The man who kept me afloat

When we lose an anchor in our lives, we often feel adrift on the sea of life. I just lost a lifesaver – my psychiatrist. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he assured me he would always be there if I needed a helping hand.   “Just call me anytime, Lynn, and you know I will answer!”  

Dr. McLarty always answered. I believe fate brought us together decades ago. One day, I fainted at work, and my company called an ambulance. It was determined that I had experienced a panic attack, but I insisted I hadn’t! I was perfectly calm when I collapsedon the office floor.  

I worked for a large corporation as a designer, and they urged me to see someone to manage my stress. Admittedly, I was under significant pressure at the time, but mentally I truly believed I was fine.Nevertheless, I acquiesced and went to see the psychiatrist they recommended.  

Honestly, I was so embarrassed and felt weak when I walked into Dr. McLarty’s office. As I sat in the waiting room, I kept asking myself, “Why am I here? This feels like such a waste of precious time!”

When I entered his office, I anticipated finding an expensive couch to lie on, a chair for the doctor, and a notepad, just like in the movies. Instead, I found two slightly worn club chairs, a wooden desk piled high with folders, a wall adorned with framed medical credentials, and a nice Monet print on the opposite wall.

Dr. McLarty had a notepad but plopped down into the chair beside me, sporting an affable smile and a relaxed demeanor. He began asking simple questions, and within just a few minutes, my entire life spilled out. I started to cry so hard that I couldn’t speak. Silence fell between us as Dr. McLarty’s smile faded.

What had happened to me? I felt capable of managing the world, but that day, I began to confront something darker, deeper, and beyond my control. Within the confines of an office space and around a cluttered desk, fragments of my past surfaced, revealing immense sorrow and pain. What had happened to me?

Looking back, I see that my coworkers genuinely cared for me. They noticed when life became overwhelming for someone who thought she could handle everything alone.

It took numerous doctor’s visits and notes to finally understand that I was suffering from clinical depression and anxiety. Looking back, I realize that this struggle began shortly after kindergarten. I had lived with these feelings for so long that I convinced myself it was simply a normal way of life.

“Sometimes, I feel as if everyone in the world is walking down the street one way while I’m across the street, walking alone in the opposite direction,” I told my doctor. I believed I wasn’t good enough to join them.

Before effective medication became part of my treatment, Dr. McLarty, who was a runner, encouraged me to run to keep my mind and body in shape. It helped, as did knowing there was one person in my life who knew absolutely everything about me. A person who did not judge. He listened, and  played a crucial role in keeping me alive. He became a trusted friendwhose compassion and understanding could calm any storm in my mind.

I have always been open about my mental health, and nothing angers me more than when people downplay the importance of seeking help. Do we really believe our brains function perfectly all the time? Just as we consult specialists for physical issues like knee or chest pain, we should prioritize our mental well-being.

The truth is that we all need someone to care. There is no shame in asking for help, and we must share so that others feel free enough to seek the assistance they need to calm their tears.

I spent many years visiting those club chairs. Finally, there was medicine available to help. I continued to run, but for the first time, I felt as if I had joined the people across the street. The pain from past events in my life was still present, but it wasn’t going to kill me. I learned to manage the difficult times, knowing that my doctor was just a phone call away.

“Lynn, one of these days you need to write!”  Dr. McLarty would say. “Who for?” I would reply. His answer: “Anyone.”

I wish I had known that he was ill. I wish I could have hugged him one more time. Isn’t that how it always is? One more visit, one more conversation, before God takes them away.

My anchor is gone, but today I can sail the seas of life and write about the waves.

In loving Memory of Dr. W. Theron McLarty:  1942-2026