I started talking to a therapist by sheer fluke.

I had made an appointment for someone else, who backed out at the last minute. Rather than cancel a session that had been booked many weeks in advance, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity myself.

It was early in 2020, when few people were paying attention to a novel coronavirus starting to spread. I had been following the news with some apprehension. After conversations with friends who were high-level public health officials, I was more than a little freaked out.

As the days went on, I started covering stories about the pandemic locally. My baseline worry started to feel like an impending sense of doom.

Maybe this psychotherapist can give me some tips on managing my heightened anxiety, I thought. While I am blessed with lots of supportive family and friends, I didn’t want to add to whatever they might be dealing with during such a stressful time.

To my surprise, I felt better just dumping my worries and fears onto someone who listened attentively, without judgment, and who validated my concerns. I figured I only needed to talk to her a few times.

Well, the pandemic and its fallout turned worse than I could have ever anticipated. With our children missing critical years of high school, my husband hospitalized with COVID, my father diagnosed with cancer, and a health scare of my own, I continued to document and hear stories of people suffering far more than I was.

I had lucked into finding a therapist in one of the most stressful periods of my life.

I ended up talking to her weekly for nearly a year. During that time, I learned how my earlier life experiences shaped the way I responded to current stressors. I healed parts of myself that I didn’t even know were broken.

Many of the conversations were difficult for me, but the process helped me feel lighter and understand myself better.

Because I had always been someone who juggled many responsibilities at once, I didn’t believe I “needed” therapy. I had a loving family, a fulfilling career, and all my physical needs met. In my Asian American culture, I had never heard anyone talk about seeking care for their mental health or emotional well-being. My life looked a lot more comfortable than my immigrant parents' had been, and I didn’t think I had any real trauma.

Well, almost all humans experience some kind of trauma. It affects us differently. When we learn ways to identify and process it, it helps us let go of the emotional impact it's had on us.

I found the therapy experience so helpful that I wished I had done it sooner, and that more people in my community felt comfortable seeking this kind of treatment.

After we survived the most harrowing time of the pandemic, I decided I wanted to have a series of public conversations about mental health. I talked to dozens of experts who had cultural competency working with groups where there is still considerable stigma around these issues. I recruited therapists and psychiatrists willing to share their knowledge. I raised funding for the project and worked with a production company to shoot and edit a dozen half-hour episodes on various mental health topics.

The series, "Things We Don't Talk About," covers issues ranging from depression to eating disorders to self-harm and abuse.

I was thrilled that my local St. Louis PBS affiliate, Nine PBS, saw the value in the series. The show will premiere on April 28 on Nine PBS, and I hope PBS stations in other cities decide to share it, also.

“We’ve consistently heard from our community that more stories are needed to truly understand the growing mental well-being crisis, especially as it affects children and caregivers. That’s what inspired our Mental Well-Being Initiative,” said Aja Williams, Nine PBS vice president and chief content officer. "'Things We Don’t Talk About' highlights the prevalence of this issue from a different lens that we’re proud to share with the region."

The episodes will be also posted weekly on YouTube beginning May 1 -- the start of Mental Health Awareness Month.

My hope is that someone might see or hear something in this series that makes them feel less alone or inspires them to reach out for help.

It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.

I shredded a sliver of the pot roast the rehab facility worker had delivered to my father’s room. I mixed it with a dab of mashed potatoes and added a tiny piece from a boiled carrot slice.

Small bites, my mother had warned me when I offered to stay with my dad while she went home for a break. I hesitantly lifted the fork to my father’s mouth. He took the bite, smaller than what I would have given a toddler, and chewed slowly.

I had never fed my father before.

It hurt my heart and heightened my anxiety. I could not imagine this as his new normal.

An ambulance brought him to the hospital after a significant worsening of his Parkinson’s symptoms. He started experiencing hallucinations and delusions at home -- an unnerving development. After eight days in the hospital, he was transferred to inpatient rehab.

Doctors prescribed sedative medication that knocked him out for several days. He barely moved from the bed for more than a week. For an elderly, chronically ill patient, that can lead to rapid deconditioning. When he arrived in physical therapy rehab, he lacked the strength to stand or even lift a spoon to his mouth. Once he developed pneumonia, I immediately booked a flight to Houston to spend a few days with him and give my mom some support.

The Parkinson’s Foundation estimates that 1 million Americans live with Parkinson’s disease, a neurodegenerative disorder. The prevalence of Parkinson’s has doubled in the past 25 years and is expected to continue to grow.

I was hopeful when President Joe Biden signed the bipartisan National Plan to End Parkinson’s Act in 2024, a first-ever federal initiative to prevent, treat and cure Parkinson’s disease. I hoped that maybe the research would help someone avoid the suffering I’ve seen my father endure over the past few years. But that dream dimmed when I read reports that award-winning Parkinson’s researchers were among the scientists purged last month from the National Institutes of Health.

Even though I am blessed with five siblings who live in the same city as my parents and are constantly helping them, I felt terrible relying on their secondhand reports. I needed to lay eyes on my father. Hug him. Encourage him. Tell him I love him.

The first day was rough. One of the nurses had stressed to me that he’s not eating enough and he needed to improve his nutrition.

But after less than 10 small bites, my father refused to eat anything else. I’ve read about the idea of role reversal when adult children take care of their infirm, elderly parents. But you will never be parenting your own parent -- even when they can no longer take care of themselves.

My father is a grown adult, and I have to respect that. But nothing could have prepared me for his decline.

It’s been a strange, years-long roller coaster. Last year, he had an extended hospital and rehab stay. But he was able to regain enough strength and skills to come back home.

This time, he’s got a harder path to recovery. In the few days I spent with him, I forced myself to look for the smallest wins -- even tinier than those bites of dinner.

His pneumonia is responding to treatment. His appetite is improving. He’s more clear and alert each day. He’s no longer seeing hallucinations. He asked me questions about his beloved grandkids.

The next day, I arrived after he had eaten dinner. A cup with an orange cut into sections remained on the table next to his bed.

I handed him an orange slice. He slowly raised it to his mouth with a hand that shakes badly. He used his other trembling hand to guide the shaky one. I waited for him to finish and handed him each slice, one by one.

He fed himself those orange slices.

The ads bombarding our Facebook pages are always trying to sell us something -- usually lots of things, repeatedly.

Maybe that’s why I stopped on a post about a clothing brand that encourages its customers to wear the exact same dress for 100 days in a row. This gimmick stood out from traditional marketing, designed to make us consume as much as possible, as quickly as possible.

If customers accomplish this 100-day goal, document it and submit the photos to the clothing company, they will be rewarded with a $100 gift card toward their next purchase. (If that's too long, a shorter 30-day challenge offers a $30 reward.)

I was intrigued and wondered if I could repeat the same item of clothing for so many days.

Wool& is a small clothing company based in Portland, Oregon, that specializes in sustainable wool-based dresses and separates. I was drawn to the solid colors and classic styles of their dresses. The clothing is well-made, and the company's supply chain is transparently documented on its website. The bestselling dresses are around $138.

The company touts the benefits of merino wool-based clothing -- soft, quick-drying, breathable, temperature-regulating and wrinkle-resistant. My previous experiences with wool had led me to think of it as scratchy and overly warm.

I was about to be proven wrong.

In another smart marketing move, the company hosts a private Facebook group for its nearly 30,000 customers and fans. It’s pitched as “the nicest place on the internet.” I joined the community and was fascinated by all the strangers sharing photos of their outfits, listing their measurements to help others with sizing, and swapping advice on how to care for and style the clothes -- all of which created a real sense of community. Women from around the world of various ages, body types, races and ethnic backgrounds participate in the discussions.

I’ve been lurking for months, and I haven’t seen any of the drama typical in other online groups -- just a lot of encouragement, positivity and honest feedback.

Perusing the photos of women who had completed 100-day challenges, I was inspired to try it myself.

I chose a midweight knit maxi dress with long sleeves (the "Valerie") in a deep pine color that I could envision wearing through the winter and early spring. It arrived in late December, and I started the challenge. The fabric was more comfortable than I expected. In this phase of life, I’m often either too cold or too hot. But the dress, which is 82% wool and 18% nylon, did help regulate my body temperature.

I was worried about people noticing that I kept wearing the same thing. But no one did. I learned to create different looks by layering the dress with different shawls, jackets and wraps. Since I mostly work from home, there were a few days when I was only venturing out to the gym, so I didn't bother changing in and out of the dress. Other days, I wore the dress lightly, usually changing as soon as I got home. I only had to wash it every week or so.

About halfway through my challenge, I realized I was getting bored wearing the same thing every day. I also missed wearing pants. In the end, I wore the dress more than 30 times over the course of 50 days.

Since I didn’t follow the challenge's rule about consecutive days, I didn’t qualify for the reward. But the experience changed the way I think about clothing. I’ve decided to prioritize versatile pieces, ethically made from natural fibers. I’m not tempted by fast fashion the way I was before.

I ended up buying three more Wool& items -- one was discounted after I completed a nine-day challenge, and the other two pieces came from a resale group devoted to the brand.

My daughter, who encouraged me through the challenge, astutely pointed out that the company’s unorthodox marketing worked brilliantly on me. It made me a loyal and repeat customer.

Touche.