Pretty Works

Oh child, the internets are mad. 

There is this famous social media mental health professional that is now being outed for allegedly not being a mental health professional at all. Allegedly, she can not provide proof of her doctorate after giving relationship advice across numerous platforms and getting a book deal. The people are not amused. Her explanations for not being able to provide proof of her education also are not adding up or landing well. It's a mess! The people have made it clear that they feel played, but I feel that they played themselves. You see, this woman is very attractive, and I think that the people allowed themselves to be finessed because she is easy on the eyes. Now the poop has hit the perpetual fan and everyone wants to cry that they have been bamboozled. But what do you think is going to happen when you allow beauty to be a credential? It's the oldest deal in the books: being pretty ALWAYS works! 

I have experienced this on way smaller scales throughout my life. In highschool, I remember when my homeboy held the school door open for all the pretty girls getting off the bus but let the door slam in my face. In college, I watched in awe as Big Homie Sans gained access to rooms she had no business being in because she is gorgeous and no one asked any questions. On a more personal note, I had an old editor tell me she didn't think I should work red carpet events because I don't have the "Hollywood Look". I guess I wouldn't. I'm from Atlanta🤡 #peaceupatowndown. Because of all of this, I was not at all surprised by the alleged allegations against this mental health professional. I am surprised that people still don't want to admit how much outward appearance means to folks to the point that they could potentially buy whatever anyone hot is selling. 

I guess I am also annoyed because I know if she were not attractive making the same professional claims, America would have ran her background like a marathon. I'm also annoyed that there are probably many confirmed credentialed mental health professionals on social media that will never get this lady's numbers. I mean, this is the case across professions. Could you imagine if the genius, very capable Stacey Abrams looked like Tyra Banks? She'd be governor of Georgia right now! Look at Sheryl Underwood, the accomplished comedian and TV host. She recently participated in a roast for Kevin Hart, and all people could talk about was her late husband's suicide and how ugly they thought she was. They clearly didn't have the same smoke for Regina Hall. 

Things are looking grim for this mental health professional now but remember, she is beautiful. I think everyone will forgive her and she will probably get some new gigs out of this because remember, pretty works.

The Session

Today, I had my therapy session, and thank God! I had to unload and let someone know how I am honestly feeling. We covered everything, from my being stressed out to my friendships. She said she could tell something was up with me, which was reassuring and more helpful than someone telling me I am acting weird. The session must have been just what I needed because afterwards I took a long, hard nap and for the first time all week, I felt rested. Of all the great things I have ever done, getting a therapist stands out as one of my greatest decisions, and if I were queen of the world, I would make it mandatory that everyone get a therapist. There is nothing like someone with no skin in the game helping you figure things out. I'm really excited for my next session and enjoying some good sleep. 

Love and Middle Age 3: The Story of Stupid

In my recent conversations with TAFKAS, he told me stories of his friends and their unrequited loves. And the message that I took from these stories is that you should let people know how you feel when you have the chance. This is a very, very dangerous message for me because I just might do it which, in my case, is the easiest, quickest, safest way to embarrass myself. 

When I was in college, I had a crush on this basketball player and literally wrote him a 4-page letter and enclosed it with a kiss. Well, I didn't actually kiss it. My friend AJ did because my lips were chapped. I then doused the letter in Victoria's Secret body spray before putting the letter on this windshield. Luckily, God woke me up in a panic the next morning and I was able to run outside and retrieve it. THANK GOD! If he would have gotten that letter I have no doubt that he would have HUMILIATED ME! I would have had to move back to Atlanta and live under an alias. 

Then there was the Sigma that I wrote an erotic poem for. I read the poem to a couple of my co-workers and they gave me positive feedback which should have been my first clue that I was spearheading into a no-bueno situation. Luckily, Tortilla was there to bring me back to life, back to reality. "Don't message this to him. Don't," she said in a very stern voice which was odd, because her voice is usually so sweet that it sometimes sounds like she is singing when she talks. "If you ever get the urge to send this to him, send it to me, and I will respond like I am him, okay? Promise?" I promised, and again thanked God for having good friends. 

And then there are these two men at my church, I will call them Thing 1 and Thing 2. The Things are so nice to me and they love God and they are both hot in their own way. When I talk to them it is very, very difficult not to kiss them. This should tell you how hard I am crushin', because I think that kissing is disgusting! "Don't kiss him", my friend Ken said about one of the guys. I didn't tell her about the other one because I assumed the response would be the same. Again, thank God for good friends. 

But of late, I have been depressed, hungry, tired, sad, alone, and feeling like I am on an island. All of these things are the recipe for me doing something potentially stupid. I mean 4-page letter kind of stupid. Today I fell asleep while I was working and dreamed that I was making out with new crush (Do you see how kissing of some sort is usually the foreshadowing to these crises?) at my dead Great-Grandmother's house. It felt like I was really there! Family Matters was on the TV. Nana loved that show! This is not good because I believe that dreams have meaning...I am just not equipped to tell you what they are. If I had to guess what this dream was telling me, it would be that my deceased Great-Grandma was on board with me reaching out to this man that I don't really know and who doesn't know me. My inner me, which is consistently wrong, is telling me to reach out to him. 

Y'ALL PLEASE PRAY THAT I CAN MAKE IT TO THERAPY NEXT WEEK WITHOUT MAKING A COMPLETE ASS OF MYSELF!! If I can't get a grip, I will become one of TAFKAS's tragic stories. I am well on my way. 

30s No Bueno

Is it normal to lose your mind in your 30s? I ask because all the 30-somethings around me are cracking like walnuts. Broken romantic relationships. Loneliness. Lost friendships. Work drama. Finance freakouts. Sick parents. A GLOBAL PANDEMIC. You could fill a swimming pool with the tears from my friends alone. On top of all of this, I am trying to lose weight after being told to lose weight since I was about five. This is happening at a time when I have about as much metabolism as a foam cup, but that is another post entirely. 

You will be happy to know that P has dodged the 30s anxieties that are crippling the rest of us. While we all are doing everything possible to get into virtual therapy, he is self-soothing by holding true to his age-old motto: Toughen Up. Man, if ever there was a guy with a stiff upper lip it is P. Right now, I am about as tough as melting ice cream. 

Oh, and have any of you noticed what I am coining as Social Media Contradiction Disorder? On Instagram, everyone I know is partying on boats or eating brunch at fancy home rentals. Yet, my Facebook reads like a trail of tears. Posts are paragraphs long outlining disappointments and heartaches. Maybe my Facebook friends could brighten up if they took a lesson from my IG friends and spent their spare time taking photographs of their outfits and lunches. 

So what is the solution? I am not sure, this is my first time in my 30s. Hang in there I guess? Hang in there. Please. If ever there was a piece of useless advice, it's hang in there. I imagine us 30 somethings have to continue to be a support to each other. Or maybe we can just keep crying until we eventually dehydrate and our minds, bodies, and spirits go into some type of automatic renewal. Whatever is easier. 

Therapy

Well cool cats and kittens, I am finally in therapy. 

And not in a cute way like athletes or celebrity racists that get caught doing something bad. I mean really in therapy doing work. I always thought that I needed to be in therapy, but when you begin crying multiple times a day and losing it over minor things, you kind of don't have a choice. So my therapist is helping me to get my anxiety under control, anxieties that were on their way to becoming phobias. This is a good thing, because I was only a few days away from going completely nuttybags, yelling obscenities at people from the roof of my neighborhood grocery store.   

The thing is, I thought that anxiety was new for me, but after talking with my therapist, I realize it has always been there like an ex-boyfriend that can't take a hint, waiting to get on my nerves. I remember being at a reggae club in New Orleans with my friends and having to excuse myself to cry in my bestie's Honda while everyone else ponned the replay inside. Thinking back, my anxiety journey has been a literal trail of tears, having private crying fits before, after, and even during events in my life. 

My whole life I have been branded as dramatic and emotional because I am dramatic and emotional. So when I would get so worked up over things in college that I would race back to my dorm room, fall face-first into my twin bed, and cry into my bedspread, even I figured I was just being emotional and dramatic again. Feeling sick when I had to be around folks. Wanting to hurl at the thought of going out. It has been anxiety this whole time. Who knew?

I have to say, talking things out with someone who actually knows what they are talking about has been BEYOND therapeutic, and I would recommend it to anyone. Life has been stressful and we are finally seeing a possible end to a pandemic. If you need to talk to someone, do it. 

Shrink of my Dreams

As many of you know, I have been wanting to see a therapist now for about ten years. So many of my friends have gone into therapy and I have gotten to witness the positive differences that it has made in their lives first hand. But sadly, I have never been able to afford it.
Fast forward to three months ago: I was walking into the office building across from my job when I literally ran into a shrink! She asked me what I was going into the building for and I said that I was wondering if there was a psychologist in the building. She said yes, that it was her, and she walked me back to her office to do a free assessment.
I immediately liked this lady. She told me that she had just graduated and that she'd just started her practice. She is also in her 30s which is great. I don't want to be an agest, but the idea of telling all my problems to a 20 something makes me want to croak.
I have to tell you, that ten minutes was the most relaxing ten minutes of my life honey. She just asked me general questions about myself, and if she hadn't have stopped me, I could have talked for hours. She told me that she wanted to get more info and run some tests and blah blah blah and that session would be $500. Afterwards, each session would be like $200.
Okay, so that sounds like a lot and it is a lot. But I think of that fee as an investment in myself and my sanity. So, being uninsured, I am dropping pennies in my piggy bank daily to get to my session with my shrink. It may be next winter before I get in to see her, but I am looking forward to getting to the root of my COUNTLESS issues.