imatherapistthat
struggling human helping struggling humans
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hadtosaynotoBEYONCÉ.
I had to. If you know me, you know I love, love, love BEYONCÉ! Love her. I mean I am a fan but I am not necessarily fanatical. I don’t have all of her songs memorized, I haven’t been to a million of her concerts (I have been to two concerts, and this summer would have been my third), but she is my favorite artist because of the whole. entire. package. I mean I went plant based in 2014 when I heard she was trying the diet and almost 10 years later I am a full closeted vegan who has fallen off of the plant based diet she embraced to lose weight. I love the thought of her. I love the power of her. I love the command of her. I love her mystique. I love that she doesn’t give interviews. I love that she is unapologetic. I love that she takes no shit, well she does, and then puts it in a song. I love her power and her performance. I love her content. Hell, I even love her husband! So when I was asked if I wanted to go to her tour this summer it was a quick hell fucking yea for me. I really didn’t care when, where, or how much-I was gonna be in the MFN building. July 22cd, Chicago, 300 something odd dollars, count me in. Being self employed, there is no one to tell me “naw”, I just blocked my calendar and sat in excitement as all the details were handled (shout out to the ghost I am referring to)! It was gonna be cool. I attended a BEYONCÉ concert with ghost before when BEYONCÉ came to town with her hubby OTR! It was then that I first realized that going to concerts was something else I could add to the list of activities I could do independently. I sent my money to ghost, and was waiting in anticipation for the summer. About a day so later, I get a message from ghost stating that two others would be joining us. One was the sister of ghost, a resident of Chicago, the other a person I had worked with in the past but never befriended. We were also going to make the 6 hour trek to the Chi together in ghost’s vehicle. Apprehension set in immediately, but I said to myself “deep breaths, nothing else matters but BEYONCÉ”. A group chat commenced, I hate a group chat btw, with ghost, ghost’s friend, and myself. The initial chat consisted of some details about us driving together in ghost’s car and the likelihood of getting an AirBNB as there would not be enough room in the house of ghost’s sister. Ghost’s friend was immediate in her response about not being able to ride with us, which had me questioning, but ultimately I decided I was being a bit paranoid. Hell, I didn’t want to drive six hours with ghost, let alone ghost and her friend-what would we talk about? Six hours of small talk, no fucking thanks! Additional weeks go by and I then learn that ghost’s sister would be joining us in a hotel room as the AirBNB was no longer an option. A-N-X-I-E-T-Y was rapidly setting in this was the first time I thought “I have to say no to BEYONCÉ”. I waited and the thought of saying “no”was heartbreaking and the thought of telling ghost I was gonna have to say “no” was relentlessly inhabiting my thoughts. I had to say “no” for me. I had to say “no” for my mental health. I had to say “no” for the culture (! Ok that’s a little far but there is truth in it). Finally, I told ghost I had to say “no”. Knowing ghost’s conflict aversion, seemingly avoidant attachment, and lack of vulnerability (no shade I promise) made saying “no” easy as there would be no follow up. This past weekend I stumbled upon what I thought was quite the hidden gem on Hulu, a movie titled “Tyrel”. Check it out and you will find out why I had to say “no” to the greatest show on earth. ✌🏾
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pethairs
can you believe i have a dog? me either. typically me and pets don’t mix. not because I don't like them, it’s mostly because I am afraid of almost every living creature big and small. and also i am a bit insatiable, irresponsible, and can be spontaneous in my decision making-when i can actually make a decision (libra here).
i have had a few dogs over the span of my lifetime. As a child we had two Buffy’s-one a mini poodle (we think was eaten by a coyote), the other a Bichon Frisé (we had to re-home before living abroad), both white. we had a black dog named Pepper, i can see him in my mind but not sure where he came from or at what point in my life he was present. as a teen I convinced my mom to let me get a mix of a pup that I promised to care for and ultimately didn’t. so off he went to idk where. Magic was his name and I think my mother allowed me to get him because my father was in an almost fatal accident-an emotional support dog of sorts. as an adult we adopted a beautiful black lab we named Miles, after Miles Davis. he was about the best dog you could have. we were given a female lab, Daisy, around the same time which really made things spicy at home with a teen, preteen, two working adults, sports, school, and for me no real connection with a pet. re-homed.
during the height of the pandemic, I sat with folks that were adopting dogs left and right. i thought about adopting then, but realized that there was nothing really different about my life during the lockdown that would warrant the type of support that having a pet, I have heard can offer. so I chilled. if I were to get a dog, I knew just the breed I wanted a sheepadoodle. i found and began to fancy this breed while watching an episode of High Maintenance, where there is an episode dedicated solely to this dog. i instantly became obsessed-from a distance. when considering to get a pet I knew this breed would be the one, mostly because it as so damn cute and so damn smart. also, being a vegan, I knew I had to rescue, but where in the hell does this special breed exist in the world of rescues and adoption?
3 months ago i found a site that actually had quite a few varieties of doodles, mostly lab and golden mixes. but then there he was, well it wasn’t actually him but his sibling that I fell in love with. a sheepadoodle needing a home. while his bro ended up being adopted I was lucky that my prize became available-after being returned by another family whose dog did not appreciate the company of this rambunctious pup. it took months of convincing my partner that a dog was what I needed. he knows me. he knows that the last bout with animals ended up being his responsibility-as the children were there for the licks and love. and me-i typically become annoyed by dogs doing doggy ass shit. he warned, i persisted. i won. although I knew he’d be here forever, i went into this challenging myself to make a connection, to love, to be present, to adore, to care for and tend to this energetic pooch.
since he was my dog, i got the honor of naming him. his name is Poncho. Poncho is the nickname given to my father by his beloved aunt that raised him when others wouldn’t or couldn’t. this felt like the right name for connection. each calling out is reminder of the sweetness of the little boy Poncho. the little boy that grew to be my father. my father. that loved and adored and cared for and tended to and protected me. Poncho, you have some heavy shoes to fill. Poncho, I love you!
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ad*dict
I am an addict. There. I said it. I have had a few addictions over the years, but one of my most current pervasive addictions is media. Media of all kinds to include social media, social gaming, and even the news. I take fasts from social media yearly typically they last 100 days and sometimes when my phone tells me that my screen time is upwards of 4 hours a day.
I am currently on a prolonged fast from social media. I left my platform of choice, Instagram, almost 90 days ago. I have a mostly defunct Facebook page that I recently started eyeballing with no real engagement. My lurking was mainly to see what my out of town family was up to, which I quickly discovered was not much really, or at least not totally divulged on Facebook, excuse me Meta. I was also in that space to check out the happenings in the various therapist groups I joined back in 2019 when getting my practice started. I am now also fasting from Meta.
So, currently social media is tucked away on my phone, hidden from plain sight, and off of my home screen. Since then, I have been dabbling more in the news and a pretty dissociative inducing game called Ball Sort. I have to say that my screen time is not down and after months of reading hot take headlines about goofy U.S. politics, mass shootings, and celebrity goings ons, I have found that I really delight in a good Buzzfeed article about anything regular people say about anything. You know the ones “39 Things Your Great Uncle’s Wife Did On Halloween”.
Today in the news, the Memphis PD will be releasing a set of videos that show a group of Black officers beating a Black male suspect so brutally he subsequently died. And here I am on Tumblr.
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psy*cho*so*mat*ic
it is really real. if ya don’t know now ya know! you can think all you want that the mind body (spirit) connection is a bunch of *crunchy granola* *hippie dippy* insert crystals, candles, and sage here* bullshit. but have you ever really paid attention? I mean really paid attention? check yourself out and see what, if anything, you can find. it is not hard for us to acknowledge the increase in our heart rate in anticipation, fear, and/or panic. the slight flutter of butterflies when we see our boo-thang (probably early on in our relationships), or the stream of tears produced when feeling a range of emotions from sadness to undeniable happiness! but there are other things lurking ever so vaguely or with an explosive force due to the interaction of our mind and body. the 3 ton person on your chest that can accompany anxiety and panic. the headache that comes in anticipation of a difficult conversation. ever get the runs before a presentation, under or overeat when feeling down? ever felt like your feet were stuck to the floor by 25 of those big chewed up gum-balls that used to be a quarter at arcades because you thought you were in danger?
#psychosomatic#mental health#mindbody#breath#pay attention#listen#thestruggle#talk#therapy#therapist#human
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justlikeyou
hello, I am just like you, mostly. but i am also different, just like you. i call myself a therapist of mental health and i have been listening to and collecting stories all of my life. memories of my first collections came in the form of observations and engagement, just like now, without the book learnin’, evidence based practices, ethics, rules, etc. etc. etc.
I have not stopped talking since I started but this [being a mental health therapist] mostly ain’t that. the act of listening is definitely an art. I have learned it well mostly out of a curious spirit that has been stifled over the years as I have come to understand it, the curious spirit that is, as somewhat of a bad thing from others, but I still want to know.
while curiosity (and fascination) has been the impetus of my love of stories, other than my own, more recently I feel it has been a necessity because my perception of being unseen and unheard. if you talk and no one listens or they listen and do not hear you, or see you as a human in their own story of humanness you are only left with the choice to be the listener. when the octave of your communication fails to land correctly between intervals. all anyone including yourself can hear... is the rest. caesura!
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