Maya Smith

These words are written in memory of my remarkable counselor, Anne Cecile Thomas, who passed away on October 14 after a battle with pancreatic cancer. Anne was gifted at what she did and she put her heart in her work. Her life made such a difference. I know what she did for me and I am just one of many.

It’s the worst kind of irony to be grieving for the person who helped me cope with the loss of my mother. It was my counselor’s guidance and compassion that rafted me through the darkest, deepest waters of grief. Grief is a cycle, she would say; healing is a cycle. And now that cycle begins for a woman who has been pivotal in my life for the past seven years. I would not be the brave, strong, healed woman I am today without Anne. 

Anne was my counselor for most of my twenties. She helped save my life at a time when depression had such a strong grip on my mind and spirit. For 15 years, undue despair and hopelessness were constant visitors. She helped me stay alive when the pain seemed unbearable and life didn’t seem worth living. She held my hand and walked with me through the valleys, giving me the tools to keep going. She pushed me when I needed it most, showing me that no matter what life throws at me, I have the power to respond in strength. Anne tended to my deepest wounds. She carefully facilitated the necessary tearing and breaking so that we could rebuild a healthier, stronger me. 

Over the years, Anne felt like more than a counselor. She was my ally. She felt familial. She laughed with me and she even cried with me. During one session toward the end of our time together, she looked me sincerely in the eyes as tears puddled in hers, and told me she was proud of me. It was evident that she cared deeply and that her heart was invested in my journey. She gave her all through our last session. I could not be more grateful. 

As I continue my journey, I would be remiss not to put into practice the many lessons I learned sitting on that couch in Anne’s office. In honor of her and all the hours we both poured into me being the best, healed version of myself, these are seven things I’ll always do…

1. Love the person I am.

When I first started seeing Anne, my self esteem was on the floor. I didn’t love the person I was or even see the importance of doing so. Yet my lack of self love fueled years of depression. I so desperately thought that I needed the approval and validation of others to feel whole, not realizing it wasn’t them I needed it from. One day Anne just flat out asked me if I loved myself. And I thought why does that matter? Turns out it mattered a whole lot. My learning to love myself was the catalyst for so much healing. It was a crucial step in gaining the upper hand in the fight against depression. 

2. Speak kindly to myself.

“Are you being kind to Maya?” she’d ask me when I would often become my harshest critic. For a long time I spoke really crappy to myself. Instead of affirming myself, I tore myself down with a demeaning, unforgiving inner voice. I was my own biggest hater. But Anne wouldn’t have it. She taught me that self talk is a weapon that can either be used for my good or for my self destruction — that what I say about myself to myself has the power of life and death. For me, that couldn’t be more true. I started retraining my inner voice to become my best friend and my loudest cheerleader. Changing the narrative I tell myself about myself saved my life. Rejecting the negative self talk has been my greatest tool for disrupting depression.

She taught me that self talk is a weapon that can either be used for my good or for my self destruction — that what I say about myself to myself has the power of life and death.

3. Feel the feelings.

After I lost my mom in 2021, there was a lot of sadness. (Still is.) So much sadness, I would often wonder what to do with all of it. It was a type of ache I’d never felt before — one that seemed too heavy to carry.

“What am I supposed to do with all this sadness? “I would ask almost every session in the six or so months following my mom’s death. To which she would respond, “feel it.” Embrace your feelings and feel them, she’d say. There’s no other option. She taught me that the sadness has to be accepted, felt, and integrated into my life for as long as it needs to stick around. She’d say “just tell your sadness ‘come on you’re coming with me today. We have stuff to do.’”

4. Take the risks that come with love in order to be loved.

This is a big one. To our very last session, Anne stressed the importance of community and pushed me to step outside of my comfort zone in order to make and maintain meaningful connections. I would often speak of feeling lonely, like I didn’t have a community where I could belong and thrive. Because Anne was good at what she did, she’d ask me if I was putting myself in spaces to meet people. And when I’d say not really, she would challenge me to do so. 

I would push back, listing all the bad things that could possibly happen by taking that chance. I was afraid of rejection and ultimately of being hurt. Anne taught me that to love and be loved is worth the risk. That I am worth the risk. 

5. Remember the both-and concept.

I was sitting at a little café on the Amalfi Coast in Italy, sipping an espresso taking in the views. I was in the most magical storybook village celebrating my 30th birthday, but it was also the two-year anniversary of my mom‘s death. I was experiencing the highest of highs yet doing so with a heavy heart. I called Anne to talk through this emotional conundrum. Always meeting me with simple yet powerful wisdom, she reminded me that life is both-and. She validated that my grief didn’t cancel the wander of the moment. And the joy of the moment didn’t cancel my pain. She reminded me again that the sadness can be has to be integrated into all my comings and goings. I can have a heart flooded with both gratitude and grief. Thrill and heartache. Glee and mourning. 

6. Never strive to be normal

Having depression made me feel as if something were wrong with me, like I was made with a defect or something. I always yearned to feel like a “normal” person, but Anne said there’s no such thing. Her favorite line was “normal is a setting on a washing machine.” She helped me see that I was created exactly as I was meant to be — chemical imbalance and all. As I am is enough. And that striving to be anyone else’s normal wouldn’t serve me. Eventually, I decided I didn’t want to be normal. I told Anne I was born to be extraordinary. She agreed. So that is what I’ll be. 

7. Be the best version of myself. Show up and shine every day

I’m choosing to honor Anne’s memory by living as my best self every day. By putting to use the tools she gave me. By stepping into my power and purpose. By using my gifts to impact others for good. By shining my light, which I didn’t even know could be so bright until I sat on Anne’s couch. 

Thank you, Anne. May you rest well.