Edge of Emotion

Chapter 3 : The First Step

The next morning, Lydia woke up with a gnawing sense of dread. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation with Adam over and over in her head. His words still lingered—“You have to try.” She knew he was right. The fear of losing him had pushed her to a point where she needed to confront what was going on inside her.

But therapy? The thought sent a chill down her spine. She had spent her entire life trying to pretend she didn’t need help, that she could manage her emotions on her own. Going to therapy felt like admitting defeat, like admitting that she was broken. And Lydia hated feeling broken.

She glanced at her phone on the bedside table. There was a text from Adam, simple and sweet: “Good morning. Thinking about you. Let me know how you’re doing today.”

Lydia’s heart warmed a little. Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all.

Pulling herself out of bed, she headed to the bathroom. As she splashed cold water on her face, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her skin pale. She barely recognized herself anymore—this person who was constantly on edge, constantly afraid.

I can’t keep living like this, she thought.

With a sigh, she picked up her phone and started Googling therapists in Singapore. The search results overwhelmed her at first—so many names, so many options. How was she supposed to choose someone to help her with something so personal?

After a few minutes of scrolling, she found a clinic that specialized in Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT), a form of therapy she had vaguely heard of but didn’t know much about. She read through the description: “DBT helps people manage intense emotions, develop healthier coping mechanisms, and improve relationships.”

It sounded like exactly what she needed. Without giving herself time to second-guess, she clicked on the contact form and filled out her information, asking for an appointment. Her fingers hesitated over the send button for a moment, but then she pressed it. There. It was done.

She immediately felt a wave of regret. What if this didn’t work? What if they couldn’t help her?

But it was too late to back out now.

Later that day, Lydia met up with Claire at a coffee shop near their apartment. The café was buzzing with the sound of conversations and the clinking of cups, but Lydia felt out of place. She felt like her thoughts were too loud, her anxiety too overwhelming for this busy, normal setting.

Claire noticed the tension immediately as Lydia slid into the seat across from her.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Claire remarked, sipping her latte.

Lydia shrugged. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Did you talk to Adam last night?”

“Yeah,” Lydia muttered, stirring her coffee without drinking it.

“And?” Claire asked, leaning forward. “What happened?”

Lydia sighed. “He says we’re stuck in this cycle of fighting and making up, and it’s draining both of us. He thinks I need to see a therapist.”

Claire’s expression softened. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, her voice tight. “It scares me. What if it doesn’t help? What if I’m just too much to handle?”

“You’re not too much to handle, Lyd,” Claire said firmly. “You’ve been dealing with this alone for so long, and it’s not your fault that you feel this way. But maybe therapy could give you some tools to manage things better. It’s not about fixing you, it’s about helping you cope.”

Lydia looked down at her cup. “I don’t want Adam to leave me.”

Claire reached across the table, placing a hand over Lydia’s. “I know. But it sounds like Adam wants to stay—he just needs you to meet him halfway. Going to therapy doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you’re trying to make things better. For yourself. For your relationship.”

Lydia nodded slowly. She knew Claire was right, but it was still hard to shake the fear.

“I made an appointment,” she said quietly, her eyes not meeting Claire’s.

Claire’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? That’s great, Lydia. When’s the appointment?”

“Next week.”

Claire squeezed her hand gently. “You’re doing the right thing. I’m proud of you.”

Lydia tried to smile, but her stomach was still in knots.

The days leading up to her therapy appointment dragged on. Lydia found herself more anxious than ever, second-guessing her decision. Every time she thought about sitting in front of a stranger and talking about her fears, her emotions, her relationships, she felt a wave of nausea.

On the morning of the appointment, Lydia almost didn’t go. She woke up with a pounding headache, her body heavy with dread. She sat in bed, staring at the clock, trying to come up with a reason to cancel.

Maybe it’s not that bad, she thought. Maybe I don’t need this. Maybe I can figure it out on my own.

But then she remembered Adam’s face when he said, “You have to try.”

Taking a deep breath, Lydia forced herself out of bed, got dressed, and headed to the clinic. The walk there felt surreal, as if she were watching herself from outside her body. The closer she got, the more her heart pounded in her chest.

When she finally arrived, the receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. “Hi, Lydia, welcome. You’re here for your first session with Dr. Low, right?”

Lydia nodded, her throat dry. She was handed a clipboard with a form to fill out, but the words on the page blurred as her anxiety took hold. She barely remembered what she wrote.

By the time Dr. Low called her name, Lydia was already regretting coming. She followed the therapist into a small, cozy room, where she sat on a soft chair across from Dr. Lim.

The woman smiled kindly at her, setting down a notepad. “It’s nice to meet you, Lydia. How are you feeling today?”

Lydia felt her throat tighten. She wanted to say she was fine, but the truth was bubbling up inside her.

“I don’t know,” Lydia finally said, her voice cracking. “I feel… scared.”

Dr. Low nodded, her expression understanding. “That’s okay. It’s normal to feel scared when you’re starting something new, especially when it’s something as personal as therapy.”

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears, and she quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t have to know where to start,” Dr. Low said gently. “We’ll take things one step at a time. This is a safe space, Lydia. There’s no rush, no judgment. We’ll figure it out together.”

Lydia looked up, meeting Dr. Low’s steady gaze. For the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t completely alone in this.

As the session began, Lydia’s fears didn’t disappear, but they loosened their grip on her, just enough for her to take a breath. And for now, that was enough.