In 2015, I started seeing a therapist. Six years later, I'm still seeing the same therapist. Biweekly, though it went up to weekly when my dad got really sick, and for as long as I could afford it afterward. Thanks to my therapist, my psychiatrist, my meds, and some amazing friends and family, I don't recognize the guy who showed up for therapy in 2015 anymore. I know I *was* him, but I don't think like him anymore.
I have no plan to quit therapy. It's priceless to me. There's help if you need it, and there's nothing wrong with getting it.