Let's talk about the system, the deductible, and why we should be allowed to submit a PowerPoint to our therapist. So here's the thing about trying to take care of your mental health when you're a person who has to actually think about money: it's a whole process. And not in a cute, "journey to healing" kind of way. More like a "multi-step bureaucratic nightmare disguised as self-care" kind of way. It started simple enough. I needed a referral — either to adjust my medication or just get a check-in with someone who could actually sign off on things. Okay, fine. I make the appointment. I show up. I do the thing. And then I get referred out to a third-party provider through Kaiser, because of course I do. Here's my insurance situation: I have one option through my nonprofit job. One. And it comes with a high deductible. A very high deductible. Like, "this number should not be attached to the word healthcare" high. So I'm already bracing myself. And then the call comes. "Hi, your bill for that session is over $100." Cool. And that's not a one-time thing. That's every session until I hit my $3,000 deductible. Which — and this is the part that really sent me — resets in August. AUGUST. It's not even close to December. I will not meet that deductible. We both know it. The insurance company knows it. The universe knows it. So let me paint you a picture: I needed therapy. I did the work to get the referral. I finally got the appointment. And now I'm being told that getting mental health support will cost me over a hundred dollars a session out of pocket because of a deductible I will never realistically meet before it resets. And THAT is what caused the menty b. Before therapy. Because of the process of trying to get therapy. The irony is not lost on me. And I want to name something, because I think it matters in the context of who I am and who a lot of you reading this are: this isn't just my individual struggle with a broken system. According to SAMHSA data, two in nine Latinos in the US face mental health challenges — and more than half of them never receive treatment.⁵ More than half. The barriers are a whole list: no insurance, cost, not enough Spanish-speaking providers, stigma, not knowing where to even start. And all of that is before you factor in the bureaucratic loops I just described. So when I say the system isn't built for us, I mean that literally. The data says it too. And before anyone says "well what about Medi-Cal" — I've been there too. It's not pretty either. There was a point in my life where navigating Medi-Cal for mental health services was actually manageable. I got through it, found a provider, got seen. But years later, when I was trying to help a friend look into it, the whole landscape had shifted. You couldn't just call a provider directly anymore. You had to go through 211 first, get routed to some intermediary organization, and then hopefully end up somewhere useful. The direct line was gone. Another layer added between a person who needs help and the actual help. And the people who most need it — and have the least bandwidth to jump through hoops — are exactly the ones most likely to give up before they ever get seen. So no, this isn't just a private insurance problem. It's the whole system. If you haven't seen my instagram crash out video but more so where I'm just cleaning my face from crying/trying to stop crying after the session go do that. Now, here's the part I really want to talk about — because I think this is a cultural thing, a trauma thing, and honestly just a design flaw in how therapy works: When you finally sit down in that room (or on that video call), you are expected to just... start talking. About everything. The childhood stuff. The family dynamics. The things you've already cried about a hundred times but somehow have to explain again from the beginning because this is a new provider and they don't have your full file of lived experience. And it hits different every time. It doesn't matter how many times you've said it out loud — the moment you start recalling certain things, the emotions come right back like they never left. Full body. Instant tears. I hate it. And here's the thing — I already know. I know exactly what's going to come up. I know what the triggers are. I know what qualifies as "traumatic" in therapy speak. I know what I have to tell them because in theory, they can't help you if you don't. So I walk in already aware of what's about to happen to me emotionally, and it still happens every time. There's no building up immunity to your own story. You can intellectualize it all you want and you're still going to cry in front of a stranger you just met. This time, I didn't cry before the session. The crash out came before — the menty b was the insurance call, the bill, the whole situation leading up to it. But the crying? That happened during the session. Right on schedule. I knew it was coming. I could feel it building the second I started talking. And still — still — when it actually happened, it caught me. Not by surprise exactly, more like... I knew the wave was coming and it still knocked me over. This is not my first time starting over. Every time I've gone back to therapy — regardless of where I left off with the last provider — I cry in the first session. Every single time. I've come to expect it. I even brace for it. But expecting it doesn't make it easier. Crying is exhausting no matter how prepared you think you are. You still leave feeling wrung out, a little raw, and like you need a nap and something sweet. Which is why I am formally proposing: therapists should accept PowerPoints. Not joking. A nice little slide deck. Organized sections. Key bullet points. A "here's what we've already covered in previous therapy" slide. A "current triggers" slide. Maybe a timeline. Possibly a pie chart. If I can put together a presentation for a quarterly board meeting, I can absolutely put together one for my mental health provider. And I would. Gladly. It would save us time, help me process before I'm in the room, and mean I don't have to say the hard thing out loud and then watch someone take notes while I'm still actively crying about it. And all of this — all of it — was just to try and lower my medication dosage for half the month. That's it. That was the ask. A small adjustment. And somehow that required a full therapy session, a referral, a third-party provider, a $100+ bill, and an impromptu emotional unraveling. Sigh. Here's the thing though: I did know I needed to go back. I'd felt it for a while. I had actually graduated from therapy not too long ago — which is a real thing, and I was proud of it. My therapist and I had done the work, and at some point she assessed that I had the tools to cope on my own. The insurance company agreed. And according to them, "successfully coping on your own" is the finish line. But life had other plans. Without getting into names or specifics, certain individuals tied to a previous job situation had me increasing my dosage not long after I graduated. Possibly even while I was still in therapy. And I had all the tools. I really did. I just also had a situation that was actively working against me, and tools only do so much when the environment is relentless. The thing I've always believed — and that this experience brought back up for me — is that therapy shouldn't have to be a crisis response. A once-a-month maintenance check-in should just be normal. And there's actually research that backs this up: once someone has done the initial intensive work and developed solid coping skills, monthly sessions are considered a totally appropriate and effective maintenance schedule. Not a step backward — a step forward. The kind of preventive care that keeps you from having to start over again every few years. But once my therapist decided I could cope on my own, the insurance said we were done. Even if there were still things to work through. Even if life was still happening. Apparently the bar is "functional enough to not be covered anymore" — not "supported enough to stay that way." Coming back to therapy now, I realized how much I had actually needed that one cathartic cry. Not because I don't cry on my own — I do. But therapy is different. It's the space where I let it all the way out. I don't share the big feelings with a lot of people in my life. Not because I don't trust them, but because it's genuinely a lot to put on someone else. I want my friends around for the good and the bad — I want them to show up, I want to celebrate with them, I want them to lift me up when I'm down. But I don't want every conversation to feel like a session, because eventually that becomes its own problem. Friendship is not therapy, and it's not fair to either person when it starts to feel that way. And I want to be clear about something: if I tell you I'm open to listening, I mean it. I will not offer that if I'm not actually in the space to hold it. I want you to feel like you have a safe space too, and I will always encourage anyone reading this to find a therapist — because what I can offer is love, and what a therapist can offer is a whole different level of skill and structure. I'm also really lucky, and I know it, to have my fiancé through all of this. He is genuinely a huge reason I haven't had more menty b moments this whole stretch — and the ones I have had, he's been right there. He is the reasonable brain in this household. Mine can be reasonable too, but sometimes it likes to take a detour, and he knows exactly how to help me find my way back to the ground. He makes me laugh when I'm spiraling. He reminds me not to take things so seriously when I need to hear it. More than he probably knows, he's kept me stable. Now back to the money part. Because we have to go back to the money part. As much as I genuinely love my job — and I do. I have a supervisor who trusts my decisions and my perspective, especially when it comes to fundraising. I have real autonomy. I am not micromanaged, and I cannot overstate how much that matters to me because it has not always been the case. I love the work. I love the mission. I love the people. But nonprofit life has a double-edged sword, and it is the pay. And I say that understanding it's a structural, organizational challenge, not a personal one. It's the reality of the sector. The hard part of loving your work is that loving it doesn't cover your bills. So now I'm navigating: the $3,000 deductible I won't meet before August. The car payment. High insurance rates because I'm a newer driver. Half of rent. Wanting to actually be able to help a friend when they need something. All of it adding up while I'm also trying to take care of my mental health — which, again, costs over a hundred dollars a session. I had to ask my therapist to move to biweekly sessions. I don't know for how long. That's something we need to talk through at my next appointment. I love her and want to keep working with her, but I also have to be honest about what's realistic right now. And right now, weekly sessions at $100+ a session is not it. I may need to pause entirely until something changes — a new job, a change in coverage, something. I don't know yet. What I do know is that I shouldn't have to choose between mental health care and my car payment. But here we are. After that first session — after all the crying and the recapping of things I didn't want to recap, and the crash out that happened before I even got there — you know what we did? We got a McDonald's ice cream cone. Hopped in the car we have to pay for — a small nod to a Metric song, iykyk — and went and got something sweet and cheap and good. Because sometimes that's the move. Sometimes you cry everything out and then you go get a soft serve for a dollar and you sit with it and you breathe. And honestly? It helped. Here's what I want you to take from all of this, if anything: Crying in therapy is normal. Crashing out on the first session back is normal — it happens to me every time, and I know going in that it will. It doesn't get less exhausting, but it does get less scary once you accept that it's just part of the process. Monthly maintenance therapy is a real and valid thing. You don't have to be in crisis to deserve support. You don't have to justify needing a check-in. The idea that you "graduate" and then you're done is a framework built around what insurance will cover, not what actually sustains people. And if you're working through something and money is the barrier — biweekly sessions, sliding scale providers, community mental health centers, even free support groups — these are all real options worth looking into. You deserve care that fits your actual life. Go to therapy if you can. And when you leave your first session crying, go get yourself something small and sweet. You earned it. If you're in LA County or Riverside County and need support, here are real free resources — no insurance required: Los Angeles County LA County 24/7 Mental Health Helpline: (800) 854-7771 — the main entry point for mental health and substance use services, available around the clock 211 LA: Dial 2-1-1 — connects you to health and social services across Southern California, including mental health referrals NAMI Urban Los Angeles: (323) 294-7814 or namiurbanla.org — support groups, education, and advocacy for individuals and families 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988, available 24/7 in English and Spanish Riverside County Riverside County Crisis Helpline: (951) 686-HELP (4357) — free, confidential, bilingual (English/Spanish), available 24/7; they can also connect you to other local mental health services CARES Line (Community Access, Referral, Evaluation & Support): Available 24/7 for Medi-Cal and Riverside County Health Plan members seeking mental health or substance use services — call 2-1-1 to be connected Riverside County 24/7 Mental Health Urgent Care: Walk-in locations in Riverside, Palm Springs, and Perris — open to everyone regardless of insurance or ability to pay TakemyHand.co: Live peer chat with people who have real lived experience with mental health challenges What's Up Safehouse Text Line: Text SHHELP to 844-204-0880 for free, anonymous, 24/7 crisis support from a licensed mental health professional 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline: Call or text 988, available 24/7 in English and Spanish More resources/information to come... ANNOTATIONS ¹ Research published in clinical psychology literature supports monthly maintenance therapy as an effective schedule for people who have completed initial intensive treatment and developed solid coping skills. A peer-reviewed study found that maintenance therapy was similarly effective at weekly, fortnightly, and monthly intervals for patients whose symptoms had remitted. (Frank et al., 2007, via Taylor & Francis / Journal of Psychotherapy Research) ² The insurance industry's standard for ending mental health coverage is tied to "functional improvement" — meaning the moment you show progress, coverage often stops, regardless of whether you've reached actual stability or just bare minimum functioning. Federal courts have repeatedly ruled against insurance companies for this exact practice, finding that cutting coverage upon improvement violates federal mental health parity law. (ProPublica, "Her Mental Health Treatment Was Helping. That's Why Insurance Cut Off Her Coverage." 2025) ³ Mental health care is 5.4 times more likely to be out-of-network than primary care — 17.2% of mental health visits versus 3.2% of primary care visits. (Milliman analysis of 37 million people, via Solace Health) ⁴ According to an analysis of 2019 National Survey on Drug Use and Health data, 23% of US adults with moderate to severe anxiety or depression who were not receiving treatment skipped or delayed therapy due to cost. (National Institutes of Health / PubMed Central, "Impact of insurance type on outpatient mental health treatment of US adults") ⁵ According to a 2018 report from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA), two in nine Americans who identify as Hispanic/Latino face mental health challenges, yet more than half do not receive treatment. Reported barriers include lack of health insurance, cost, cultural stigma, language barriers, and limited access to culturally competent providers. (SAMHSA, 2018, via Charlie Health / Hispanic Research Center)

(I got my license at 36 with anxiety — and I think that's why I'm actually a good driver) I finally got my license at 36 years old. At the DMV — not for the first time, not even for the second — and it only took me I think 4 written tests because I let one or two expire, and 2 driving because I didn't pass the first one, because I swear that old man that gave me the test was on a failing-everyone streak that day. And I have no shame about that. If anything, I think the anxiety, the overthinking, the years of watching other people drive while I catalogued every possible thing that could go wrong; all of it made me the cautious, aware, genuinely good driver I am today or the good driver I feel that I am. Society always made me feel like I had to have it, and people all around me, including relatives, close friends, acquaintances, employers, and just nosy people would tell me to get my license, that it meant independence. This blog is for everyone who got the side-eye at the DMV or the well-meaning nudge from a family member or the 'you still don't drive??' at a party. We know. We always knew. We just needed a little more time, a little more of the feeling of safety, and sometimes; a little more money, because driving lessons are not free and cars are not free and nobody talks about that. The Journey (Yes, There Were Multiple Attempts) Round One The first time I went for my license, I actually did pretty well behind the wheel. My instructor was a good teacher. She was supportive, she was honest, and she told me I would be fine if I kept practicing. I believed her. But the DMV examiner? Not it. He was the kind of man who had probably failed people for sport. He failed the person in front of me. He failed me too; citing an unsafe turn. Was it unsafe? Honestly, I'm not sure I agree, but that's neither here nor there. The real problem was that I didn't have a car. Without a car, there's no practice. Without practice, there's no confidence. And without confidence, I put it off. And off. And off. Round Two I tried again later with a Peruvian instructor who conducted most of her lessons in Spanish, which, fine, I'm bilingual, that's not the issue. The issue is she gave me anxiety; and not the productive kind. Her teaching style didn't click for me, the feedback wasn't clear, and instead of building me up, our sessions left me feeling more rattled than when I started. I quit before we even got to the actual test. And then I let more time pass. Because sometimes that's what you do when something feels too big and too scary and the anxiety just gets too high. This is how I ended up talking myself into just continuing to work the job I had right after I graduated from my undergraduate, and went on through my Master's Degree program at NYU, and if we know one thing about NYU, it's that it was in New York City, and I wouldn't need a car… or at least need to know how to drive. Round Three — The One That Counted This past time, I was 36. And I want to be honest about something: I hated the written test. Not because I don't know how to study; I have a Master's degree, I think I can handle a multiple choice exam. I hated it because anxiety turns everything into a life-or-death overthinking spiral. Every question felt like a trap. My brain was running laps. But here's what I eventually told myself, in the least insulting way I can say it: there are genuinely bad drivers on this road every single day. People who have never thought once about what they're doing. People who blow through stop signs on autopilot. People who text. And those people passed their test. So I, with a Master's degree, with anxiety that makes me hyperaware of literally everything around me, should be able to do this. Still, up until a few months before I got my license, people kept at it: you should get your license, just for emergencies, you can do it, you need to have it — like, ok I get it, but shut up. It's so tiring to hear, especially when you are overwhelmed and overstimulated and anxious about life. Luckily I was able to leave a toxic job soon after, and then after my vacation, I got to work and took my driving classes, and I got my license in July. I started actually driving in September. And now, several months in, I have something I did not expect: confidence. To Everyone Who Keeps Reminding People to Get Their License A gentle but firm note: please STOP. People know. They know they need a license. They know it would be helpful in an emergency. They know it opens up job opportunities and independence and all of it. They don't need the reminder at the family dinner or the group chat or the random Tuesday. What they might need, and what nobody asks about, is money. Driving lessons cost real money. Cars cost real money. Insurance costs real money. Access to a patient, willing person to practice with costs social currency that not everyone has. Not everyone grew up in a household where teaching you to drive was part of the deal. So before you say it again, ask yourself if what you're offering is actually help, or just a reminder that they're behind on a timeline they never agreed to. And if you genuinely want to help, really, truly help, feel free to contribute to their driving lesson fund. Venmo them. Offer to split the cost of a class. That is helpful. That is something that will actually move the needle. I promise they will remember it. At this point in my life, I was lucky enough that I didn't have to pay for my lessons, my fiancé truly came through for me, and helped me. Again, I am 36 and can't drive. He wanted me to really learn and he didn't want to teach me, he wanted to get me real lessons and learn from a teacher properly. And I am forever grateful because as inexpensive as they were in comparison to other courses, they weren't cheap. He is the best. Why I Think Anxious People Are Actually Better Drivers Okay, I'm going to say the thing: I think my anxiety makes me a good driver. And there's actually research to back this up, kind of. People with anxiety tend to be hypervigilant; constantly scanning for threats, anticipating what could go wrong, monitoring their environment in a way that most people don't bother to do. According to the Cleveland Clinic, hypervigilance is a heightened state of awareness rooted in the brain's threat-detection system. [1] Behind the wheel, that means I am always looking. Always checking mirrors. Always aware of the car three lanes over that's been drifting. Always noticing that the truck in front of me has unsecured things in its bed and I should move over now, thank you, Final Destination did not leave me without lessons. Research published in Applied Ergonomics found that anxiety and driving experience interact in complex ways; experienced anxious drivers tend to compensate for their anxiety by increasing attentional effort, which can actually result in more focused, deliberate driving behavior. [2] A separate study found that people with higher anxiety scores tended to engage in what researchers call exaggerated safety behaviors; checking mirrors more often, leaving more space, driving more deliberately. [3] Taken too far, yes, that becomes its own issue. But at a moderate level? That is just being a responsible, aware driver. Even the research that flags anxious driving as a concern tends to focus on drivers who developed anxiety after a traumatic accident, not people who have generalized anxiety and have simply always driven carefully. There is a meaningful difference. [4] Your overthinking, your fear of crashing, your constant scanning of what every car around you is doing, that is what will make you a great driver. It keeps you present. It keeps you focused. It keeps you alive. This is the reason for the 'Stop It. Overthinking.' sticker, which, yes, is also the name of this blog. Because sometimes you need a little reminder to yourself to tell the same brain that is keeping you hyperaware and safe to also please calm down a little. We are many things. Let's Be Real: What Driving with Anxiety Actually Feels Like The Tense Hands Thing I grip the steering wheel way too tight sometimes. I have done this since day one, and eight months in, I still catch myself doing it. My hands tense up around the wheel like I am holding on for dear life, and I have to consciously remind myself: loosen up, and breathe, bitch. This is incredibly common for anxious drivers. Muscle tension is a core physical anxiety response, your body bracing for an impact that isn't coming. [5] The fix, as far as I can tell, is just noticing it. You cannot stop what you don't catch. So now I check in with my hands the same way I check my mirrors: regularly, as a habit. The Zoning Out Thing Here's the thing they don't tell you: zoning out while driving is not actually as scary as it sounds, because your brain is not fully checked out. It's operating on a kind of autopilot that still keeps you in the lane, still hits the brakes, still follows the flow of traffic. Researchers call this automaticity; the brain's ability to handle familiar tasks without full conscious engagement. [6] But when you have anxiety, you tend to snap back to full attention faster. Something shifts in traffic, a car brakes suddenly, someone cuts over — and I am immediately, fully present. That combination of background awareness plus rapid reactivation is actually useful. That said, I do make an effort to stay present. I actively look around. I check my mirrors. I try not to go fully internal when I'm on the road because of the anxiety, haha! I will say, I definitely did this as well when I was in NYC taking the subway — I would somehow end up at my destination without realizing the name of the subway station. It was wild. The Radio Is Not a Distraction; It's a Regulation Tool I listen to the radio when I drive. Always. And I used to feel slightly guilty about this, like maybe I should be in pure silence and total focus mode. But then I found the research and felt very vindicated. A study from the University of Groningen found that background music actually helps drivers concentrate, particularly in monotonous traffic conditions. [7] Importantly, when driving demands increased; like during a tricky maneuver or heavy traffic, drivers naturally tuned out the music and focused on the road. Your brain prioritizes. Safety wins. Another study found that calming music can reduce respiration rate and overall stress levels while driving, making drivers less reactive and more steady. [8] So yes, the radio calms me down. No, it is not distracting me. My brain knows when to set it aside, and so does yours. Give Yourself Space: The Car Length Rule and the Tires Trick One of the most important things I've learned: always give yourself at least one full car length of space between you and the car in front of you while moving — and at a red light or full stop, leave enough room that you can see the rear tires of the car ahead touching the pavement. If you can see their tires, you have enough space to maneuver out if you need to. This is not just a Rosa rule; it's backed by the California DMV and safety organizations. [9] The standard recommendation is the three-second rule: when the car ahead passes a fixed point, you should be able to count three full seconds before you reach that same spot. In bad weather, increase that to four or five seconds. On the highway going over 45 mph, four seconds is the safer baseline. [10] Tailgating is one of the leading causes of rear-end collisions, and if you are anxious about crashing, the single easiest thing you can do is give yourself more room to react. Space is time. Time is safety. Merging Lanes: The Thing I Planned Three Miles Ahead, Seriously! If I know I need to exit or switch lanes, I start working toward that lane early. Not at the last second. Not in a panic. I try to position myself about one to three miles ahead so that I have time, space, and options. This is not weakness. This is strategy. The people who cut across four lanes at the last possible second because they almost missed their exit are not confident drivers, they are chaotic drivers. Well, maybe they feel confident, but they are still chaotic. There is a difference. I would rather be the person who planned ahead than the person who caused an incident because they weren't paying attention. We are not at the last-minute-lane-change level yet. And that is perfectly fine. I also have a sticker that says 'Bestie, please let me merge before I start crying', found it on Etsy and it found me at the right time. It is the most accurate thing I have ever put on my vehicle, well the only thing I've put on it. If you are in traffic next to someone who needs to merge, just let them in. Be the person you needed when you were learning. And I always leave enough space that people feel like they can merge so I am aware that it is a possibility. The Trucks I have a complicated relationship with trucks. Specifically the big metal ones whose beds are full of loose materials that absolutely could become projectiles at highway speed. I see those trucks and I immediately think about every road debris accident I have ever seen footage of, and I move over. Non-negotiable. But here is what I have learned: trucks can also be your friend in traffic. A big truck clearing the path ahead of you? It is like having a very large, very slow escort. Just give yourself enough space to not be tailgating them, because their stopping distance is very different from yours, and you need room to react. The ones that really stress me out are the ones carrying things that are only partially secured. If I can see something shifting in that truck bed, I am getting out of that lane immediately. Final Destination was a documentary. People Who Don't Signal You will learn quickly that most people do not use their turn signals. They will switch lanes with absolutely no warning and you will have to anticipate it anyway, because you were watching them and noticed the drift before the move happened. This will be annoying. You will develop a quiet, very private vocabulary for these moments. Mine involves saying 'fucker' under my breath, softly, and then moving on. It is a healthy coping mechanism and I stand by it. I do not have road rage, and for the most part I forget to honk at people when they do this, or when they almost cause me to hit or almost hit me. Let Them Pass If someone wants to go faster than you and you are already at the speed limit, let them pass. Move over, let them go, and continue at your pace. You are not responsible for enforcing the speed limit. That is not your job. Drive the speed limit. Don't go under it unless conditions require it — rain, fog, construction, everyone slowing. But don't feel pressured to exceed it to make someone behind you comfortable. Their comfort is not your problem. And drive at the speed of traffic when required, that will make sense once you are driving and you read the manual. Taking Professional Lessons: Do It If you are learning to drive, please take professional lessons. I mean this sincerely. Learning from a family member or friend sounds free, but it comes with costs that don't show up on a receipt: the tension, the fear of making a mistake in front of someone who knows you, the way their anxiety becomes your anxiety, the dynamic that makes it hard to learn because you're also managing the relationship. A professional instructor does not have a personal stake in your performance beyond actually teaching you. They are patient. They know how to explain the real rules; not the 'well I've always done it this way' rules. They have dual controls. And they will not yell at you. I learned to drive around the Koreatown/LA area, and this was my instructor. Kabir! He is great! You are able to pay extra to use his car for your driving exam. He is flexible, and you can see all the rates on his site. I highly recommend him, and tell him I have a car, and aren't as scared of the highway as much. And Los Angeles… Also I have yet to drive to LA! LA is scary, because people can be extremely impatient, and rude. I visit LA now from Riverside. I haven't driven there because I see the drivers there while walking around and they give me more anxiety with the lack of safety or precautions people are not taking. I have not convinced myself to drive there yet. I will someday, but for now we take the Metrolink to visit friends and any business related needs. I have driven to Irvine and a majority of the Inland Empire. Where I Am Now I kind of hate driving. I want to be honest about that too. It is not my favorite activity. It is still a little scary. Merging onto the highway still makes me a bit anxious, especially when you have to merge from one lane to two other ones like when it's 3 highways turning to one. But I am good at it. I did not expect to feel this way, and yet here I am: a good, safe, careful driver who is more confident every single week. I do not feel like I am going to crash the way I used to. Not because I think nothing can happen, but because I trust myself to respond well if something does. The fear that used to feel paralyzing now just keeps me sharp. I have prevented many crashes/accidents from happening, not because I was going to cause the accident but because they were driving into me as I was having the right of way into an unprotected left turn, or they didn't signal at merging, etc. It's the being proactive while driving that has kept me alive, the hyperawareness. I got my license at 36. I started driving at 36. And I am out here every day, actively looking around, checking my mirrors, giving trucks space, leaving room to see the tires in front of me, letting speeders pass, and saying 'fucker' quietly to myself when someone cuts me off without a signal. We got here. Slowly, carefully, and on our own timeline. That counts. I hope this helps to encourage anyone that is still trying or wanting to get their license to get it or start to think about it, now that you have some insight from a fellow anxious worrier. If you have any further questions or think of something that worries your mind, feel free to send me a DM, I'd be happy to chat about it. Made with love and your salud mental in mind. — Educated Chola If you or someone you know is in crisis, please reach out to the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988. For Spanish-language support, press 2. Sources [1] Cleveland Clinic. Always on Alert: Causes and Examples of Hypervigilance (2023). https://health.clevelandclinic.org/hypervigilance [2] Gotardi, G.C. et al. Adverse effects of anxiety on attentional control differ as a function of experience: A simulated driving study. Applied Ergonomics, Vol. 74 (2019). https://researchportal.port.ac.uk/en/publications/adverse-effects-of-anxiety-on-attentional-control-differ-as-a-fun/ [3] Baker, A. et al. Anxiety and depression in relation to anxious driving and driver behaviors. PMC (2025). https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC12228188/ [4] Clapp, J.D. et al. Properties of the Driving Behavior Survey Among Individuals with Motor Vehicle Accident-Related PTSD. PMC (2014). https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC4026290/ [5] Charlie Health. Therapist-Approved Ways to Manage Driving Anxiety (2026). https://www.charliehealth.com/post/driving-anxiety [6] Gotardi, G.C. et al. Adverse effects of anxiety on attentional control differ as a function of experience. Applied Ergonomics, Vol. 74 (2019). https://researchportal.port.ac.uk/en/publications/adverse-effects-of-anxiety-on-attentional-control-differ-as-a-fun/ [7] Unal, A.B. et al. University of Groningen — Listening to music while driving has very little effect on driving performance. ScienceDaily (2013). https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/06/130606101550.htm [8] Dibben, N. & Williamson, V.J. The influence of music on mood and performance while driving. Ergonomics, 55(1) (2012). Via: Driving Fear Help. https://drivingfearhelp.com/how-listening-to-music-while-driving-impacts-your-driving-anxiety/ [9] California DMV. Section 8: Safe Driving — Following Distance. https://www.dmv.ca.gov/portal/handbook/california-driver-handbook/safe-driving/ | Arash Law. Safe Distance to Stop from the Car in Front of You at a Light (2026). https://arashlaw.com/what-is-a-safe-distance-to-stop-from-the-car-in-front-of-you-at-a-light/ [10] Travelers Insurance. 3-Second Rule for Safe Following Distance. https://www.travelers.com/resources/auto/travel/3-second-rule-for-safe-following-distance | National Safety Council: Three seconds is the minimum; five seconds is even better.

(And the System That Makes It All Worse) I saw this trend and knew I had to do it and I don't normally say that, ha! But it applied so well. The real horror begins when you try to ask for help. Not the kind with jump scares and haunted houses. The kind that shows up in waiting rooms, insurance denials, and someone at Thanksgiving telling you to just pray about it. This post is for every Latina, every person of color, every low-income community member who has had to fight just to access basic mental health care. I see you. And we're naming what the system would rather keep quiet. Here are my top 5 real ones; plus some honorable mentions that deserve their own spotlight. Horror #1: "Have You Tried Just... Fixing It Naturally?" Someone who has never sat in a therapist's office, never filled a prescription, never had to explain to HR why they need a mental health day (also, NEVER do this — HR is not your friend, nor is your boss; I seldom tell supervisors and I'd recommend you refrain from it too, but that's another story) — telling you to stop taking your medication. Because they read something online. Or because they're "worried about what it does to your body." This is one of the most common and damaging forms of mental health stigma in Latino communities. It often comes wrapped in love, which makes it harder to push back on. But here's what the research says: psychiatric medications, when properly prescribed and monitored, are evidence-based, life-saving tools. According to the American Psychiatric Association, untreated mental illness can worsen over time and lead to serious impairment. Stopping medication abruptly without medical guidance can be genuinely dangerous. If someone in your life is managing their mental health with medication, the most loving thing you can do is trust them and their doctor — not your Google search from 2019 or your TikTok, even if I post this there or on IG, hehe. And with that: this is not medical advice. Please connect with your doctor if you'd like to pursue any form of treatment you see or hear about here or anywhere else that intrigues you. I will also say this: the first line of treatment before pursuing medication should always be therapy. I never took medication for my anxiety before doing therapy first. If you know me, you know I didn't even seriously consider medication until I was out of my graduate program and even then, it took me a few more years until I was 30 to finally give in. That is another story, tied directly to the stigma of medication in communities of color, and I'll tell it later. Anyways, let me take my meds. My brain was tired for 30 years, and it has finally quieted down and gotten some peace. It hasn't dimmed my lights. I'm still high functioning and I'm still me. Horror #2: Diagnosed but Making It Everyone Else's Problem This one is nuanced because we are not shaming anyone for having a diagnosis. Living with a mental health condition is HARD. But there is a real difference between struggling and using your diagnosis as a reason not to do any work. When someone refuses therapy, goes on and off their medication, refuses any form of management of it, and then expects everyone around them to absorb the fallout, that is not okay. That is harm transfer. The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) emphasizes that recovery is not linear, but it does require effort and support. Community matters and so does accountability within that community. Getting support for yourself is not a betrayal of anyone. It is how you protect the people you love. Personally, in the workplace and in life, I have dealt with individuals who went on and off their meds, were diagnosed but didn't pursue therapy or any treatment, and lacked self-awareness — and that directly impacted my safety at times. This chronic stress caused my own anxiety to worsen and, at one point, led to an increase in my own medication dosage just to manage day-to-day. Coping skills can only go so far when the environment itself is the source of harm. A study published in Frontiers in Public Health found that high-stress workplace environments are significantly associated with the onset and worsening of anxiety and depression. Separately, research on secondary traumatic stress; the psychological impact of prolonged exposure to others' distress or harmful behavior, shows it can produce symptoms including anxiety, sleep disturbances, and emotional exhaustion, even without direct trauma exposure. [1] Horror #3: "Just Pray About It" Faith is powerful. For many Latinas, spirituality is woven into how we understand ourselves, how our families have been brought up, and our healing. We are not here to dismantle that — well, not right now at least, bahaha. But when prayer is used as a substitute for professional care, especially in communities where mental health stigma runs deep and therapy is seen as "para los locos", it becomes a barrier. It becomes a reason not to seek help that could genuinely change or save a life. Research published in Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology has consistently documented that Latino communities face unique stigma around mental health help-seeking, shaped by cultural values like familismo and personalismo, as well as distrust of medical systems rooted in historical exclusion. [2] And it's not just our community. A landmark study on mental health stigma across Black, Latino, and Asian American communities found that all three groups exhibited stronger mental illness stigma than the general U.S. public including viewing mental illness as less serious, less treatable, and perceiving greater social distance from those who have it. [3] In Asian American communities specifically, research shows that mental health is often treated as a taboo topic tied to shame and family honor and that Asian Americans are 50% less likely than other racial groups to seek mental health services. [4] In Black communities, deep and historically justified distrust of the medical system plays a significant role in treatment avoidance, on top of stigma that frames mental illness as personal weakness. [5] You can pray and go to therapy. You can light a candle and take your medication. Faith and mental health care are not opposites. They can coexist. I myself combine multiple practices in my own care because they work for me, and I don't care if you don't like it. Horror #4: Losing Your Meds on Medi-Cal or VA Coverage — and Being Treated Like a Criminal You finally have coverage. You finally have a provider. You finally have a prescription that works. And then the formulary changes and if you don't know what that is, it's basically the list of medications your plan will cover, and it can change with little warning or your plan switches, or there's a prior authorization that takes six weeks, or your pharmacy doesn't have it in stock. Suddenly you're back at zero. Sometimes worse. For veterans and Medi-Cal patients especially, navigating medication access can feel like punishment. The bureaucratic hoops, the judgment at the pharmacy counter/provider’s office, the assumption that anyone asking for certain medications must be seeking them for the wrong reasons i.e., addiction, abuse, it is dehumanizing. A 2022 report from the California Health Care Foundation found significant gaps in behavioral health access for Medi-Cal enrollees, with low-income communities of color bearing the greatest burden of those gaps. And there's documented evidence that communities of color, particularly Black and Latino patients are routinely undertreated and over-scrutinized when it comes to medication. A study published in PNAS found that false beliefs about biological differences between Black and white patients continue to shape pain assessment and treatment decisions. Research from the New England Journal of Medicine confirmed that Black and Hispanic patients consistently receive lower opioid doses than white patients for the same conditions across 90% of health systems studied. [6] And a study on inpatient psychiatric settings found that Black patients were 58% more likely to receive antipsychotic PRN medications compared to white patients raising serious questions about racial bias in psychiatric treatment decisions. [7] Here's something specific that matters: if you lose a controlled substance prescription like an ADHD stimulant such as Adderall or Ritalin, which are Schedule II under California law, you cannot get an emergency refill. Schedule II medications have no refills at all; each one requires a new authorization from your provider. [8] Non-controlled medications like Prozac are significantly easier to navigate in an emergency. This system, while designed to prevent abuse, disproportionately punishes people who are already struggling to access care and who are disproportionately low-income and people of color. You are not a criminal for needing medication. You are a human being who deserves dignified care. Horror #5: Finding a Bilingual, Culturally Competent Therapist on Medi-Cal… This is one of the most documented and persistent failures of the mental health system when it comes to communities of color. Bilingual therapists are in critically short supply. Culturally competent care meaning a provider who understands the weight of generational trauma, immigration, code-switching, racism, and family obligation is even rarer. A landmark study by Vega et al. published in the Archives of General Psychiatry found that despite higher rates of certain mental health stressors, U.S.-born Latinos had limited access to culturally appropriate services and significantly underutilized mental health care. The Surgeon General's Report on Mental Health: Culture, Race, and Ethnicity identified systemic barriers including language access, workforce diversity, and cultural mistrust as key drivers of health disparities for communities of color. For Asian American communities, the barriers are just as stark and often compounded by the model minority myth, which obscures real suffering. Research published in Psychiatric Services found that cost, language barriers, and lack of culturally matched providers are among the most prohibitive barriers to mental health care for Asian Americans. [4] A review published in PMC found that Asian Americans tend to underreport mental illness, are less likely to participate in mental health studies, and face significant stigma tied to shame and family expectations. [9] For Black communities, distrust of the healthcare system rooted in a documented history of medical experimentation, exploitation, and neglect, remains one of the most significant barriers to seeking mental health care. The American Psychiatric Association explicitly names this historical distrust as a driver of disparities. [5] For immigrant communities broadly, the fear of documentation status, language barriers, and lack of providers who understand transnational identity and acculturation stress creates layers of obstacles that can feel insurmountable. Finding a therapist who gets it, who doesn't make you explain your entire culture before you can even get to what's wrong, should not be a luxury. But right now, for too many of us, it is. If you're trying to find one, try Latinx Therapy and search their database, I’ve used them before to find a Latinx therapist, I haven't used Therapy for Latinx but they are also a database, BetterHelp gets a bad rap but I ended up finding one when I was in need and couldn’t afford one with insurance and ended up loving my Latina therapist I found. And here are some others on IG that I follow, some Latina, some not, but I follow their content or have worked with some on collabs, so they are worth checking out: Araceli Vidales, Jacqueline Garcia, Lupita Martínez, Carla Avalos, Irene Velasquez, Cyndi Gallego, Jessica Medina, Naomi Tapia, Daisy Gómez, or Psychology Today's therapist finder. Use every filter available — gender, specialty, language, areas of expertise like generational trauma, immigration, and cultural identity. You deserve a provider who is built for you. Note: I am not affiliated or paid by any of these individuals or companies, just sharing resources I've encountered. Honorable Mentions: The Treatments We Deserve Access To These didn't make the top 5, but they deserve their own spotlight because the access gap is real, documented, and deeply tied to race and income. TMS and Ketamine Therapy Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) and ketamine-assisted therapy have shown remarkable results for treatment-resistant depression and anxiety conditions that disproportionately affect communities that have faced chronic stress, trauma, and systemic racism. A 2019 meta-analysis in the Journal of Affective Disorders found TMS to be significantly effective for major depressive disorder. Ketamine has been shown in multiple NIMH-funded studies to produce rapid antidepressant effects, sometimes within hours. The problem? A single TMS treatment course can cost between $6,000–$12,000. Ketamine infusions run $400–$800 per session. Insurance coverage is inconsistent at best, and Medi-Cal coverage is limited. These treatments exist. They work. And most of our communities will never access them not because we don't need them, but because the system wasn't designed with us in mind. I've been trying to access these through insurance and so far have had no luck, but maybe one day I will and the dream of those who tell me to get off my meds will finally come true ✨ Acupuncture, Cupping, and Eastern Medicine For many Latinas, healing has always included practices that Western medicine doesn't fully recognize: sobadas, herbal remedies, prayer and yes, for many of us who've discovered them, acupuncture and cupping. The National Institutes of Health acknowledges acupuncture as having evidence-based benefits for pain, anxiety, and stress. Research published in JAMA Internal Medicine found acupuncture significantly effective for chronic pain conditions. Yet most insurance plans, including Medi-Cal, offer little to no coverage for these modalities. The assumption embedded in U.S. healthcare is that only Western, pharmaceutical-based care is "real" medicine. And that assumption has a documented racial and colonial history. A 2022 article published in the Canadian Medical Association Journal examining race and colonialism in medicine found that Indigenous and traditional medicines were historically rejected by Western powers as part of an intentional ideological strategy of assimilation, what they called "civilizing." [10] A review published in PLOS One further documented that self-determined traditional healing options remain largely excluded from Western healthcare institutions. [11] This isn't coincidence. It's policy rooted in who gets to define what healing looks like. Our ancestors knew how to heal. It's time our insurance plans caught up. The Scariest Part? The System Wasn't Built for Us. Everything on this list; the stigma, the access barriers, the medication gatekeeping, the shortage of bilingual providers, the dismissal of non-Western medicine is not accidental. It is the result of a healthcare and mental health system that was built without communities of color at the table. The American Psychological Association's 2017 Multicultural Guidelines explicitly acknowledge the role of racism, historical trauma, and systemic inequity in shaping mental health disparities. The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) has documented persistent gaps in behavioral health equity for racial and ethnic minority communities for decades. Knowing this doesn't make it hurt less. But it does mean it's not in your head. It's not weakness. It's not a personal failure. It is a structural one. And we're here, building community, sharing resources, and refusing to stay quiet because our mental health matters too. Made with love and your salud mental in mind. — Educated Chola If you or someone you know is in crisis, please reach out to the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988. For Spanish-language support, press 2. Sources [1] Guo, Y.F. et al. Secondary traumatic stress: Risk factors, consequences, and coping strategies. Frontiers in Psychology (2023). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC10011627/ | Kim, T. et al. Research for association and correlation between stress at workplace and individual mental health. Frontiers in Public Health (2024). https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/public-health/articles/10.3389/fpubh.2024.1439542/full [2] Ayers, S.L. & Kronenfeld, J.J. Chronic illness and health-seeking information on the Internet. Health: An Interdisciplinary Journal. | See also: Organista, K.C. Solving Latino psychosocial and health problems. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley (2007). Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology. https://www.apa.org/pubs/journals/cdp [3] Michaels, E.K. et al. Mental Illness Stigma in Black, Latina/o, and Asian Americans. PMC (2025). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC12574314/ [4] UCLA Health. Confronting mental health barriers in the Asian American and Pacific Islander community (2023). https://www.uclahealth.org/news/article/confronting-mental-health-barriers-asian-american-and-2 | Ye, J. et al. Disparities in Mental Health Care Utilization Among Asian Americans. Psychiatric Services (2020). https://psychiatryonline.org/doi/10.1176/appi.ps.201900126 [5] American Psychiatric Association. Stigma, Prejudice and Discrimination Against People with Mental Illness. https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/stigma-and-discrimination [6] Morden, N.E. et al. Racial Inequality in Prescription Opioid Receipt — Role of Individual Health Systems. New England Journal of Medicine (2021). https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMsa2034159 | Hoffman, K.M. et al. Racial bias in pain assessment and treatment recommendations. PNAS (2016). https://www.pnas.org/doi/abs/10.1073/pnas.1516047113 [7] Ngan, E. et al. Racial disparities with PRN medication usage in inpatient psychiatric treatment. PMC (2024). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC11016118/ [8] California Health and Safety Code HSC 11200. Controlled Substance Refill Laws. LegalClarity (2026). https://legalclarity.org/california-controlled-substance-refill-laws/ | Medical Board of California. CURES Prescribing Rules. https://www.mbc.ca.gov/Resources/Medical-Resources/CURES/Prescribing-Rules.aspx [9] Leung, P. et al. Further Reduction in Help-Seeking Behaviors Amidst Additional Barriers to Mental Health Treatment in Asian Populations. PMC (2020). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7733772/ [10] Kirmayer, L.J. et al. The past, present and future of race and colonialism in medicine. Canadian Medical Association Journal (2022). https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9188792/ [11] Rowan, M. et al. Traditional Indigenous medicine in North America: A scoping review. PLOS One (2020). https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0237531