreed to a Dutch therapist.

The first session of therapy is always a bit of a monologue. You simply tell them your life story, focusing on all the really bad parts. After doing it twice previously, I had this monologue basically rehearsed until I had to do it in a different language. It forced me to describe things differently and not rely on my comfortable script.

Somehow, therapy was easier in Dutch

It got easier and easier to do therapy in Dutch, and I simply inserted English words whenever I lacked the vocabulary. Once in a while, my therapist had to look up a word, but between us, we made it work. I had to search my vocabulary for new words to explain my thoughts and behaviors. I couldn't offer pretty metaphors or long-winded explanations for things; I had to be blunt and to the point, which allowed us to progress quickly. I was forced to let my guard down.

I found that doing therapy in my non-native language allowed me to throw out my script and actually be real. I couldn't rely on the crutches I had used before, and this forced me actually to get vulnerable. I had to think on my feet rather than planning sessions in advance, which allowed me to get better this time.

I was accurately diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and this was key to my recovery. I don't know if I would have been diagnosed properly if I was still playing the same character in English.