#Professional Clinical Mental Health Counseling
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Clinical Mental Health Counseling in Ghaziabad: A Path Towards Better Mental Health
Clinical Mental Health Counseling is a type of therapy that primarily addresses mental health concerns. It is an evidence-based practice that is known to help individuals manage their interpersonal relationships, emotional struggles, and behavioural issues. Healing Nest is an effective treatment for depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, and many other mental health issues.
Benefits of Counseling:
Counselling carries multiple benefits that can improve an individual's mental and emotional wellbeing. Counselling can help individuals to understand their thoughts, feelings, and behaviours better. It can provide them with the coping skills to deal with life's challenges and enhance their communication skills, interpersonal relationships, and decision-making abilities. The ultimate goal of counselling is to help individuals achieve a better quality of life.
Types of Counselling:
There are different types of counselling; each type is based on the approach and techniques used by the mental health counsellor. Some common types of counselling include:
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT): CBT is based on the idea that the way one thinks, feels, and behaves is interconnected. CBT helps individuals to identify their negative thoughts and beliefs that are contributing to their mental health concerns. The counselor then works with the individual to change those thoughts and beliefs and replace them with more positive and realistic ones.
Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT): DBT aims to improve an individual's ability to regulate their emotions, behavioral issues, and interpersonal relationships. DBT is primarily used to treat personality disorders, borderline personality disorder, and self-destructive behaviors.
Family Therapy: Family counseling aims to improve family communication and relationships. It helps individuals to recognize the impact their behavior and communication styles have on each other. Family counseling is beneficial in treating family conflicts, parenting issues, and communication problems.
Group Therapy: Group therapy involves a counselor and a group of individuals who share similar mental health concerns. Group therapy can offer support, provide insight, and increase the individual's social skills.
Psychodynamic Therapy: Psychodynamic Therapy is a type of therapy that focuses on an individual's unconscious thoughts and past experiences. The counselor helps individuals to identify and bring back memories and emotions that might be impacting their mental health.
Role of a Mental Health Counselor:
A Mental Health Counselor plays a crucial role in helping individuals' mental and emotional well-being. The counselor listens to the individual's concerns, provides a nonjudgmental environment, and offers support and validation. The counselor works with the individual to identify the factors contributing to their mental health concerns, set goals, and develop coping skills. The counselor also helps individuals to improve their interpersonal relationships, communication skills, and decision-making abilities.
Finding the Right Mental Health Counselor in Ghaziabad:
It is essential to find the right Mental Health Counselor to address your mental health concerns. Here are some tips that can help you to find the right mental health counselor in Ghaziabad:
- Seek Recommendations: Ask your family and friends if they know any trusted and experienced Mental Health Counselors practicing in Ghaziabad.
- Check Credentials: Ensure that the Counselor holds a valid license or certification to practice Mental Health Counseling.
- Read Online Reviews: You can check online reviews of the Counselor online. These reviews give you an idea of the Counselor's expertise, communication style, and approach.
- Schedule an Initial Consultation: Schedule an initial consultation with the Counselor to discuss your mental health concerns, and assess whether the Counselor is a good fit for you.
Summarization
Mental Health is as important as Physical health, and it is essential to take care of both. Clinical Mental Health Counseling is one of the most effective ways to improve one's mental health. Counseling carries multiple benefits that can improve an individual's mental and emotional well-being. There are different types of counseling; each type is based on the approach and techniques used by the mental health counselor. A Mental Health Counselor plays a crucial role in helping individuals' mental and emotional well-being. To find the right Mental Health Counselor to address your mental health concerns follow the tips mentioned above.
Conclusion:
Clinical Mental Health Counseling in Ghaziabad is an effective treatment for mental health issues. It helps individuals to manage their emotional, behavioral, and cognitive concerns. If you are struggling with any mental health concerns, it is essential to seek professional help to improve your mental and emotional well-being. If you are looking for a Mental Health Counselor in Ghaziabad, make sure to do your research and find the right Counselor that suits your needs. Remember, seeking help is the first step towards better mental health.
#Clinical Mental Health Counseling#Clinical Mental Health Counseling Center#Best Clinical Mental Health Counseling#Professional Clinical Mental Health Counseling
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Mental Health Services For Adults in Altamonte Springs, Florida | Psychiatric Medication Management Near Me in Altamonte Springs, FL
Mental Health Services For Adults in Altamonte Springs, Florida | Psychiatric Medication Management Near Me in Altamonte Springs, FL. Harmony United Psychiatric Care is a full-service mental health outpatient clinic that provides a range of services to individuals with mental health, substance abuse, and other cognitive disabilities. The clinic offers medication management, neuropsychological testing, online counseling, and telepsychiatry services. The clinic’s team of professionals includes psychologists and psychiatrists who specialize in treating conditions such as depression, anxiety, bipolar disorders, post-traumatic stress disorders, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, schizophrenia, pre-surgical evaluation, memory problems, adjustment disorder, suicidal thoughts, emotional problems, and eating disorders. The clinic also offers individual therapy, substance abuse and addiction counseling, couples marriage counseling, family therapy, grief counseling, and trauma therapy. Appointments are typically available the same day or the next,and customer service is available 7 days a week from 7:15 a.m. to 6:45 p.m.
Visit : www.hupcfl.com
Call us: +1 800 457 4573
#Mental Health Services For Adults in Altamonte Springs#Florida | Psychiatric Medication Management Near Me in Altamonte Springs#FL. Harmony United Psychiatric Care is a full-service mental health outpatient clinic that provides a range of services to individuals with#substance abuse#and other cognitive disabilities. The clinic offers medication management#neuropsychological testing#online counseling and telepsychiatry services. The clinic’s team of professionals includes psychologists and psychiatrists who specialize i#anxiety#bipolar disorders#post-traumatic stress disorders#attention deficit hyperactivity disorder#schizophrenia#pre-surgical evaluation#memory problems#adjustment disorder#suicidal thoughts#emotional problems#and eating disorders. The clinic also offers individual therapy#substance abuse and addiction counseling#couples marriage counseling#family therapy#grief counseling#and trauma therapy. Appointments are typically available the same day or the next#and customer service is available 7 days a week from 7:15 a.m. to 6:45 p.m.#Visit : www.hupcfl.com#Call us : +1 800 457 4573
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since we now know that all those "my blog is safe for Jewish people" posts are bullshit, here are some Jewish organizations you can donate to if you actually want to prove you support Jews. put up or shut up
FIGHTING HUNGER
Masbia - Kosher soup kitchens in New York
MAZON - Practices and promotes a multifaceted approach to hunger relief, recognizing the importance of responding to hungry peoples' immediate need for nutrition and sustenance while also working to advance long-term solutions
Tomchei Shabbos - Provides food and other supplies so that poor Jews can celebrate the Sabbath and the Jewish holidays
FINANCIAL AID
Ahavas Yisrael - Providing aid for low-income Jews in Baltimore
Hebrew Free Loan Society - Provides interest-free loans to low-income Jews in New York and more
GLOBAL AID
American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee - Offers aid to Jewish populations in Central and Eastern Europe as well as in the Middle East through a network of social and community assistance programs. In addition, the JDC contributes millions of dollars in disaster relief and development assistance to non-Jewish communities
American Jewish World Service - Fighting poverty and advancing human rights around the world
Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society - Providing aid to immigrants and refugees around the world
Jewish World Watch - Dedicated to fighting genocides around the world
MEDICAL AID
Sharsheret - Support for cancer patients, especially breast cancer
SOCIAL SERVICES
The Aleph Institute - Provides support and supplies for Jews in prison and their families, and helps Jewish convicts reintegrate into society
Bet Tzedek - Free legal services in LA
Bikur Cholim - Providing support including kosher food for Jews who have been hospitalized in the US, Australia, Canada, Brazil, and Israel
Blue Card Fund - Critical aid for holocaust survivors
Chai Lifeline - An org that's very close to my heart. They help families with members with disabilities in Baltimore
Chana - Support network for Jews in Baltimore facing domestic violence, sexual abuse, and elder abuse
Community Alliance for Jewish-Affiliated Cemetaries - Care of abandoned and at-risk Jewish cemetaries
Crown Heights Central Jewish Community Council - Provides services to community residents including assistance to the elderly, housing, employment and job training, youth services, and a food bank
Hands On Tzedakah - Supports essential safety-net programs addressing hunger, poverty, health care and disaster relief, as well as scholarship support to students in need
Hebrew Free Burial Association
Jewish Board of Family and Children's Services - Programs include early childhood and learning, children and adolescent services, mental health outpatient clinics for teenagers, people living with developmental disabilities, adults living with mental illness, domestic violence and preventive services, housing, Jewish community services, counseling, volunteering, and professional and leadership development
Jewish Caring Network - Providing aid for families facing serious illnesses
Jewish Family Service - Food security, housing stability, mental health counseling, aging care, employment support, refugee resettlement, chaplaincy, and disability services
Jewish Relief Agency - Serving low-income families in Philadelphia
Jewish Social Services Agency - Supporting people’s mental health, helping people with disabilities find meaningful jobs, caring for older adults so they can safely age at home, and offering dignity and comfort to hospice patients
Jewish Women's Foundation Metropolitan Chicago - Aiding Jewish women in Chicago
Metropolitan Council on Jewish Poverty - Crisis intervention and family violence services, housing development funds, food programs, career services, and home services
Misaskim - Jewish death and burial services
Our Place - Mentoring troubled Jewish adolescents and to bring awareness of substance abuse to teens and children
Tiferes Golda - Special education for Jewish girls in Baltimore
Yachad - Support for Jews with disabilities
#atlas entry#please add any more you know of an especially add fundraisers for you or people you know#if there are any fundraisers for synagogues please add those as well#jew#jewish#judaism#jumblr#punch nazis
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It's been a hot minute since I looked at Canada's National Occupation Classification system. I learned about it when studying career counselling in grad school, and it's pretty useful in terms of job-hunting and getting information on what different types of jobs require and pay.
A friend asked me for advice about becoming a therapist so I went and looked. They redid it since I last visited, and oh man there are some chef's kiss decisions.
There are 9 top-level categories, with 1 being legislative and senior management, 5 being arts, culture, and sport, and 9 being manufacture and utilities. So I was looking for my old job's classification, which used to be 4153 - Family, marriage and other related counsellors. Knowing that made searching the government job bank really easy back in the day, because instead of searching "counsellor" "counselor" "psychotherapist" "mental health therapist" "clinical counsellor" etc etc etc to find them all, I just typed "4153" and hit enter.
Anyway, they redid the system and now that job is parked at 41301 - Therapists in counselling and related specialized therapies. Here's the tree to get there:
Cool cool cool. It's tidier, even if the occupations are still a bit messy. (When I dropped out of the field, the different counselling subdivisions were tapping their toes impatiently waiting for the provincial government to let them form their own professional regulatory college. Which still has not happened. Last week my shrink said he'd got an email from the College of Psychologists announcing that it would be gathering all the smaller counselling fields into its own downy breast instead. I have no idea what's happening anymore.)
Anyway. I scrolled down to another job I once worked and HAHA WHAT
Yes. There are only three sub-units of category 44:
Nannies:
In-home caregivers:
And,
Combat specialists
I find this grouping of professions hilarious, appropriate, and deeply validating. No notes. 🧑🍳👌💋
#staranise original#advice on therapisting#that was the job I still have a scar on my arm from#i badgered my supervisor to death to get that fucking gentle self-defense course because of now unsafe it felt sometimes#man that job broke me#only good thing about that year was my cat and nacho movie night with my roommates#here's to never having to live that year again#sláinte and amen
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you fascinate me so (my sweet refuge)
Summary: Peter is the physical therapist she sees three times a week following New York's latest scheduled disaster. Unbeknownst to her, he is also the one who pulled her from the rubble of her office building.
Pairing: healthcare worker!Peter Parker x Reader (she/her);
Words: 15.6K
Warnings: 18+ mature, dumbasses in love, talk of trauma, shameless flirting, mutually agreed upon impropriety in a medical setting, oral sex
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The Universe is said to always seek balance. It gives and takes with impartiality, whether from the downtrodden or the well-off, in an attempt to keep the world spinning. At least, that's what the guru from the spiritual retreat said. She was there for a long afternoon, her money for the full week be damned. She's not really sure why she went for that option first when there were other perfectly good psychologists to visit. She just felt it would be weird to have someone else apply the same techniques on her that she used on her own patients. Plus, she already has a therapist she's seeing three times a week. She can skip on the head doctor until her body gets better.
It makes her somewhat of a hypocrite, because that's the very thing she's criticized in others: delaying treatment, even if they can afford it. And yet, this is her reality for the foreseeable future: Zoom sessions with her remaining patients while she finds a different office, trying to rebuild her clientele (five of her old-timers are dead), and 7 o'clock physio with Peter Parker every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
She can't even drink to take the edge off, and not just because she's aware of how terrible that would be for her mental health, but also because she's on medication. She'll remain on medication for a long time, a fact that definitely hasn't sunk in yet. She wonders if any of her patients have picked up on differences in her conduct or attitude, because she isn't so sure she's the best judge of that anymore.
The last session of the day ends with an agreement that next time Sara wants to try something exotic in the bedroom, she'll make sure to talk it through with her quite surprised partner. That is, before she presents him with an extensive array of colorful dildos.
At least Sara has someone to proposition. She sighs as she shuts the laptop lid a little harder than normal. Good fucking luck putting yourself out there now, she thinks. It's one thing to not be shallow enough to think physical appearance is everything, and another to be entirely confident in what her body looks like now. She used to like prancing about in her apartment wearing only lingerie, and now the radiators have to be turned off because she gets too warm in her clothes. She tried wearing thinner shirts but she can feel the scars through the fabric.
Her phone chimes with the reminder that she needs to leave for the clinic in Brooklyn. It's much farther away from her Queens apartment than it needs to be, but the therapist came with a glowing recommendation. So far, she can't exactly contradict the stellar review.
Peter Parker is the sort of medical professional you can't fault for anything. His bedside manner is impeccable, and he's incredibly skilled at creating the right atmosphere for each patient. Not like she can vouch for that - he's only seen him work with her, but something tells her he knows how to talk to just about anyone. It's both admirable and a little annoying, because talking is supposed to be her job - her whole job, in fact. Listen and talk. Counsel. Make people feel heard, seen. Make them feel safe. Parker does all those things so well, it makes her a tiny bit jealous. He has an edge over her. Or that's just how it feels in her head, because she hasn't yet managed to figure him out.
It's a bad habit derived from her profession being what it is, and it isn't helped at all by the fact that some people are instantly intriguing. Thirty-year-old Peter Parker had her brain scrambling to decode him the very first time they met. He's insufferably likable, and that means his closet must be full of skeletons. Perhaps tap dancing skeletons. No one is that nice, that skilled and that good-looking without some serious damage. Whatever she needs to tell herself to stop the blood rushing to her face when he smiles in greeting, and rushing other places when he touches the back of her knee. It's wrong of her to think those things about an unsuspecting (at least hopefully unsuspecting) fellow healthcare professional, but it's also hard not to. He's seen her in short shorts and complimented how nicely she was healing. Truthfully, she shouldn't be reading so much into something extremely normal for a physical therapist to say, but Parker is the sort of handsome that when she saw him for the first time, she contemplated abandoning the appointment before having to be vulnerable in front of him.
It was early in her physio journey. She's since grown used to him and his gentle approach, but in the worst way possible. She now looks forward to therapy for all the wrong reasons. In the five months since that first Monday, Peter's company and caring nature have come to override all her reservations. She doesn't even mind the pain she knows she'll be in for an hour each time. That hour is due to start in about three minutes, she notes after shutting her locker.
Gym shorts. Tank top. Wrist band. She could wear different clothes, sure, but that first session she had with him was so tense and uncomfortable that it led to this being the only option. It wasn't his fault. There were just so many scars littering her body that he kept touching one or another whenever he had to do anything, and it psyched her out to the point she started crying. He handled that one like a pro too. He promised he'd do his best not to touch any of them so long as she told him where they were, but the idea of having to point it out every time was even worse than showing skin in front of him. He also said that her reaction is normal - her body isn't the same anymore. She's allowed to mourn the changes as long as she understands they don't make her any less of a person. Her value hasn't changed one bit. If anything, she's survived more than most - it should count for something. Those were his words.
So, here they are. She's a bit soft for him now. The way he greets her in that sultry tone doesn't help at all. He's got a nice voice; he could say pretty much whatever and she'd find it soothing, but what he directs at her is instantly more enticing. Whether it's in her head (most likely) or just what he sounds like with everybody makes very little difference. However, what he's wearing always makes a difference. She's learned in these last five months that earth tones look dreamy on him, in a take-you-home-and-cuddle kind of way. He's wearing a fitted t-shirt tonight, deep burgundy like the late October leaves of the great oak tree across the street from her apartment. It would be cozy enough if he weren't also wearing gray sweatpants, a different pair to his usual black ones. She doesn't allow her eyes to linger.
"Hey tiger," Peter greets with the same easy-going smile as always. He's standing by the massage bed, fixing the head rest to her preferred position.
The room is nice. It ought to be, for how much the clinic charges per session. The colors that dominate the space are mostly soothing, the exception being the splash of bright blue found in one of the wall illustrations. She would not have picked that particular artwork. Spacious but not cold, every station is a decent distance from the next so the patient can focus singularly on their current task. You can't wish you were doing another exercise while working through the one you hate, and for her that was anything floor-related. Every time she lies down on the mat, she remembers being trapped under a slab of concrete.
"Hi," she says quietly, setting her phone down on Peter's corner desk.
"Not feeling up to it tonight?" he asks with a small frown.
She contemplates telling a lie, but doesn't see the point in doing so. However soft she might be for him, he's her therapist first. She would hate being lied to if the roles were reversed. It's just annoying that she has to be honest about things she would definitely hide were this a different type of relationship. She wants to be able to say only those truths that would cast her in a positive light, not talk about her pain levels with him.
"The doctor changed my prescription." She tries getting away with a short explanation, but knows Peter will unravel it to his satisfaction. He's nothing if not thorough, and she can't even fault him for it, because she's known to do the same in her practice.
"Old one not working anymore?" he asks just like she predicted, crossing the room to stand closer to her. She shakes her head.
"Not really. And they give out opioids like candy, so as soon as you tell 'em you're in pain, they jump you."
"I would hope your primary care physician isn't jumping you. You need to report that."
Easy. It's so easy for him to make her lip quirk upwards.
"Or I could just retaliate in kind," she suggests, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.
"Doctor on doctor violence? Savage. Didn't expect that from you," he retorts with a smirk.
"I'm a psychologist, not a doctor," she points out.
"You have a Ph.D."
She tries to come up with something to say in return, but he is correct. She is, technically, a doctor - albeit not a very smart one when standing in front of Peter Parker. If she wrote her doctoral thesis with the same wit and clarity she wields in conversation with him, she'd never have graduated.
"Are you taking the medication?" he switches subjects, a small smile on his face that she registers as victory over leaving her speechless. Could be pity.
"Just started. Thought I could do without for a while, but then I woke up today and called a friend to go get them. I couldn't get out of bed."
Her words hang in the air for a while, and in any other room with any other person, she would dread the sympathy to come with the confession. Peter will give her none of that. She's at ease waiting for him to speak.
"You wanted to power through it?" he asks with that glint in his eyes she can seldom decipher.
"I wasn't trying to be brave. Just didn't want to… I didn't want…" she trails off with a frustrated sigh, rubbing at her eye like it'll summon words to the forefront of her mind.
"It's a lot. The meds change your mood. They mean more side effects. Probably don't need to deal with that along with everything else."
Again, she can't fault him for reading every inch of her with deadly accuracy. She can just pout - in her head. She'd never be caught dead pouting in front of him.
"Yeah. It doesn't help that they're addictive. Probably ruined more lives than they improved."
Addictive substances and behaviors weren't her specialty, but one reads many things when in school for an additional ten years. It would be hard to find a professional in her field who's unfamiliar with the opioid epidemic.
"I know. But you have to get out of bed. The rest we'll figure out as we go," Peter says in encouragement, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
He always does this - he refers to her own health progression like it's a group activity. She doesn't have any argument against it, no matter how hard she tried finding one. It's like everything she's ever done with her own patients is now seeing application in her struggles, and at every turn, the only objection she can think to put forward is this sucks.
"Alright, come on. We can chat over there too." He motions to the wall farthest from them, where they usually begin.
She holds back a groan, already dreading the ache in her deltoid muscle after the first ten minutes will be up. Once their session starts, Peter morphs into a vigilant hawk. He won't let her complain, and he'll only give her the break she actually needs, which she's come to appreciate. It wasn't like that in the beginning.
There was a struggle between them at first. With both of them trained to recognize body language cues in different capacities, a natural competition emerged for who was really right - her, extremely aware of mental processes and needs, or him, experienced in what the body can actually handle. They've learned to work together since; Peter will give her a break as long as she asks for one invoking the real reason she wants it. She can't cheat by pretending her back hurts too much to keep going when it's just her mood that's plummeted.
And it's like he knows when she's going to be difficult. She barely said hello tonight and he picked up on her attitude instantly. It's the mark of a good therapist to be so in tune with and understanding of others, but sometimes, being seen this transparently makes her defensive and unreasonable. Being a psychologist doesn't mean she can't be childishly petulant when it suits her.
"D'you need a map?" Peter asks.
"Huh?" She blinks at him, suddenly put on the spot.
"So you can get back to me. Where'd you go just now? You're not in the room. I need you to focus."
Childishly petulant. She craves a good stomping of her foot at being admonished in this manner, especially by him, but wouldn't that make him correct in every way? So she endures this one gaffe, nodding reluctantly and doing as he asked, thinking she can come out on top some other time. Maybe there's still a little bit of a struggle on her part. What's worst is that she can tell it clearly isn't reciprocated by him. He's just doing his job - she's the one thinking she needs to play mind games to keep her dignity. Or maybe it's some kind of allure she's struggling to maintain in front of him. He can't have her all figured out.
Together, they work through the first set of exercises on rotation tonight. These are meant to improve her arms' mobility and strength, and in the five months since they've started, she's noticed a few positives. She can, for one, open her arms wider than before, but still not all the way. The priority at first was to be able to dress herself, and once that was accomplished, Peter switched gears to less crucial uses of her limbs. Quality of life first, then everything else. It's somewhat of a motto for him, but she's inadvertently found herself saying the words under her breath on particularly awful days. Standing before her, Peter extends his arms to where her last known limit was - just about enough to welcome someone into a hug, but far from a complete 180 degree angle. She mirrors him by bringing her arms up parallel to the ground, then slowly opening them until she matches the angle. Peter gently takes hold of her wrists, wordlessly telling her to breathe through it.
In, out, in, out - steady at first and then shaky as her arms predictably begin to tremble with the effort, but also from nerve damage that will never completely heal. They continue working as the muscles in her back increase their protest, but she says nothing. She wants to disappear into her thoughts again, but Peter is watching her intently, marking every flicker of her eyes and twitch of the brow. She wonders if she'll ever get to watch him like this, roles reversed and vulnerability all his to bear. Keep dreaming.
"You're quiet tonight," he remarks softly, momentarily catching her off guard.
"You told me to focus," she shoots back almost predictably, like she was waiting to make a comment about his reprimanding.
"You're overcorrecting. You're so focused you haven't even noticed we're done."
Are ten minutes up already? And does she want to admit to him that she was busy trying to match the intensity of his gaze for the mind games played only by her?
"Whatever," she says before she can think it through. She sees how it ticks him off. A rare sight.
"Don't 'whatever' me. You're not at the gym, you're in therapy."
His tone is more than gentle, but all she hears are the words. None of the things she's learned at her job keep her from an overblown response. She drops her hands from his hold less delicately than she should and forces a grimace back when a pain current wracks through her spine.
"Am I? I haven't noticed, to be honest. I only come here every other day because my life is great."
Peter fixes her with a look that immediately tells her what he's going to say, and the worst thing is, she knew the moment she finished her sentence that it would only lead to more of him getting the high ground. She keeps saying all the wrong things, despite being more than capable of taking a person apart with words.
"Don't throw a pity party. You're not in the mood, fine. Have a break, we'll move on. You need to vent, then vent. But don't do this."
God, she shouldn't be on the verge of crying in frustration just because she's being met with patience. She shouldn't be seeking to rile him up enough to make him say she isn't worth the effort. That's so messed up, and all the more sad because she knows she's doing it consciously.
"If you got it in your head that you can make me drop you, I'm sorry. The only way you get out of here is if you walk out."
She looks away from his steel gaze. There isn't enough fight in it - at least, not the kind she wants to see. She searches her brain for something to say, something to counter his statement and maybe even make him renege on it, but it takes too long. His warm hand is on her shoulder, one of the only places she's comfortable being touched.
"I'm not letting you quit on yourself," he promises. It's soft like the comfort she isn't sure she wants, and so quiet it can't drown out her sniffle.
"Hey."
Even in her distressed state, she picks up on the change in his voice. He's come a little closer, his other hand lifting her chin up delicately. He's only done this once before.
"It's a bad day today," she finally admits, swallowing around the lump in her throat and daring to look up despite the welling tears. She's met with focused brown eyes that have every intent of drying her own - if she'll let them.
"I can see that. Do you wanna talk about it?"
She nods before she can change her mind. It isn't fair, she knows. She shouldn't put this on him, because he's not her. He's not the psychologist she should be going to see. But, he offered and it was hard to say no.
"Ok. Think we can still do something while we talk?"
"What?"
His lips twitch mischievously.
"You were in a rush on Friday. I didn't get to do my job properly."
Oh. That. The last part of their session is the one most people think of when they hear physio. It's both the best and the worst, because on the one hand, she doesn't have to move. On the other, she has to sit there and pretend she's normal while he flexes and massages every limb expertly, peering down at her with his knowledgeable gaze.
"You're going easy on me?" she tries for humor, but knows he's of a different persuasion.
"Who says I'll go easy? If we're not doing anything else, I'm going all out on this," Peter says, making his way towards the massage bed by the wall. She doesn't follow immediately, waiting for his back to be turned before she runs her mouth again.
"I can handle it, don't worry." She wants to rile him up again, but maybe in a different way this time.
"I know you can."
She thinks she sees a tiny smirk when he half-turns to beckon her forward, but it's gone as soon as it appeared.
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Parker has nice hands, if a little calloused, and he works them so well that she ends up thinking about them long after she gets home. It'd be easier not to, of course, if she hadn't forgotten to bring her lotion and he didn't have to use the one already provided by the facility, because now she smells like him. Every twitch of her finger and brush of her arm as she puts together a meal , every time she moves about the living room trying to tidy up - it all sparks a little firework in her brain and she inhales deeply every few minutes. Pavlovian would describe it nicely, this pressing instinct to just consume something, but she's already eaten dinner and dessert. She's not satiated by a long shot, and she has a feeling she'll be reading herself to sleep tonight if this persists. She's considered a shower more than twice, but each time she glanced at the bathroom door, something turned her away with exquisite resolve.
She realizes with mild intrigue and no small amount of horror that she wants to smell like him, because she likes it. Her first reaction is to correct this. It would do no one any good if she even slightly entertained the notion that she can look him in the eye while thinking inappropriate things about him and his exceptional dexterity. The occasional flirtatious comment that's taken in good faith and goes nowhere is one thing. Unilateral sex fantasies that might get her humiliated, either privately or publicly, are another. The rubber band inside her that feels ready to snap any one of these days can be assuaged some other way. Maybe a documentary that engages her intellect instead of her libido.
She climbs into bed with Netflix and popcorn, knowing the morning will find her stripping her bed sheets instead of picking at every little kernel bound to fall out of her bowl and mouth. She picks the most unappealing subject possible: unethical human experimentation in the late 20th century, and she clicks play with another deep sigh. And she tries following along. She really does. It's just that under the sheets, there is nowhere she can go to escape the woodsy scent drawing her attention to how much better her calf muscles feel after that massage. It would be a nice sensation, if the tension hadn't moved elsewhere.
She hesitates like it'll make a difference. She can't focus on anything. All day, she's been walking around with weights tied to her feet, more so than usual. She woke up in the most pain she's felt since the attack. She was fighting every impulse to snap at her patients. She tried picking a fight with Peter and it failed, and that was a good thing but also a frustrating failure. It scarcely mattered to her coiled up nerves that he made very good points during their conversation. Yes, it's good to admit you're having a tough time. Yes, letting people know about it is always better than holding things in and blowing up unexpectedly. No, she won't sass him next time.
But she wants to. His determination to not let her quit on herself despite her obvious willingness to be rude and unfair just makes the propellers in her mind spin faster. It's an ambition she can't remember ever being stuck with before. He's so composed and patient and insufferably adept at taking her apart with a few well-placed lines and a knowing look, so much so that it makes it difficult not to pick a fight. She wants someone to talk back to. This is her problem. This is why she should not have skipped out on mental health to focus on physical recovery.
And yet, despite seeing this as clearly as any other incontestable fact, she knows she won't be calling any offices tomorrow. And though she should have more self-control than this, her hand still drifts low above her navel, hesitating briefly before figuring she should at least go to sleep with one less frustration. As much as she tries to think of anything else, the scent lingering all around makes brown eyes appear in her imagination and firm hands ghost across parts of her they never would in real life.
---------------------------------
It's only incidentally that the TV was on. Her mother called at noon on Tuesday to make sure she was alright, because every news channel in the country was transmitting live from the Lincoln Tunnel, parts of which had been accidentally demolished in what appeared to be a serious maintenance mistake. Had she not seen the images already, her mother's frantic explanations would have done nothing but throw her into a mild panic attack. The contrast between what the woman is like now and how she used to be growing up always gives her whiplash, but she can't be mad her mother got the help she needed.
As it is, she's doing alright. She tries not to watch obsessively, keeping herself busy between the only three appointments she has today, but every time she checks back in the body count gets significantly higher. By mid-afternoon she has to resort to breathing exercises to steady her mind, and they work insofar as she keeps at them. However, they don't do much of anything when the 6 o'clock news announces what they believe to be the final death toll. Sixty-seven people perished in the chaos and destruction, and almost two hundred more have been hospitalized with mild to severe injuries.
It's a day of mourning in New York, like so many before it. She, like many others in the city, is glued to her screen with an array of emotions she's doing her best to handle. Others, much less fortunate than them, are crying and screaming, paralyzed by shock and grief. The least fortunate aren't feeling anything at all, and who knows what they might've felt in their last few moments.
She has an idea. Images like the ones shown today dance behind her eyelids just about whenever she isn't keeping a tight lock on her focus. They've been rapaciously beating at her door on and off throughout the day, and she is running out of viable distractions. Many aren't even an option at this time, because she'd feel terrible watching a movie to distract herself from all this. Maybe she should just read that study she's been meaning to get around to and simply go to sleep, sure to wake tomorrow with a little less stinging sorrow.
She intends to do just that, but right as she prepares to take her meds and climb into bed, her phone chimes with its usual ringtone. She's surprised to read Peter's name on the screen, but answers quickly nonetheless.
"Hi," she says evenly. There's a lot of wind on his side, and she wonders if he heard her because he doesn't say anything at first.
"Can you hea-"
"I have to cancel tomorrow."
Her judgment immediately sends her down the most obvious path, and she wastes barely a second before flicking her psychologist switch on. She's never heard his voice like that, over the phone or in person.
"Are you alright? Was anyone you know - "
"No. I just - I can't. See you Friday."
She takes a short breath before trying again.
"Peter, I know we're not very close, but you can trust me with anything. I promise. If you need to talk, I'm here."
She isn't sure what's wind and what's breath at first, but a noise cuts through that she's too familiar with to mistake for anything else. He hangs up before she can speak again.
------------------------------
At three in the morning, a short jingle from her nightstand chases away already restless sleep.
Back on for tomorrow. See you at 7.
A few seconds later, another bubble manifests as she reads the first one over.
Thank you.
She sighs, dropping the phone next to her as her thoughts are overtaken by an urge she's always found impossible to resist. She takes apart their phone call and his texts like they're ancient secrets one can only decode with the right tools, and finally taps out at six, an hour or so before the autumn sun rises. Wednesdays are free, and she always sleeps in. Today of all days would be best spent away from news and the general public, but she can't stop thinking about what she'll say to him tonight. She fell asleep thinking of him and awoke worse off for it, but there's also an energy that refuses to dissolve no matter what she distracts herself with.
You have to get out of bed. The rest we'll figure out as we go. More of his little phrases find their way into her daily rotation of things she tells herself to keep going. Today, it's the words he told her on Monday that keep the soles of her feet from retreating into the plush mattress, away from the hardwood floor and inevitable pain. She sets one foot in front of the other until she makes it to the kitchen, and she takes her morning medication with less dread than two days ago. She has to train herself to notice the slightest improvement, much like she asks her patients to do. And then, once successful, she has to reward herself somehow.
Today, her reward will be a day without guilt. Horrible things happen all the time with no rhyme or reason. Yesterday was a terrible accident, and that day all those months ago happened to be a vicious attack, but all the same, the result is suffering. She'll try not to think of everything that's been clawing its way into her awareness since noon yesterday, and she'll see where it takes her.
The first item on her task list is prepping her bag for tonight, because risking another forgetful episode and ending up with the same frustrations she did on Monday is unacceptable. It's not just the guilt of surviving that she'll try to avoid for today. She touched herself to the thought of him and tonight she has to look him in the eye. It wasn't even an elaborate fantasy - she guesses maybe two minutes passed before she was slumping back into the bed, the tension having snapped almost unexpectedly when she thought of what he'd sound like moaning her name. She's sure the real thing might put her in an early grave, but why waste time imagining the impossible?
They're alright, but their chemistry isn't off the charts. They get along fine as far as the patient-therapist relationship is concerned, and they've had a chat here and there about more personal things, but they're hardly in each other's lives in any other capacity. He did once ask her if she'd like to grab a smoothie, mindful of the fact she couldn't drink on meds, but she was running late for an evening class after physio and took a rain check. She ended up never collecting, and he never asked again. Maybe if she had, she wouldn't be grasping at straws now, trying to figure out his phone call to her.
Despite her background and training, a part of her still believes that some people are just meant to click. Instantly, they know they'll be a fixture in each other's experiences on Earth. She cried the first time she met with him, and was more than embarrassed and uncomfortable for the following days. Hardly the start of an alluring romance. It doesn't stop her from conjuring what-ifs and crafting the perfect exchanges that might lead to one thing or another, but at the end of the day, what is there to offer him?
A lifetime of chronic pain and debilitating nerve damage that would take the fun out of most things. There are so many date ideas she can't even entertain. When will she ever put on a pair of skates again, or go hiking on a challenging trail? When will she ever wear a dress that shows any kind of skin again? Be carefree taking it off? Get down on her knees for someone?
She perks up before she can sink even further down the spiral, wiping away the one tear or two that managed to escape with her wayward thoughts. Her coffee machine has sat unused for months. Caffeine is off limits too, and tea is a suitable replacement, but she might also just risk it and have a flat white. Her body isn't going to get any better. She might as well enjoy some things while her heart and liver aren't drowning in medication.
She sips at the long-desired indulgence as the first texts of the day pour in, all in response to the one she sent out following the accident yesterday. Most of her patients get back with reassurances they're alright, but by four in the afternoon, one notable absence sits on her brain until she picks up the phone to verify. It rings a few times before a surprisingly small voice utters a quiet hello, and she realizes this must be Emily, the eight year-old girl whom Christie once referred to as her entire reason for living, but also the reason she never got to live.
"Hey sweetheart. Can you put your mommy on the phone for me?" she asks gently, trying to guess what her answer might be. Something has happened for sure, because Christie really isn't the sort of person who lets her daughter pick up a ringing phone, not when they're looking over their shoulder for a rageful man.
"Mommy's in bed. I don't think she wants to talk to anyone. She won't talk to me."
Deep breaths.
"I see. Hey Emily? Can you do me a favor? You don't have to, but if you put the phone on the bed next to mommy, I can talk to her. Make her feel better. She doesn't have to say anything, she just has to listen. How does that sound? Do you wanna help me help mommy to feel better?"
"Yes," Emily says in that heartbreaking way children usually do when found helpless. It's almost a question.
"Alright sweetheart. Thank you. Just put the phone next to mommy on the bed and let us have a chat, yeah? And can you tell me one more thing?"
"What?"
"Have you eaten today?"
"Mm… not really. I'm a little hungry." She can almost hear the shrug in the girl's shoulders, because of course - her mom is lying in bed, isolated and unresponsive. For children, not being loved is a much more immediate fear than going hungry.
"Ok. How about, while I talk to mommy, you go make yourself a sandwich? Yeah? Don't use the stove if mommy isn't there."
"Ok. I won't."
"Thank you."
It takes a minute, but rustling on the other side and Emily's muffled I love you lets her know the phone is where it's supposed to be. Now for the difficult part.
"Christie? I know you can hear me, so don't pretend you can't. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but you do need to listen." She pauses for her own benefit, trying to dispel a frown she barely realized was carving deep ridges into her forehead.
"I talked to Emily earlier. I've never heard her voice before. She sounds smaller than she is, doesn't she?"
No response.
"She's also smarter than you think she is. Little girls her age see you better than you see them. What's Emily been seeing today? What's she been thinking? Do you know?"
Nothing.
"She's been thinking her mommy doesn't care about her, Christie. She didn't go to school. She hasn't eaten. I know you're probably tired of hearing your own thoughts from my mouth, but motherhood is exhausting. You don't get breaks. You don't get to turn away when you don't feel like it. You have to get out of bed. Every day. For her."
"What the fuck do you know about it?"
"You're right. I don't have children. But I had a mother who didn't care if I was cold, or hungry, or scared, and I've worked with kids who grew up like that too. They don’t know how to pick a friendly face in a crowd. Everyone looks hostile to them. You don't want to do that to Emily. She's too precious. She doesn't deserve it."
"She doesn't," Christie sobs, but the line goes quiet for the longest time, long enough that she doesn't think anything else will be said. She looks out the window at the great oak tree being robbed of its burgundy treasures by an unkind gust of wind, following a particularly large leaf with her eyes until it touches the ground. Christie speaks four minutes after that.
"This little girl… she died in my arms yesterday."
Her breath catches on nothing, expecting anything but that to be the reason for Christie's catatonic state. She's had episodes before, but never have they been triggered by something this serious.
"Were you - Were you in the tunnel, Christie?"
Despite the immediate pain, she has to stand up from her kitchen table right in that moment, or she'll lose her cool at the worst possible time.
"No." Another sob drowns the phone line, but this one isn't followed by an endless stretch of silence. When it rains, it pours.
"I was going to pick Em up from school. I came out of the tunnel right before it blew. So many - so many people were trying to help. They were pulling everyone from the rubble. From the water. Old people, parents, little - little kids. They were so small. I don't know what I was doing… Someone just handed me this little girl who was blue in the face. She couldn't breathe very well. I tried to help her, I did. Please believe me. She was just so little. She was gone so, so fast. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't."
There comes a point in therapy when the boil threatens to singe both patient and provider. Fresh trauma has the potency of a thousand latent squabbles and shortcomings. It's a motorcycle on a tank frame, uncontrollable and well guarded against reason, experience or wisdom. There's only one or two weak points that can unravel the entire thing, but no two models are ever completely similar. You have to work with new eyes every time.
"Christie. That isn't your fault. What happened yesterday was a horrific turn of events. An accident of negligence, if you're comfortable with that. They happen to good people. They happen to bad people. No one has to do anything to deserve it. That little girl wasn't guilty of anything. You're not at fault for not being able to help her. Whatever you're thinking, nothing is going to happen to you. Or to Emily. There is no cosmic punishment for deeds done or not done. There are only people, and the things that happen to them. And we're only responsible for the things we choose, not the ones that happen to us."
"If I lose Em, I don't want to live."
She breathes in sharply, holding it for a few seconds and releasing it slowly.
"Christie, Emily is right there. She's in the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Your little girl is thinking about you. You're thinking about her. But you're right next to each other. You can go give her a hug. Nothing is stopping you. You can spend all the time you want with her."
"What if something happens to her?" Christie whispers.
What if. Of all the questions she hears from patients, the ones that start with those two words are the trickiest to steer away from. So often they are nothing more than facts of life. What if someone I love dies? What do I do with all that love? What do I do with myself?
"You can't spend all the time you have with her thinking about that. That's why we're alive. We're here to love others until we can't. No one is offering you guarantees, and no one gets to know how long they have. That's life. It gave you Emily. It's giving you time to love her and care for her. That's enough. It has to be."
Moments pass. Christie releases a ragged sigh. It's that sound that makes some of the tension leave her shoulders, but her leg hurts more than usual. She didn't even realize she'd been gripping her thigh viciously all throughout the phone call to keep centered. Focused. Keep herself from being too involved in a subject so close to home.
"Can you stay on the phone with me until I get to her?"
"I can stay as long as you need me to."
It's another minute or two until she hears hushed whispers and sweet apologies, and it takes her a while longer than it should to hang up, intruding on a mother and her daughter's private moment for her own selfish reason. Christie doesn't need her anymore for now. She did well. If only she could reason with herself this effectively.
She sets her phone down on the kitchen table and glances at the oven clock. Just after five. She has some time to wind down after the impromptu therapy session, and the two hours between now and physio are just about enough to grab food at that Korean place by the clinic. Already dressed, she takes a cab to Brooklyn that only manages to wind her up even more, because the driver, however polite, insists on telling her things she didn't ask about the tragedy everyone is discussing. Even within her extensive repertoire of conversation dampeners she can't find a sensible way of asking him to stop without seeming like she doesn't care about the victims of a horrible event. She does slam the car door with all the strength she can muster after getting out. It hurts, but it's worth it to blow off some steam.
Woori Bar & Grill caught her eye weeks ago, but eight p.m. has always been too late for heavy foods and she's always been too tired after physio to keep standing. Well, not exactly - she's always been too sleepy after being handled by Peter, and it always took the car ride home to wake herself up. She's wide awake right now, which is why she spots him at the bar almost immediately upon entering, like her eyes had nowhere else to land but there.
It's almost six, which is strange, but maybe he got hungry and had some free time. Unfortunately, her assumption is dispelled as she studies him. Peter is nursing a half-full whisky tumbler, head hung low and body language almost textbook perfect. He's most definitely drunk. Proceed with caution. Crossing the room almost diagonally, she makes her way to him with a neutral expression, and notices him notice her without even looking. It's like someone plugged him into the wrong outlet. She can sense he isn't going to be welcoming.
Stopping a couple of feet away, she sets her bag down on the empty chair next to him and sighs to herself. She can see the right side of his face. He seems adamant about staring at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, what she can discern of his features set into an icy glare.
"Are we still on for tonight?" She chooses to open with the obvious, because dancing around the topic wouldn't serve either of them. This is a version of Peter she hasn't seen before, and he proves her right when he scoffs into his drink.
"Why? Did you answer my texts?"
He's caught her off guard. Completely. Even a brief recall makes her realize that no, she didn't. She read them twenty-seven times, but she didn't answer. It's a fuck up that he seems to want to use against her, but if he thinks he can, she'll demonstrate otherwise.
"No, but I saw them. I assumed that was that, we were still on. I should've answered earlier, I'm sorry."
"Yeah well, I'm sorry too." He doesn't sound apologetic, for whatever it is he might be referring to.
"For what?"
Peter veers his head at her, and she's too surprised by the cuts littering the left side of his face to be affected by his words.
"For thinking you were serious about recovery."
He's in pain. The eyes that normally watch her with patience and care drag across her face with disdain that isn't meant for her at all. She can see that, and she knows it to be true in her mind, but it's still hard to be on the receiving end of his disapproval, however misdirected.
"You don't think I'm serious about my recovery because I didn't answer your three a.m. texts?" She raises an eyebrow. "Be honest, Peter. You're having a bad day. You're not in the mood, fine. You need to vent, then vent. But don't do this."
Throwing his words back at him isn't something she does to be petty or retributive. She says them to him because he was right to say them to her.
"I don't need to vent. Least of all, to you." He glares, pushing the glass away as he turns his body towards her more.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks patiently, without malice. She isn't insulted. She can't be, because she's needed right now.
"Like you don't know?" he sneers. "You don't think I can see you, taking me apart in your head every time we meet? Trying to figure me out? Suspicious of everything, like I'm judging you instead of helping you? You're always trying to pick a fight, like that'll give you your precious insight into who I really am. Well, here you go. Here's your fight."
He puffs up his chest but it's just a drunken motion, supported by the fact that he has to keep his left arm on the counter so he doesn't fall off the chair.
"Something bad happened to you, and now you're waiting for someone to confirm what you already think about yourself. You want someone to tell you you're wasting your time. That you'll never be the same. You don't like me looking at you up close. You can't stand that you aren't seeing what you expect to see. Why am I looking at you like you're a person someone might want? Isn't that what you think?"
All the restraint in the world isn't enough to keep her eyes from welling up with hot tears, but she refuses to cry. He doesn't mean any of it. He doesn't.
"I don't know what happened to you, but you're lashing out at me unfairly," she says, voice shaking despite her best effort not to let it.
"Unfairly? You don't think it's fair? You get to live. Others don’t. You're alive, and you're acting like it's this great inconvenience. The pain has nothing to do with it. You just don't think you're worth it now that you're damaged. You don't think you have anything to offer anyone."
It feels like her feet are nailed to the ground. They won't listen to her command to turn and just get out of here.
"I don't understand what I did to you." She switches approaches, because this is too personal. The vitriol he's hurling at her can't originate anywhere else. It might be caused by something else entirely, but something is bothering him about their relationship specifically. She wants to know what.
"Oh, you don't? Every time you show up for therapy, you're waiting for me to act the opposite of how I feel. Every time I smile at you, you don't think it's sincere. Every bad day you have, you think I'll tell you to leave. I could get down on my knees for you and you'd think it was a declaration of war."
It's too much. He's said so much in just a few minutes that she's now disoriented and afraid to speak, should he unveil more of her worst thoughts in response. He's looking at her with unbearable clarity. Is he even drunk at all? He hasn't slurred any of his words. He's just used them to take her apart, vivisecting her in public to no one's awareness. Nobody can help her, and she wouldn't ask anyway. He's right. About everything. It burns at her soul so badly that she wants revenge, despite knowing better. But who is he to peel away at things she hasn't even dared say out loud? To throw it all in her face like he's perfect and all-knowing and was just waiting on her to put it together like the inferior mind reader she is?
"I didn't see you get down on your knees. All I saw was you doing your job. Or was I supposed to jump you because you saw my body up close and didn't look away disgusted?"
The incision isn't quite as precise as his, and in any case, he's had something to dampen his reception of it. She has to fight with him sober and blindsided, while he looks like he's been sitting on this for a while.
"Fuck off. That's all you saw because that's all you'd let yourself see. But you can't lie to yourself when you're alone. There's no one to pick a fight with to distract yourself."
Peter stands from the bar chair quickly enough that she doesn't have time to move back, and they brush chests when he squares his shoulders. He peers down at her with narrowed eyes that have lost some of their fight, and his lips quirk upwards in a self-satisfied smirk.
"I bet you think about me when you're alone."
"Is that what you're doing? Picking a fight with me to distract yourself? What happened to you? Where did you get the cuts on your face?" she insists, ignoring his daring statement.
Something of what she says makes his eyes harden again, but it's like he's left the room to go somewhere unreachable. He's not here with her, but wherever all this started. She tries pushing through one more time.
"What happened, Peter?"
His face crumbles. He's the picture of overwhelming grief for only one second, because he sidesteps her and heads for the door before she can react.
"Peter!"
She shouldn't follow after him. She's heard more than enough for one night, and he's packed too many hurtful truths in what amounted to barely half a therapy session. So, whatever makes her hurry in his direction can only spring from irrationality. Typically, irrational actions are fueled by three things: anger, envy and a third thing she isn't willing to admit to.
Despite having only spent minutes inside the bar, the chill of late October hits her much worse than when she got out of the cab. She pulls her cardigan closed as she follows a worryingly wobbly Peter down the sidewalk, guessing he must be headed to the clinic just a few blocks away. By the way he's swaying left and right, he shouldn't have been able to say even one coherent thing to her, but he rattled off all her faults like he was speaking directly from her subconscious.
"Come on, Peter. Just stop!" she calls after him, but he continues on without acknowledgement. He's walking too fast for her to catch up without putting herself through significant discomfort, yet she keeps following at an increased pace. They make it for two blocks before she shrieks in pain. Her shoe gets caught onto a sharp protrusion from the pavement, and she puts her arms out to break the fall, but her knee still takes the brunt of it. It's so intense she grits her teeth hard, grunting through tightly closed lips as shocks travel along the cartilage. Her palms burn with indented gravel that scrape at easily breakable skin, and her left arm gives way from the impact, leaving her head to bounce off the pavement.
Breathing shallowly and gripping whatever she can to soothe the pain, she doesn't realize Peter has returned until his hands cover hers. He's muttering incessant no's under his breath, moving skittishly and touching her seemingly everywhere at once before cradling her head in his lap.
"No please, please. Please, not you."
He says it over and over, and she's so confused it almost overrides the pain emanating from the bluntness of the impact. Peter begins to murmur apologies as he dabs at her temple with the hem of his shirt, making her look up at him in a daze. She's putting all the effort into studying his face, hoping it'll both distract her from the burning of her knee and unravel previously elusive mysteries. Like why his eyes seem to be perceiving something other than what he's really seeing, and why his chapped lip trembles like something horrendous has happened.
Something horrendous has happened, she realizes, but not here and not now. She reaches up with her less injured hand to wipe the tears that begin to fall, noting how warm the skin of his cheek is. Her other hand goes to cover the one of his that rests awkwardly on her shoulder. He's touching her where he knows she's comfortable, despite his frantic outburst just a few seconds ago. She doesn't think she'd mind very much if he just swallowed her up the way he seems to be itching to do.
"Do you need a map?" she whispers to him, drinking in his glistening eyes and wholly wishing to dry them.
"What?" Peter sniffles, just as quiet of a whisper leaving him.
"So you can get back to me."
He flounders in response, clearly not knowing what to do. Her thumb needs to stop brushing the underside of his jaw before she does something stupid like asking him to kiss her. He's in distress. He's drunk. She's taken a bit of a tumble, and his words still linger not very far from her heart. They're a mess tonight.
"Can you help me up?"
To her surprise, he doesn't. He swoops her up entirely, and a frightened whimper escapes her at the thought of how wobbly he was a minute ago. She'd put both arms around his neck if she could, but her left can't reach. The angle is too wide. The adrenaline must be wearing off now, because she's hurting in more places than she realized.
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
She scoffs, amused. Even she knows it's not that bad.
"You're taking me to the clinic so I can get a band-aid and a leg compress. Maybe a lollipop for being so brave."
Peter nods, looking serious like a heart attack, and it makes her laugh despite herself. She can only hope they'll make it the remaining few blocks without another tumble, and she's impressed to find that he seems to have shaken off his stupor entirely. His grip and balance are both excellent, and she feels secure. Not that she has anything to compare it to - she's never been carried before, at least not that she remembers. Either he's masking it very well, or the intoxication evaporated some time in the last few minutes. The woman at the front desk stands up in surprise when they enter, but Peter assuages her concern with a quick dismissal.
"It's ok Norah, I got her."
In some capacity, she does feel 'gotten', whatever that means. His chest is warm and solid against her head, and though he still smells of alcohol, the scent that spun her in a tizzy Monday night lingers at his collar. It's different on him. It's the difference between melting sugar in cold versus hot water. One of them takes significantly less to achieve its purpose. She isn't exactly eager to be set down, but eventually his warmth does leave her. She keeps inhaling surreptitiously until he gently puts her down on the massage bed. He leaves the room before she can even sit up properly, and she has a minute to sober up alone.
First deciding to assess the damage, she pulls the hem of her tracksuit bottoms to just above her knee, seeing the skin is already starting to bruise in that nice way that lets her know some tiny blood vessels popped. Not that she can see all that many of them under the layer of scars running from knee to ankle. They're jagged and nonsensical, because rebar doesn't usually follow a steady pattern when piercing your leg. The pain is somewhat manageable, but she suspects that's because she took her medication only an hour before leaving for the Korean place. A mild stabbing sensation every few seconds is the worst of it, at least for now.
The second part of the assessment is the worst one. There's much to think about, particularly all the things that were said that crossed many lines. Professionally and personally, a transgression has occurred.
When Peter returns, he stops closer to the door than to her. Their eyes meet, and they both appear to be thinking along the same lines. He's holding a first aid kit in one hand and leg compression sleeve in the other.
"I can um - I can get someone else to do this if you don't want me to uh… Just, if you don't want to see me right now."
She hums, studying him from head to toe. Not wanting to see him is an exaggeration, she knows that. And though he seems to have calmed from his previous state, he was inebriated enough to be swaying left and right. Maybe talking more isn't the brightest idea. So why can't she decline politely and say they'll meet up at a better time for them both?
"Do you want to?"
His eyes widen.
"Want to what?"
"See me," she clarifies.
All at once, he seems to soften up - shoulders sagging, releasing a breath that looked like it hurt to hold in, head tilting. He steps closer and closer until he's right there, jeans lightly brushing against her exposed knee. He's caging her in with his gaze, and she's letting him.
"I wanna take care of you."
Her soft little sigh is, even to her ears, the picture of weakness. How does it take only a handful of words to make her throat close up? How is she seeing things that aren't even there?
"Stop doing that," Peter says, lips pressing together for the briefest moment before he speaks again. "You heard what I said. That's all there is. Stop turning it into something else in your head."
He speaks so determinedly, she misses the moment he sets down the supplies he brought, and it's only when she feels his light touch under her chin that she's embarrassed to notice her eyes well up.
"If you need me to say it flat out, then I guess that's what I gotta do."
That line snaps her attention like an unruly planet pulled into orbit by a much larger cosmic force. Suddenly, she's just there to listen with no background noise.
"I care about you. You're important to me. I know it might not look that way, because I said a lot of awful things to you. But I swear, I didn't mean any of them. I was - " He looks away. "Something terrible did happen. I was taking it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I never should have. I might've just blown it all up before I even -"
He sighs in frustration, but it's also just the most exhaustion she's seen him display, ever. Peter looks worn out, and the contrast between the him she's come to know and the person in front of her now is more jarring than it should be. He didn't get like this overnight; it was her that missed and misinterpreted who knows how many clues into his well-being. The cuts on his face solidify that fact even more. Some psychologist she is. Where was she looking? Was she looking away, trying so hard not to be seen by him that she ended up the one blinded?
"What do you think you've blown up?" she asks, hoping her voice will work and surprised when it does.
Peter bites the inside of his cheek, letting his hand drop from her chin and running it through his hair.
"I dunno. Maybe I've been imagining things too. Seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe there wasn't anything to blow up."
Her heart surges through her throat and attempts to crawl out of her mouth. She hasn't been this scared in a while.
"Peter. Please, tell me what you think you've blown up," she finds herself begging, unable to give a verdict until she knows beyond any doubt what he was trying to say.
And Peter, for his part, looks misty eyed and desperate too. Time has slowed down just a little bit.
"This. Us. If that was ever a thing. I can see why you might not feel that way now, but I - I do. I don't know if I can say it any more clearly."
Breathing out to try and regain some semblance of outer calm, her initial reaction is to look away while speaking. But she can't. She owes him the same direct honesty, and she's been averting her gaze for too long anyway.
"You haven't blown anything up." For a moment, she thinks that will be enough, but quickly realizes it's only because she's hoping to spare herself vulnerability. Unfortunately, that's also the instinct that got them here, so getting them out will require a different approach. She needs to say what she thinks, and she needs to stop turning very clear statements into something less than what they are. He likes you. Deal with it.
"I like your smile. I've never thought it wasn't sincere. I just thought that maybe it was too good to really mean what I wanted it to mean," she confesses, taking a break to let the words be heard by her too. She's uncomfortable in every way one gets when utterings truths that have never seen the light of day. It makes language seem a different force altogether, capable of wielding reality in unpredictable ways - the opposite of everything she's learned to do.
"You said some harsh things I wish I didn't have to hear from you, but you didn't lie. And you weren't fully yourself. I was worried you might still not be, but you seemed pretty observant at the bar, so…"
Peter winces in response, seemingly wanting to say something in return but stopping himself to let her continue.
"It's ok. I don't hold grudges." She smiles. "Especially not against people I need in my life."
He looks caught off guard, and she wonders if what she said is a surprise to him. He had her all figured out just a little while ago.
"I'm sure there's a lot of specialists in town who could do the job."
He picks now to be coy? Or is he the one flustered for the first time? It's strange to think that just a couple of days ago she was wondering if they'd ever switch places, with him being the one under the microscope for a change. Is this that moment? It's not as triumphant as she thought it would be. This doesn't feel like a power struggle. It's just two idiots doing what should have been much easier from the beginning, what with their respective professions.
"Maybe, but none of them are you. I need you in my life as Peter, not as my therapist."
"Is this you saying you no longer require my services?"
It's good to see a glimpse of his usual good humor returning. It lights up his eyes to her preferred twinkle, and she doesn't feel as tense that she might be staring at his mouth. It's allowed now - in moderation. Still, there is something she'd like to address tonight, before it fizzles out into obscurity and remains a sore spot between them.
"What you said earlier, about me being afraid I have nothing to offer anyone - " His grimace gives her pause, but she presses on ahead for the sake of clearing the air.
"I have thought that before. I can't say it isn't on my mind more than once a day, especially if I'm by myself. I just wanted to make things clear. I don't hate myself. I just know there's a lot of things I can't do anymore. I'm in pain every day. It makes me tired, and it makes me more irrational than even I know what to do with. And it's not shallow of me to say that yes, I don't look the same anymore. I haven't come to terms with that. I don't know how to be carefree just wearing whatever. I - you know I don't like being touched. That's not going to go away immediately just because I know how you feel now. It's fine when you do it in our sessions, but somehow, the thought of it happening in any other setting sort of…" Makes me nervous.
She doesn't continue because it might be a little too much honesty. She didn't need to bring up the concept of him touching her in different contexts. That's not the kind of thing people discuss before they've even gone on one date. But, she has brought it up, and now she must deal.
"Do you think you wouldn't like it?"
Jesus, that was blunt and an absolutely insane question. She remembers every bit of the fantasy she had Monday night. He probably wouldn't even have to touch her to unwind her like a clock. Daring to peek at him, she's surprised by the genuine intrigue she finds there. He really wants to know, because he might not be as good a mind reader as she assumed.
"No, that's not it. I know I would, I just - "
"You know you would?"
Shit. Shit. Of all the things to say without thinking.
"So you have thought about me."
The smirk in his voice makes her groan, but she resists the urge to climb off the bed and scurry away. The brave thing to do would be to just face him and admit that yes, she has thought about many things, but that would just give him the upper hand. Instead, she'll take the coward's way out and provoke him.
"And you haven't?" she asks, blinking at him. They're the same height in this position, and it's weirdly empowering to not have to look just slightly upwards all the time.
The question rattles him, but not as much as she thought. In fact, the glint she can see take shape in his eyes spells nothing but danger.
"I'll tell if you do."
If she replaced the Cheshire Cat with a picture of him on the cover of Alice in Wonderland, she doesn't think anyone would notice.
"Information isn't free. It has to be earned."
Wherever that comes from, it manages to change the atmosphere in the room in seconds. Peter is quiet as she watches him, transfixed by his expression. It's then that he moves closer, tapping her knee with a featherlight touch. She parts them on instinct, enough to allow him to step forward. He's so close now that her breathing automatically becomes shallow and her eyes unfocused for the briefest moment. It feels good to have him standing between her legs, but the real delight is his arm slowly wrapping around her lower back and pulling her against him, eyes watching attentively for any sign of discomfort. None to be found.
"I wanna kiss you. I've been thinking about that, among other things."
It's really unfair the way her ears seem to be working better than they ever have, picking up on every breathless little whisper, every change in tone from him and sending all that information not to her brain, but much lower down.
"Please."
Every second he leans in closer her heart beats faster, and she worries it might actually stop in her chest when their lips touch. It's gentle and soft and so languid it drives her insane, because the way he's holding her to him and gasping against her mouth between switching angles makes her toes curl in her shoes like she's never been kissed.
His other hand comes up to the junction of her neck and jaw, big and firm and hypnotizingly warm. Embarrassingly, a low moan escapes her lips right before he captures them again, tightening his arm around her in response. A single kiss has never been good enough to make her moan like that, and she fights the urge to wrap her legs around him. She's not sure how that would work out, because they already feel pretty weak and her knee still hurts.
Peter pulls away slowly, thumb caressing her cheek and making her keep her eyes closed for a second longer. When she opens them, she finds a wholly different Peter, pink lips parted enticingly and eyes just a tinge darker than they were before. It's something about his face, or maybe just the way he's holding her, or his scent once again spinning her stupid, but he's changed somehow. The way she's being looked at, though new and unusual, is instantly recognized by the instinctive part of her brain, the part that doesn't really have much to say while her eyes follow him, mesmerized, as he reverently drops to his knees in front of her.
She swallows quickly before she can choke on air. Peter is so close she can feel his breath on the skin of her exposed knee, which his face is almost level with. She's getting more dizzy with every passing second, and she can't decipher the question in his eyes until he says it out loud.
"Can I take care of you, sweetheart? Show you what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs.
The vibration of his lower timbre sends her pulse climbing and a shiver runs through her entire body when his hand touches hers on the edge of the bed. He lifts it gently so he can put his underneath.
"Or maybe you can show me what you've been thinking. Hmm?"
He wants her to show him? Fuck, this is bad. It's a proposal she has trouble processing, because how have all her reservations flown out the window the instant she looked down at him? He might be the one kneeling, but her brain is the one that got short circuited. She can't think of any reason to deny herself what he's offering because she can't think at all. Peter Parker is on his knees, asking to take care of her like that's a thing she knows how to respond to.
"What's going on in that head of yours? Still overthinking?" he asks not unkindly. Someone else would've been turned off by her silence a while ago, but he keeps looking up at her through those unfairly long lashes.
"I don't know what to say," she answers honestly before she can run it through a filter.
"Just say what you're feeling. Do you want me to touch you?"
"Yes." Fuck, that was even faster than her previous answer and more effortless than she imagined.
"So show me where to touch you, baby. You're in control. Show me how to make you feel good."
She breathes in through her nose to attempt to steady herself, removing her hand from atop his to guide it to his cheek, and just that singular touch has her skin tingling with anticipation. When he leans into her palm she almost closes her eyes.
"I thought about you a few days ago," she tells him quietly.
"Yeah?"
She nods, all of a sudden shy but doing her best to mimic his confidence.
"Remember how I forgot to bring my lotion? And you had to use the one here?"
Peter looks confused for a moment before he nudges her hand, urging her to continue.
"I couldn't think of anything all night because I kept smelling you on me."
Her hand leaves Peter's cheek, moving back to cover his hand and boldly guide it to her covered knee. She keeps it there for a few moments before moving hers away.
"I couldn't sleep either. I kept seeing you every time I closed my eyes."
Peter listens intently, moving his hand in a motion that's meant to be soothing but just serves to wind her up. His touch isn't new, but the context and intent are so different that it doesn't matter. If anything, it only makes her wonder more.
"Yeah? What'd you do?" he murmurs.
She tears her eyes away before answering, because despite talking being her main activity in life, saying sensual and lewd things to Peter Parker makes her feel like she's never said anything eloquent ever.
"I thought about you touching me. Like you are now, just… less clothes."
He raises an eyebrow in question, and this time he doesn't have to say it out loud. He's asking her permission and she all too willingly gives it, taking his hand again and guiding it to the waistband of her pants. She helps him pull them off by leaning back on her hands, and she notes with amazement that she's completely forgotten about the tumble she took earlier. The heels of her hands are still smarting, but she can't find it in herself to care.
But, suddenly, reality hits: she's in her underwear in front of Peter and he's looking at her through hooded eyes, and she realizes her fantasy doesn't hold a candle to the real thing. Nervousness blossoms in the pit of her stomach, but she doesn't get to say anything before Peter takes her hand again.
"We don't do anything you don't want, yeah? Promise me."
It rings true of the early days of therapy, when he made her promise not to push herself beyond her limits just to seem tough, and she melts just a little more on the spot. Nodding her head, she whispers the promise back to him and takes advantage of their intertwined hands to once again place his on her thigh, this time higher than earlier.
"I trust you."
Peter smiles softly and leans forward to gently kiss her busted knee, and that one gesture pulls a whimper from her lips. Keeping his eyes on her, he places another kiss further up on the inside of her thigh, right where a different scar begins. Blunt concrete also leaves interesting marks with no particular pattern, but she calms herself through the knowledge that Peter has seen all these before. He's not going anywhere, and he's still watching her like he wants to eat her. She feels his tongue dart out to lick a short stripe in the same spot he kissed.
"Is this what I was doing to you, baby?"
It doesn't even matter what he was doing to her in that scenario, because this is far and above anything she could come up with. But the longer he spends kneeling in front of her, the more her tongue loosens and her mind starts saying whatever it wants.
"Yeah. You can… You can touch me. I want you to."
He might as well, because she's pretty sure he can see the spot forming on her panties. But instead he keeps placing featherlight kisses higher and higher on the inside of her thigh, slow and soft and she's about to ask him again when he sucks a mark against the sensitive skin. He's so close to where she wants him that it drives her insane, and when his tongue peeks out to lick a stripe along her panty line she can't hold back a moan.
"Peter, please."
His immediate groan travels straight to her core, and she gasps as he kisses her through her underwear. It all happens so fast after that, it's like she unlocked some part of his brain with her plea. He moves her panties aside with two fingers and licks into her with a moan that almost ends her. She tilts her head back, eyes closed as she melts into his touch. She can't look at him anymore. She's so wound up and he feels so good that it'll all be over before she's gotten to enjoy it. Her heart is hammering away, thighs trembling as he holds them open with his hands. The sounds he's making have her whimpering this high-pitched nonsense she's never heard spill from her mouth, because he almost sounds like he's the one in ecstasy.
"Taste so good, sweetheart… Fuckin' sweeter than I imagined."
She tries to focus but his words just keep sending her deeper and deeper into the pleasure-induced haze, and without thinking, she brings her hand to his hair and pulls. Peter sucks her clit into his mouth, and it almost pushes her over the edge, but then he moans again and she gets dizzy, going limp in his hold as he devours her.
"Look at me, baby. Wanna see those pretty eyes."
She opens her eyes and notices the room is spinning, but she looks down like he asked and a shock runs through her at how dark his eyes are. He hums appreciatively and pulls her even closer to his mouth, bumping his nose against her and flicking his tongue perfectly.
"Peter," she keens helplessly, arms trembling from the effort of holding herself up. He's got her on the edge of the bed, about to slip off when he pulls away to hook her knees over his shoulders. He wastes no time diving back in and the new angle makes tears gather in her lash line. It feels so fucking good she doesn't want it to stop, but it's then that Peter moans her name, sucking on her clit again and looking straight into her soul. She comes with a soft mewl, his name spilling from her lips repeatedly and mind blanking when he just keeps going, bringing her down gently with kitten licks and light kisses.
"You ok? That feel good?" he asks quietly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Kiss me," she pleads, sure that if he doesn't do it in the next thirty seconds she might start crying.
Peter sets her legs back on the bed carefully, kissing her knee one more time before standing up and gathering her in his arms. His kiss is sweet and reverent, grounding her the way she knew it would and helping to slow down her pulse. She can taste herself on him - a new sensation - and finds that she doesn't mind it. It makes everything even more intimate than it already is, and a tear does escape despite her best effort to calm down.
She pulls away to take a deep breath, and Peter frowns upon seeing her damp cheek.
"What's wrong?" he asks, caressing the skin with his thumb.
"Nothing." She shakes her head. "That felt really good. I just…"
She sighs, biting the inside of her lip to stop another tear from falling. It's stupid, yet important - the sort of thing she doesn't like having to say out loud to another person, but has Peter not proven he can handle what she throws his way?
"I'm not used to this. I'm not used to being treated like - like - " She swallows hard, trying to look at him but failing.
"Like you're precious?"
She hides her face in his neck as soon as the truth is out, but nods to let him know and to let herself acknowledge it at last. Peter kisses her temple and shushes the small sobs that couldn't be quieted by her, whispering reassurances that she's everything and more than that to him. It takes her a minute, but she feels much lighter once calmed. A blanket of serenity falls over her in his embrace, and as she slowly becomes more focused, she notices something she didn't before. Peter is rock hard between her legs, and the feeling of it makes blood pound in her ears. She's already drunk on him and wanting, and the emotional security she feels right now makes him even more irresistible. But, when she moves her hand down his chest, he stops her just before she reaches his belt. She's confused and almost hurt for a second before his sinful smile puts her at ease.
"Let's take it slow, yeah? We've all the time in the world and I don't want our first time to be here, kinky as that may be."
She raises an eyebrow at his statement, because he did just eat her out with seemingly no problem, and he didn't care about where they were in the least. A handjob shouldn't be so far outside the bounds of acceptability.
"Oh, baby… Do you think I can have you touch me and not fuck you senseless afterwards?"
She stutters without words while Peter looks like the cat that got the cream, seemingly very happy to have rendered her speechless. He gives her a quick peck before pulling away, looking to the side for the supplies he brought in that have been completely forgotten in favor of a different type of care.
"Let's clean you up and get you home. Gonna have to catch up on our session tomorrow. No slacking."
He's switched to doctor mode so quickly it gives her whiplash, and a small chuckle leaves her at his serious expression. She decides to play into it.
"It's Thursday tomorrow. We don't have a session."
"Don't we?" he volleys back without pause, a grin appearing on his face as he works to clean the small scrape on her forehead from where she hit the pavement.
"I don't know. Where would we meet? The place is closed on Thursdays," she points out with no small degree of mirth, waiting for him to finally ask what she wants him to.
"I think I know a spot where we could go."
"Yeah?"
Peter stops what he's doing to lean in for another kiss, taking her breath away with the look in his eyes. He murmurs a quiet yes against her lips before capturing them with his own, and she sighs blissfully as her eyes close slowly.
.
.
.
Epilogue
Friday, December 17 | 7:52 p.m.
"Come on, sweetheart. Just give me one more."
"Peter, I can't."
"Yeah, you can. C'mon, I got you."
Grunting with the effort, she concentrates on the feeling of his warm hands on her calf to distract herself from the uncomfortable stretch. She's never had her leg at this angle since before the surgery, and even then, it was under much more pleasant circumstances.
"You know, I'd be more motivated if we were doing something else instead," she says, wiping at her brow with the back of her hand.
"Yeah? Like what?" Peter challenges.
"I don't know. What could we possibly be doing that would involve this much contorting?"
"Well there's gymnastics, acrobatics, the trapeze at the circus… Maybe pole dancing," he rattles off, looking down at her with a smirk.
"Mm. Wouldn't mind dancing on some pole."
Peter snorts, amused but undeterred.
"Come on, you're almost there. Just push a little further."
"You know, the things you're saying to me could very easily be heard in a delivery room somewhere."
"Stop wisecracking and focus."
"Bossy," she exhales, moving her leg higher and relying on him less to keep it straight. She can't hold it very long, but the fact is that she's made it - she's finally managed the elusive ninety degree angle they set as a goal a month ago, and it's a victory that doesn't take much to make her smile. Peter helps her move it back down when it starts to shake, but the tremors can't ruin the happiness of having gotten farther than before.
"I did it!"
She sits up from the floor mat, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses until he laughs.
"Easy, tiger. You haven't stretched yet. Don't wanna pull a muscle," he says, pecking her lips in return.
She pouts easily, something she recalls being dead-set against doing in front of him just two months ago. They've had so many firsts together in such a short time, yet none of them felt like moving too fast. Between spending time at each other's places and sleeping together, moving physio from the clinic to her living room still feels like the biggest transition that took no effort at all, at least on his part. He said he wanted to keep being her therapist as well as her boyfriend, but the latter made doing the former difficult. She thought it might have something to do with having to assert authority in their sessions while being equals in a relationship, but the explanation he gave almost made her laugh. He felt weird charging her. That was it.
"Can we skip stretching? I'm really sweaty. Wanna go shower."
She watches him contemplate her proposal, and he sighs in resignation when seeing the hopeful look on her face. He helps her up from the floor, watching her carefully until he deduces she's fine.
"You know, I was gonna ask you to join me, but if you're disappointed, I get it. I can shower all on my own… Just me and my thoughts in there. Who knows what I might come up with?" she muses, walking away from him and towards the bathroom. It's only a second or two before she hears him follow after, biting her lip and squealing when he picks her up from behind. The pain has been getting better over time, or maybe she's learned how to live with it more easily, but overall she suspects it's the change in morale that helps the most. Having someone to care for you and caring for them in return rivals the strongest willpower that attempts to go it alone.
She's been thinking about that more and more as the holidays approach, because as far as she knows, neither of them have any plans. Peter mentioned his only remaining family is his aunt May, but nothing has been said in relation to any end of year celebrations.
She uses the time they take in the shower to come up with the least intrusive way of asking, but Peter wandering hands and gentle touches have her starting the process over. By the time they've gotten out and he's laid her on the bed, taking her apart with his mouth and fingers and cock, her mind has quit on her completely. She's barely coherent as she writhes above him, bracing herself on his chest as he thrusts into her from below, whispering profanities that make her lightheaded.
"So fucking tight, baby. I can feel you shaking. Gonna come for me again?"
She whimpers from a particularly deep brush of his cock inside her, watching his eyes as they glue themselves to the spot where they're connected. Peter isn't just incredibly vocal in the bedroom, she's learned. He's also a voyeuristic lover whose adoration and worshipping can sometimes be overwhelming enough on their own. He's caught her frowning at herself in the mirror once and managed to make her come right there, with lazy flicks on his fingers through her soaked folds and words she'll never forget hotly whispered in her ear.
"Asked you a question, sweetheart. Wanna answer me?" he growls, sitting up so they're chest to chest. Her nipples keep brushing against him with every motion, adding to the flurry of sensations that build up to a crescendo.
"Yes," she moans, hugging him to her. "Yes, I'm close. Don't stop."
"Fuck, you're perfect. Feel so good around me."
"Peter," she tries warning him, and he reacts by pulling her down at the same time that he thrusts up again, ripping the sob of his name from her lips greedily and holding her still as she shakes around him, walls clamping down on his cock repeatedly. He groans into her mouth as the feeling of it snaps his self-control, thrusting a few more times as his orgasm washes over him.
They're both left panting as they come down, her more so than him. Her stamina might not be what it used to, but his is absolutely insane. He'd keep at it if she didn't ask him to stop, and one time she didn't just to see if he could fuck her stupid. Mystery solved. She begged him not to stop until she passed out for a few seconds, and when she came to, Peter was none too pleased. He's been careful ever since.
Her thoughts drift back to her earlier intentions, remembering she had a plan. Well, sort of. She has something she wants, and she has an idea of how to ask for it, but courage? Maybe it's too early, regardless of how well they're bonded. Maybe he does have other plans, and he just didn't discuss them with her, because this is new for them both and she doesn't expect -
"Need a map?"
She laughs breathlessly, dopey and in love as she stares into his eyes.
"Nah, I'm good. I just wanted… I wanted to ask you something. And you don't have to feel like you have to say yes just because you're still inside me."
It's Peter's turn to laugh at her disclaimer, pushing little wisps of hair from her sweaty forehead. They showered for nothing.
"What is it?"
"Well… I know we haven't talked about this, so if you have plans that's ok, but uh, it's gonna be Christmas soon and I would like to spend it with you. Whether we celebrate something or not doesn't matter to me that much, but I know I'll miss you, and I'd like to invite you to stay with me this week."
She tries not to study his reaction too closely, although in their current position that proves difficult. Peter juts his bottom lip out as he appears to think, and it's just shy of adorable and terrifying at the same time. She has no idea what he'll say.
"Well, to accept that I have to ask you something in return. And you don't have to say yes just because I'm still inside you."
She laughs at him repeating her words back to her, and laughs even harder when Peter groans, dropping his head to her shoulder.
"Don't do that," he admonishes without any force behind it, stealing a kiss from her neck before he pulls back.
"What is it? What do you wanna ask?" she says, brushing his hair back and running her fingers through it the way she knows he likes. He closes his eyes after she does it a few times, and she smiles at the sight.
"We don't really celebrate Christmas, aunt May and I. At least not in a religious way. My parents were Jewish, but they were also scientists, so believing in God wasn't really a priority. May and Ben raised me how they knew - we made our own traditions. We ate together on the 25th and we exchanged presents because I told them I heard other kids at school did it and I wanted to do that too, but we don't go through the whole 'putting up a tree' thing."
He's rambling out of nervousness. She can tell because it's different to his usual, more passionate rambling about things he finds fascinating. Still, it's nice to hear a bit of his family's story, and she's happy to know he's had many people to love him, even if he lost them.
"Baby, what do you wanna ask me?"
Peter opens his eyes slowly, looking sleepy and a little bit shy. She tries not to melt, but it's a losing battle.
"I was wondering… if you'd like to do that with us this year? Have lunch at May's house and do presents? I want the most important women in my life to meet," he says, watching her just as patiently as she watched him.
Her heart skips an involuntary beat at his declaration, the phrase ringing around her head and threatening to make everything fuzzy and warm. It's almost enough to make her tear up, but that would make her too emotional and she'd end up saying things neither of them is ready for yet. She settles for kissing his forehead, overwhelmed by the rush of affection warming her chest.
"I'd love that," she murmurs softly.
"Yeah?" he returns just as gently, one of his hands cupping her jaw.
She kisses him in response, trying her best to show him how much his question meant without words that would give away too much too soon. That will happen in its own time, and she's entirely happy letting things come as naturally as they have so far. All they have is each other and a growing tenderness, and it's more than enough for every day. The rest, they'll figure out as they go.
- fin -
A/N: Whew, that was insane. I wrote this in about four days like a woman possessed. It’s also the first time I’ve written any smut whatsoever and now I feel like a whore, but a proud one. As always, let me know your thoughts and don’t hesitate to drop into my inbox with questions or random thoughts about my fics. Thank you for reading.
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter fluff#andrew!peter x reader#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader#andrew garfield!spiderman x reader#healthcare worker!peter#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#peter parker smut#tasm!peter smut
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Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown
I’m an advice column junkie. My regs right now are Where Should We Begin?, Dear Prudence, Dear Sugars, Savage Love, Care and Feeding, Captain Awkward, Ask a Manager, My Brother My Brother and Me, and the collective wisdom (?) of r/relationships. Yeah… it’s a problem.
When the subject of mental health arises, I’m perennially dismayed to see a very narrow, circumscribed answer appear again and again and again. It goes something like this:
“Go see a therapist; get counseling; find a psychologist; get into therapy; go see your school’s counselor; go to a mental health clinic; you need to be in therapy; find a support group; have you talked to your therapist; have you tried group therapy; talk to your doctor; therapy, therapy, counseling, therapy…”
And this really bothers me.
It’s not that this advice is bad. It’s not bad! All things being equal, most people would probably benefit from therapy. I have no doubt that the net benefit of professional mental healthcare is incalculably vast.
But it pains me to see therapy described as a one-size-fits-all solution for every person in every situation. I’m someone who experiences intermittent depression. Like half of all mentally ill people in the United States, I’m not currently receiving medical care for it. This doesn’t mean I’m irresponsible or helpless. There are a lot of very understandable reasons why people can’t or won’t seek professional help. Let’s talk about a few of them.
Keep reading.
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hii! i was wondering if there was anywhere I could message you privately? i’m a 14 year old girl who socially IDed as FtM for 5 years but now want to detransition and I don’t know where to go or where to start. xx
Hi! Firstly, you can message me, but if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, I can try to point you to resources right here! Feel free to send other asks :)
Talk to a trusted adult in your life. It could be a parent, an aunt/uncle, a teacher, or an older sibling. The adults in your life probably want the best for your health and happiness. It's great if you reach out to me, but at the end of the day, the adults in your life know you the best and would probably want you to talk to them first before a stranger on the internet. I'm guessing your parents will probably be open to hearing what you have to say.
Contact your doctor or a local gender clinic and ask if they can point you towards detransitioning resources.
Search online and see if there are any detransition support groups near you (unlikely this will pan out, but it's worth a try). If you happen to know anyone who has detransitioned, you can also reach out to them.
If you are able to, please look into counseling. If you are dysphoric, you can ask for a counselor that will help you explore your discomfort with your body/gender roles and reconcile your relationship with your body. I’d avoid any therapists who advertise themselves as LGBTQIA2S+ friendly: they may be well meaning, but their primary method of treatment for dysphoria will likely be transition. Therapists and other mental health professionals tend to have bios where they list their background and what they specialize in: I'd suggest looking for a therapist who is female, and possibly someone who is comfortable gender non-conforming (someone who doesn't see being unhappy with gender roles or gender non-conforming as being the same as being trans). I went to a counselor who was an older lesbian. You can also send an email to Gender Exploratory Therapy Association (GETA) to see if they can match you with a therapist.
You can journal how you feel. It doesn't need to be fancy (it can be a notes page on your phone or some binder paper, but if journaling with markers and stickers and washi tape helps, you can do that too). Ask yourself what made you feel like you weren't or couldn't be a woman/girl? What does the thought of detransitioning make you feel? It can just be how you feel in general. If you're comfortable, you can also share your journal with a trusted adult or counselor. Or, it can just be for your eyes only.
Work on improving your integrity and comfort with your body. It helps you feel wonderful feelings, taste your favorite foods, see beautiful things... your body is not trying to hurt you or work against you. For example, your body is not menstruating because it is "punishing" you for not being pregnant (this is something I heard a lot growing up). Menstruation is just something female bodies do. It's vital to regulating your hormonal health, bone density, and weight. While yes, you can get pregnant and be a parent if you choose to as an adult, your body is not telling you to do anything. Your bodily functions are not a mandate. You exist for you!
Try to avoid seeing your body as a problem, or as fractured parts you want to fix: your body is just your body. Don't think of your body as a decorative object you need to change to please anyone. Your body exists for you and (most importantly) your body is you. Treating your body well is part of treating yourself well.
To improve your relationship with your body, I would recommend picking a sport or physical activity. Do something you like that makes you comfortable! If wearing a swimsuit fills you with dread, wear a more modest one or don't pick swimming. It can be as simple as walking, stretching, or yoga in your room. The point of a physical activity is not just to keep in shape, but to feel how your body is capable of doing whatever you want it to. Your body doesn't have to look a certain way for that.
Your image of your body and your comfort with being female might also improve if you take a social media break. I know it can be hard, but try to commit to a short break (a week, a month). Use this time to read, listen to music, draw, relax, exercise... whatever will keep you happy and healthy. Social media is saturated with images of sexualized, objectified, and impossibly thin women. It can be stressful to feel like you don't "measure up" to what the Internet tells you a woman is supposed to be. Take this time to remind yourself that you don't need to imitate these people to be happy.
I would also recommend you unfollow any social media accounts that make you feel bad about your body or talk about transitioning and gender all the time (you can always refollow later). Focus on how you feel about your body and yourself, not what other people promote.
What or how you decide to change socially, who you tell, or how you say it is up to you. You don't need to disclose why you're detransitioning either. You can just tell people you've decided it wasn't for you or that you'd like to go by your old name/pronouns. Don't let anyone, especially other transitioned peers, pressure you into doing or revealing anything you don't want to. If you have a friend group of trans peers your age, don't let them make you feel bad! You have the right to do what's best for you. If you have friends that aren't supportive of you doing what's best for you, it might be best to look for a new friend group.
If you've been happiest dressing in "boy" clothes or doing certain "boy" activities, none of that has to change when you detransition! Detransitioning should be about accepting that your natal biological sex is female. Being female is a neutral fact, like being brunette or being 167 cm. Being female has no bearing on what you can do, who you can love, what professions, hobbies, or interests you have... that's all gender. You don't have to change how you dress, think, feel, act, talk, etc. None of these things can disqualify you from being a woman or girl. Just be yourself and know there's no wrong way to be female.
Being a woman or girl can be scary. Menstruation sucks, sexual harassment sucks, sexism sucks. But there's light at the end of the tunnel, and that's other women and girls! Reach out to them. They are your lifeline. Build friendships. There are other women and girls just like you. You are never alone.
On that note, having positive female role models and consuming books/TV shows/movies/music by and about women can help you feel better about detransitioning and reconciling with being female.
Don't discount the wisdom of older women! They're not nags, shrews, or "Karens". They're female, too. Many of them have likely felt what you feel.
Detransitioning doesn't mean you need to feel a certain type of way on gender or trans issues. Don't let radical feminists, conservatives, or trans-rights activists bully you into saying or doing what suits their narrative. It's your life, so do what's right for you!
Lastly, here are some resources I would recommend, both about transition and detransition:
A Booklet on Gender Detransition
The risks of binding
Testosterone use and pelvic health
Maybe this is silly, but this comic helped me feel a lot better when I first saw it.
Cosmic Uterus by Ida Neverdahl
Edit: I added some things to the list. Before I forget — the prevailing narrative told to dysphoric and trans-identifying teens is that you need to transition, you need to go on hormones, you need to do xyz or you will die. This is not true. Most dysphoric youth who do not medically transition end up as happy, alive adults. (If you are having suicidal thoughts, please tell a trusted adult or call a hotline). So I’m going to tell you instead what I was told, and what other lesbian, gay, and bisexual kids were told growing up: it gets better. I promise it does. You are so brave. You are going to be okay <3
#detrans#detransition#ftm#detransitioner#w4w asks#w4w speaks#detransition resources#resources#desist#desister#beliefs
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Do you have any advice for an autistic & trans therapist to safely establish a job in the mental health field amongst NT cishet coworkers? I’ve experienced discrimination every step of the way in this field and the only way for me to have job security is to finish up my licensure hours somewhere so I can be on my own when licensed.
To be blunt, being Autistic & trans and a therapist will never come with any guarantee of safety, because the entire field of institutionalized mental health is built upon a bedrock of ableism and (often violent) rejection of gender and sexual non-conformity. It's not just the NT and cishet coworkers as individual people that are the problem, it is the entire foundation of the field and what it sets out to do.
Look at what happened to Marsha Linehan -- she was one of the foremost, most accomplished researchers and treatment developers in her subfield and saved thousands of lives, yet she still had her competence challenged and lost a ton of professional respect the moment she came out about being BPD. That is not just the work of biased or bigoted NT individuals, that is the natural consequence of a line of work that by definition categorizes some classes of people as less competent and worthy than others.
I have taught and done consulting work for many organizations and I have never yet seen a mental health facility of any kind where persons with mental illness or neurodivergence are not discriminated against, nor have I ever been particularly impressed with the therapeutic practices or clinical psychology programs that profess to be queer affirming.
Even orgs run and led by trans or Autistic people are still forced to operate by the rules and standards of institutionalized psychology and psychiatry, and so they are invested in promoting respectability politics, stigma, and the theft of disabled people's autonomy to some extent. Obviously some are far more egregious than others. But they are all institutions with unjust power they can leverage over the marginalized, and they're invested as institutions into holding onto that power.
Counseling psychology programs and their graduates tend to be a bit more open minded and less prone to pathologization than clinical psychs, as are the licensed social workers who do not come from conservative Christian background or educational tradition (unfortunately, many social workers do have that kind of background). I wish I could recommend some queer-owned practices but all the ones I'm familiar with are run by rainbow capitalist grifters with no true conception of intracommunity dynamics such as transmisogyny.
When I taught for the Chicago School of Professional Psych, I heard from many of my students about their many licensure hour placements, and none of them sounded like good or safe places to be -- and many of those facilities were far worse to their Black and brown patients than they were for their (majority white) therapists-in-training. But on the whole everyone relatively lacking in power in those spaces was either exploited or judged as inferior or both.
I imagine that working on your own/for yourself would be the best route ultimately-- the few ND therapists I know who are doing a more liberatory practice are quietly doing so on their own. I think that's a sensible long-term goal for you to have. But on the way to getting there, you will be working in spaces that are not safe to you. I would never trust any institution or therapuetic practice to keep you safe, no matter how they brand themselves or how progressive they profess to be.
I think the real question, then, is what supports will you have in place to make getting your licensure hours possible for you? When a colleague microaggresses against you or is discriminatory toward a patient, what will your emotional recovery plan look like? What are the absolute dealbreakers that will make a facility or organization unworkable for you, and what are the nice-to-haves that you can live without?
Basically, if you want to get your necessary hours, you might have to be in survival mode for a while -- and I think having realistic expectations about that and a plan for dealing with the secondary trauma and systemic biases you'll endure is what will make it possible. That said, I'm not a therapist, I've only seen this stuff from the sidelines as a teacher, trainer, program evaluator, and sometimes as a patient. So I would also encourage you to try and find a neurodivergent and queer therapist who has gone through this stuff before, who can serve as a mentor for you. Getting through this process will be tough, and I think it’s important to be realistic about that. You’ll need to steel yourself for a lot of unfairness and ignorance, and you’ll need a good support system in place to help keep you feeling strong in the face of it.
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Could you write something about being the ptsd counselor on mother base?
Being a PTSD counselor on Mother Base
IT TOOK FOREVER BUT I DID IT! Oh gosh, it's been so busy at the clinic I work at. Flu season has arrived everyone! Be safe and be healthy! I genuinely hope this was good, I'm still kinda unsure about this, but I did my damndest! As always, feel free to screm at me if I got something wrong.
(Important disclaimer: I’m not at all a licensed professional regarding mental health. PTSD is something that I take fairly seriously as it has affected both my father, an Army veteran, and my friends who have childhood PTSD. If you or someone you love is experiencing PTSD or any other sort of mental distress, I highly encourage you to reach out to a counselor, psychiatrist, psychologist, or even someone you trust to talk to. You’re worth it.
On a side note, remember, this was in the 70s-80s, and modern mental health resources were still in their infancy. PTSD wasn’t even included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DMS, until 1980 after research involving returning Vietnam War Veterans, Holocaust Survivors, and others and the link between war trauma and post-military life was established. It wasn’t even taken out of the anxiety category until the DMS-5 in 2015.)
Ho boy, you have your work cut out for you. Being a PTSD counselor on a normal military base is incredibly difficult. But being the counselor for Big Boss and his army? That’s one hell of a task.
Warnings: PTSD, mentions of war, misunderstanding of mental health
MSF (Peace Walker)
The 1960s and 1970s were pivotal times regarding PTSD treatment. Growing evidence from 1968 was revealing that trauma was associated with psychological symptoms, though further research was escalated by the signs of active and returning US soldiers during the Vietnam War. Preventative measures for “shellshock” or “gross stress reaction” were implemented during this time, but it was clear that it was only delaying the long-lasting symptoms. And not even the MSF led by the legendary Big Boss was immune to it.
You originally started in the MSF as a medic, preferring to take care of the injured rather than taking life. Eventually, your bedside manner and commitment to making sure your patients were okay both physically and mentally even after leaving the Med-Tent caught Paz’s eye, and she recommended that you be placed in charge of counseling soldiers that were in between deployments. Considering how much he’d been through himself, I don’t think Big Boss hesitated before allocating the appropriate funds for your new job and education.
Despite backing from Big Boss, your start was a bit rocky. Despite the fact you were the same person who helped them in your time of need, most of the base kind of avoid you, not wanting to be “psycho-analyzed” or labeled as “crazy.” Very few came to you voluntarily, often having to be ordered to talk to you by either their commanders or by another medic. No one was being intentionally ugly or cruel to you, but rather didn’t truly understand that your job was to just keep doing what you’ve already been doing; you just now got a title, better pay, and access to education. Eventually, they all came around thanks to your history as one of the medics and began to truly value you as someone to rely on with even their darkest nightmares.
Kaz will occasionally come to you when the nightmares get too much, but he’s much happier talking to you outside of your “office hours.” It just feels more real to him. He will more than likely playfully flirt with you too. Ocelot will probably steer clear of your work but will still be quite friendly toward you. Considering his track history though, I wouldn’t put it past him to maybe pry into some of the secrets you’ve been entrusted with (keep your documents under lock and key!). But one of your most common visitors is Big Boss himself. At first; he wasn’t too keen on divulging his inner dilemmas to you, rather using the time to just…relax. Talk about something else besides the mission and the battles. That is until things start to become too much.
Big Boss will eventually trust you enough to open up about some of his more distressing thoughts. Despite his steadfast determination throughout the series; I always felt as though Big Boss was constantly at war in his mind, always trying to determine what was best to fulfill The Boss’s dream. He’ll share that inner conflict with you and try hard to take every bit of advice you give him. Depending on how close you get and how much trust you earn from him; you may end up being the only one who truly knows what happened in that field of white flowers. Don’t be alarmed if he disappears for a few days after that. It took a lot out of him, but he’ll be back. Congratulations! You just earned the unwavering trust of the Man who Sold the World!
Overall, despite your rocky start on base, your work as a counselor will end up being considered invaluable. Many soldiers will end up giving you the nickname “Doc” even if you don’t have a doctorate. They’ll invite you to the mess hall and sometimes leave little gifts in your office. Even the Boss will leave you flowers and maybe even a few Calorie Mates.
Mother Base (The Phantom Pain)
Honestly, you weren’t expecting that call from Kaz. How long had it been? Ten years since that horrific explosion? At this point, you were working professionally as a counselor, but you just couldn’t stay away. Not when you learned Big Boss was alive. And not when Kaz sounded so…broken.
Your reunion with Big Boss, Kaz, and Ocelot was…bittersweet. Despite welcoming you with open arms, they maintained a fair amount of distance from you for the first few months. Considering what you all went through, it was understandable.
This time, many of the soldiers were easier to convince to come to see you (it helped that Ocelot pretty much ordered them to after almost every mission). Speaking of Ocelot, he made a consistent effort to
Kaz was the first to come to you, not as a patient, but as your commander. Even behind his sunglasses, his gaze seemed harsher. Ice settled in your stomach when he demanded absolute loyalty to the Diamond Dogs before promptly leaving your office. But as the months wore on, you two eventually fell back into your old habits. His nightmares had gotten even worse, compounding with his capture, torture, and loss of limbs, but you had gotten even better at your job with your experience. And to say Kaz was happy to have you back in his life is an understatement. You’re getting a homemade burger from him almost every week.
Ocelot was his usual friendly if somewhat slightly unnerving self. It was insanely impressive how well he had taken the entire last years, especially considering how devastating the attempt to rescue Paz and Chico went. Still, he was immensely grateful to you for taking care of the soldiers. Expect him to bring D.D. around for playdates.
Then there was Big Boss. You were worried from the beginning as the man you knew as Big Boss was and was not Big Boss. Most of his memories were the same, even his demeanor and mannerisms seemed identical. But during your sessions, little things did not seem to add up. They were minor inconsistencies, such as remembering specific conversations you had or nightmares you talked about. At first, you chalked it up to memory issues from the coma and simply continued to help him. It was a strange feeling, as though you were meeting him for the first time all over again. Once again, though, you found a fast friend in Venom. Sometimes, your sessions would even be just sitting in each other’s company, listening to his Walkman.
Quiet will absolutely be curious about you. From what I can gather, I don’t believe Cipher had any sort of counselor. At least one that cared as much as you did. Do you ever feel like someone is watching you? More than likely it was Quiet while she’s invisible. After deeming you safe, she’ll start to interact with you. She opts to draw to communicate her thoughts to you. She’s not the best artist, but she’s so proud every time she draws something that you can completely understand. You’ll always be safe with her watching your back.
When you finally discovered the truth about Venom, you felt more sadness than shock. You spent so much time with the man, helping him unravel the maelstrom that was his mind, only for him to seemingly lose trust in everyone. Kaz will try and convince you to leave. Venom himself states that while he will miss you, he will not blame you if you leave. Instead, he will thank you and hand you a copy of the songs you listened to together.
Sources:
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Hii!
I'm an undergrad psych student that dreams to be where you are in the future (studying clinical psych)!
I'm striving to be a psychologist but I've heard how competitive it is. As someone who is in postgrad, I was wondering if you'd be okay giving some advice, what scores you had to get in ungrads and honours, what volunteering you maybe did and how postgrad life is!!
♡
Hey! It’s so awesome that you want to go into clinical psych!
I went to a pretty competitive university for undergrad and majored in Psychology with a minor in Disability studies. I ended up with a 3.8 major and overall GPA and graduated Magna Cum Laude. I worked as a FWS student on a clinical trial that focused on helping people with intellectual disabilities access mental health care as well as some odd jobs here and there. I also volunteered at my state department of mental health during the summers while I was home from school and with the National Counsel for Mental Wellbeing as a state captain for Hill Day.
I applied to a small college in my hometown for Postgrad because I wanted the small college feel and it is a really reputable program whose grads see a lot of success. I got in and I absolutely love it. The program has wonderful professors and they are really focused on graduating strong therapists. I will be a masters level Licensed Professional Counselor when I graduate in May 2025.
My advice for you is to find a place to volunteer at that will get you some good hours and face time with the right people. You don’t have to always be doing psychology related things with them. When I volunteered for DMH, I helped with their mental health conference and with Santa’s helpers which purchased presents for kids of patients at the center. I wasn’t always doing psychology stuff but I made some really strong connections and they wrote me excellent letters of recommendation. I wish I had gotten more acquainted with my professors in undergrad but it was hard because I went to such a large school. Find the people who value you and your work and they will give back by writing you glowing recommendations which go a long way in the application process. The more you volunteer and get experience, the more you’ll have to write about in your admissions essay, which I think carried me through the process.
Post grad is hard but it’s focused on what you love and is training you for your dream career. It’s worth every minute. Get as much experience as you can, clinical or not, so you make those connections and get to know people who have influence in different areas. Keep doing what you’re doing! We need people like you in our field! Hope this helps!
#psychology#studyblr#studygram#studyinspo#masters student#productivity#study motivation#study with me#stay productive#study aesthetic#asks#gryffindorpsychologyandcoffee#masters degree#study psychology#adhd#post graduate#post grad life
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Living with Metastatic Breast Cancer (MBC)
The past few years have been rocky to put it mildly, not just as a nation or planet, but also personally.
I'm creating this space to share periodic updates and glimpses into what it's like living with metastatic breast cancer (referred to as MBC going forward because I'm lazy and don't like typing it every time) and whatever else I feel like. I don't promise to post consistently, only as I find it helpful and have the time and energy. I do, however, promise to be real, honest, crass, and vulnerable about my experiences. I curse like a sailor and if that isn't for you, no hard feelings, but this may not be the space for you, and that's perfectly okay. I don't particularly enjoy writing, nor am I great at it, but I recognize its value and how cathartic it can be. I've always been a naturally private person as I enjoy my quiet life, but there's nothing private about having BC. Appointment after I'm appointment I remove my shirt and bra as it seems like just about every medical professional needs to feel my breast lump. Just as cancer has invaded my breast, medical traumas began invading my life. Privacy seems almost comical these days, and I was living in denial while thinking I could do this all on my own without needing the support of my friends and family. I was very wrong. I didn't (and still don't) want pity from others. Life never promised to be fair. We don't choose the cards life deals us, but it's up to us to play the hell out of those cards, and I've got a killer poker face. So ask me the questions and I'll respond when I can. This is not a journey in which it's helpful to go it alone and if anything, it's detrimental to try. Something else noteworthy is that I have ADHD (thanks, dad!). As someone with ADHD, my brain jumps around. A lot. This is evident when talking with me but also in my writing as well. Bear with me and welcome to the shitshow.
For those of you that don't know me well (or perhaps at all), I turned 33 last month and work as a mental health counselor in Indiana. I've been married to my saint of a spouse for just shy of a decade and he's been my rock. In 2020, I was gearing up to graduate with my master's in clinical mental health counseling with plans to begin our family shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.
During the summer of 2020, my spouse was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins Lymphoma at age 30, after being short of breath for no clear reason, and being gaslit by medical professionals for several months about not feeling well. To say this was a shock was an understatement. Only old people get cancer, I thought, not seemingly healthy and active 30-year-olds. Our plans to begin trying to conceive were temporarily tabled as the focus shifted to my husband's health. I was devastated but chanted the mantra, "this too shall pass". We were told we had to wait at least 2 years to try to have kids due to the intense medications and treatments he was on. He spent months doing aggressive rounds of chemo, all while working almost full time. To say he's my hero would be putting it mildly. It's been about 2 years since his diagnosis and I'm thrilled to report he's still in remission!
Fast forward to early 2022. I noticed some dimpling under one of my breasts, but genuinely didn't think too much of it. Historically speaking, I've never been an overly anxious person, and typically don't worry much until there's truly something to worry about. My spouse encouraged me to schedule an appointment ASAP (he's the worrier). I already had an OB appointment upcoming so I planned to discuss the dimpling then as my neurodivergent brain couldn't handle making more phone calls for appointments and things. Unfortunately, the doctor felt a lump (I couldn't) and the ensuing weeks and months would prove to be an overwhelming whirlwind of fears, appointments, and uncertainties.
I like to think I have a good sense of humor, even if it's dark (I'd argue you have to have dark humor to survive in the mental health field). On Friday the 13th of May I was told my breast biopsy confirmed the worst: I have invasive ductile carcinoma. Jason was nowhere in sight but I would have been more accepting of his existence than me having cancer. I'll never forget the look of pity on the nurse's face delivering that news. I could tell she was going out of her way to try and make me feel better about the diagnosis, saying things along the lines of, "it was caught early, you won't die. You'll be fine." I remember taking the news surprisingly well and not being too phased by it. "I'm going to kick cancer's ass," I thought. I'm stubbornly determined when I set my mind to a task and cancer was no different in my mind. Mind over matter, as they say. Hell, I was even given a BC swag bag on my way out the door. I quickly got scheduled with an oncologist who set up scans, blood draws, the whole gambit. Getting breast cancer at 32 was jarring for the medical providers around me given that I have no family history of breast cancer. Genetic testing was order and I learned that I have an ATM genetic mutation, pre-disposing me to breast cancer and a handful of other cancers. The results were bittersweet as it provided answers to the "why" of cancer early in life, but shifted the initial surgery treatment plan to opting for a double mastectomy. I was generally still in high spirits, and made light of it all, joking about getting a shiny new rack as a silver lining of a shitty situation. When life gives you lemons, make tittyaide, I said. As scan results began to roll in, the plan abruptly shifted. A suspicious spot was found on my sternum and a biopsy confirmed the worst: the cancer had already spread to my sternum, meaning I was now dealing with stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, a completely different beast than when BC is caught early. Surgery got cancelled and starting endocrine therapy ASAP was the new plan to try and shrink the tumors. I had no idea that multiple types of BC exist, all with different treatment implications. My specific type is ER/PR+, HER2-, meaning, my cancer feeds off my hormones. The treatment? Reduce the estrogen in my body as quickly as possible and transition me into menopause, thus stifling the cancer's fuel source. In all this scary news, the thing I mourned the deepest (and still do) is the uphill journey I will face to becoming a mom. Chemo made my spouse sterile and I am unable to carry a pregnancy as I cannot stop treatment long enough to sustain a pregnancy. People mean well when they offer comments like, "you can adopt!" but I'm here to tell you how painful and invalidating that response is. There is lifelong grief associated with infertility for those that want biological children. Even if we are able to pursue foster to adoption (the only "affordable" option to becoming a parent), I will always grieve not getting the experience of being pregnant and having biological kids. As cliché as it is, it's true that you don't always realize how badly you want something until it's no longer an option.
MBC, unlike early onset BC, is considered incurable. It's not an instant death sentence, but any doctor will let you know that it's essentially terminal, meaning it's a slow death. Living with MBC is a very, very different experience as there is no end in sight unlike many other cancer experiences. I will be in treatment for the rest of my life. The statistics for long-term survival aren't great, but I know I'm much more than a statistic. My goal is to live the most fulfilling life I can for as long as I can, and I hope that means I'll be around for a very long time. There's nothing like the threat of dying to make you appreciate each and every day, including the people in your life, the jobs, the pets, nature, etc. I believe maintaining a positive mindset while looking for learning opportunities is so important in overcoming any obstacles in life and I am so incredibly thankful for all those that have shown their love and support. If you read all of my ramblings, thank you for your patience. Take time to appreciate and express gratitude for the good things in your life. No matter how bad the circumstances may be, there is always something to be grateful for. <3
#breast cancer#metastatic breast cancer#nonhodgkins#lymphoma#atm#genetic mutation#hereditary cancer#infertility#compassion#medical trauma#mysogyny#adult adhd#gratitude#mental health#griefjourney#cancer#hereditary
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IS IT POSSIBLE TO CLAIM A TAX DEDUCTION FOR A BATHROOM RENOVATION?
Undertaking a bathroom renovation can not only enhance the comfort and aesthetics of your home but also raise a common question among homeowners: Is it possible to claim a tax deduction for a bathroom renovation? While tax laws can be complex and subject to change, this comprehensive guide aims to explore the potential avenues for tax deductions related to restroom renovations.
Ways to Claim a Bathroom Renovation as a Tax Deduction
The ability to declare a facility remodel on your taxes relies on the nature of the remodel and the particular tax regulations in your jurisdiction. Usually, home improvement expenses are not straight deductible on your government income taxes. Nonetheless, there are some circumstances where specific home enhancements may receive tax write-offs.
Can Homeowners Deduct the Cost of a Bathroom Remodel on Their Taxes as a Medical Expense, and if So, What Specific Situations Make It Eligible for This Deduction?
Embarking on a bathroom remodel can be a considerable task, specifically when encouraged by clinical requirement. The good news for homeowners dealing with these circumstances is that particular costs related to a washroom remodel driven by medical necessity might be eligible for tax deductions.
Comprehending the Importance of Medical Requirement
Restroom Remodeling With Health In Mind
Medical need describes health care solutions or treatments called for to resolve a clinical problem. In the context of a bathroom remodel, clinical need might emerge because of wheelchair obstacles, handicaps, or certain health conditions that require modifications for security and access.
Revamping Your Washroom To Cover Qualifying Healthcare Expenses
Taxpayers can assert deductions on particular clinical expenses that exceed a specific proportion of their adjusted gross income (AGI), according to the IRS. These eligible clinical expenditures might encompass the costs related to medical equipment, home improvements, and adjustments made to the framework.
If it is identified that the bathroom remodeling is clinically called for and generally for medical functions, the expenses connected with modifications like the installation of grab bars, ramps, or obtainable fixtures could possibly be thought about as qualified reductions for medical expenditures.
Deductible costs might consist of not only the cost of products and labor directly connected with the remodel but additionally expenses connected to licenses, design charges, and any other costs directly connected to the clinical alterations.
Availability And Safety Considerations For Your Lavatory Transformation
The Internal Revenue Service (IRS) highlights the significance of qualifying costs being vital for clinical therapy, which may include improvements that soothe or stop physical or mental ailments. Shower room alterations that boost accessibility and safety and security satisfy these needs, possibly getting reductions.
Necessary Papers: Renovation Files For The Bathroom Upgrade
Keeping thorough paperwork is essential when asserting reductions for a bathroom remodel deemed medically necessary. It’s vital to maintain accurate documents of all costs, consisting of billings, receipts, and any type of prescriptions or referrals from healthcare professionals that support the requirement for the alterations.
In order to bolster your argument for asserting the medical requirement, it is recommended to seek counsel from medical experts who can confirm the necessity of particular alterations in the restroom to accommodate health conditions or disabilities.
In the advancing landscape of remote work, the intersection of office deductions and bathroom remodeling presents an appealing possibility for homeowners. Beyond the traditional understanding of tax write-offs, let’s discover how the harmony between home office reductions and bathroom remodels can potentially boost the financial advantages for those altering their homes to suit both work and personal demands.
Facilities Renovation Deductions For Office Remodels
The home office deduction enables eligible individuals to subtract particular costs associated with the business use of their home. This deduction encompasses direct and indirect expenses associated with preserving a committed office within the home.
Washroom Remodels As Business Investments
Updating an area of your house into a home office usually requires restorations to improve practicality, appearance, and conformity with the demands for tax obligation deductions. Such renovations may include the restroom that offer the home office space.
Bathroom Repair Work And Maintenance
Costs related to maintaining the office space and the connected shower room, such as bathroom repair services and renovations, can possibly be considered as deductible expenses.
Occupational expenditures for necessities like office supplies and shower room essentials can be tax-deductible, as long as they’re directly attached to the home office’s service usage.
How to Write-off Restroom Makeover Through Home Equity Loan or HELOC
Home Equity Loan or HELOC for Bidet Upgrades?
Although interest on personal loans, such as those for home improvement projects, is generally not tax-deductible, there may be exceptions for certain bathroom renovation loans. Factors to consider.
If you utilize a home equity loan or a home equity line of credit (HELOC) to fund your bathroom remodel, you may be able to deduct the interest paid on these loans on your taxes. This is because the interest on loans backed by the equity in your home is frequently considered mortgage interest, which can be tax-deductible.
In order for the interest to be eligible for tax deductions, the loan must have collateral in the form of your main residence or a second home. If the loan is not backed by the property, the interest is usually not deductible.
Purpose Of The Loan
The Internal Revenue Service permits the deduction of mortgage interest on loans utilized for the purchase, construction, or enhancement of a qualified residence. Consequently, if the funds obtained from the loan taken for home improvement are utilized to significantly enhance your residence, such as through a bathroom remodel, the interest may be eligible for deduction. Restrictions apply to the loan amount that can be deducted.
Essential Documentation Guide For Seamless Bathroom Remodeling
Maintain detailed records of the loan, including copies of the loan agreement, receipts, and invoices related to the bathroom renovation. This documentation is essential for auditing purposes and ensures that you have a paper trail in case of any queries or discrepancies.
Advice From Experts
Tax legislation is susceptible to alteration, while personal situations differ. It is recommended to seek guidance from a tax specialist or accountant in order to guarantee that you fulfill all the requirements for claiming the interest on your loan for home renovations.
Considerations By State
It’s essential to note that tax regulations can differ from state to state, and some states may have further stipulations or restrictions regarding the deductibility of home improvement loan interest. To ensure compliance with your state’s tax laws, consult with a local tax expert.
It’s critical to keep in mind that tax obligation regulations go through change, and the details offered is based on the state of the law since early 2022. For the most exact and updated info appropriate to your particular circumstance, it’s advised to speak with a qualified tax specialist or accountant. They can give personalized guidance based upon your scenarios and the present tax regulations in your jurisdiction.
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This article is credited to Remodel Surgeons at https://remodelsurgeons.com/is-it-possible-to-claim-a-tax-deduction-for-a-bathroom-renovation/ .
#bathroom#interiordesign#design#kitchen#home#bathroomdesign#homedecor#realestate#tile#remodel#construction#renovation#bathroomdecor#decor#architecture#bathroomremodel#shower#bath#interior#remodeling#homedesign#contractor#modern#art#luxury#house#realtor#remodelsurgeons
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Idk if this is something you feel able to give advice on, but Seeing Wolves Where there are No Wolves is a big comfort to bc I know I too need help & its good to know that it's out there, but I don't know how to start. Like how the hell do you choose a therapist?! I google and still dont get the difference between lpc vs psyd, let alone what questions to ask or how to tell if they're a good fit. Feel free to say pass, but if you have tips I would so greatly appreciate it. thanks and sending love
hello, anon!
im actually able to help with this! im good at finding counselors! (and dentists!)
so, there are a couple of ways to go about this, but the truth of the matter is that if you've never been to therapy, or you're new to an area and are searching for a counselor, you may have to shop around a bit before you find the right fit. This can be emotionally taxing, so seeking out the right one will take some refining.
Acronyms To Know:
MSW: Master of Social Work
M.Ed: Master of Education / M.S.Ed: Master of Science in Education
M.S or M.A: Master of Science and Master of Arts, respectively.
LPC: Licensed Professional Counselor
LMHC: Licensed Mental Health Counselor
LCPC: Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor
LPCC / LCMHC: Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor of Mental Health / Licensed Clinical Mental Health Counselor
LMHP: Licensed Mental Health Practitioner
MFCC: Marriage, Family and Child Counselor
LCSW: Licensed Clinical Social Worker
DR is someone with a doctorate while MD is for Medical Doctor, and a Ph.D is someone with their doctorate of Philosophy - and all of these are people that are capable of obtaining certifications and licenses in a variety of counseling types, what it means to you is how much time this person has spent in school. In my experience, how much time a person has spent in school is not super indicative of how helpful they are, and it's much more informative to find out how many years they have spent in the field, and what their listed specialties are.
If you've been to counseling before, you may already be aware of what modes of therapy work best for you (Talk Therapy, DBT, CBT, EMDR, etc), but if you found Seeing Wolves to be comforting and that is the kind of therapy you're looking for, you will want to seek out a counselor that specializes in CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), DBT (Dialectic Behavioral Therapy) and/or Trauma Focused Therapy.
I highly recommend seeing counselors that have at least 5 years in the field, and in particular, at least 5 years of training or experience in dealing with trauma focused therapy. You may see counselors listing years of experience in rehabilitation centers with people who have substance abuse disorders, or working with veterans in VA hospitals and such - these are good indicators that they are aware of, and well practiced in trauma-informed approaches of therapy, even if they aren't specifically licensed or advertised as that.
Remember that your initial meeting with a new counselor is about you sussing THEM out, to see if they're a good fit. It's okay if you don't click right away, or if the vibes are off and you're like 'hmm :T i think im gonna keep looking.'
When picking a counselor, read their bios and work histories - determine if their field work feels relevant to the skills you want in a counselor, and look out for red flags, like 'faith-based approaches' as this can either be PRECISELY what you're looking for, OR it can be extremely limiting and unhelpful if the faith they're basing their practice on is only one, specific faith that does not align with yours.
That's all the advice I can really give on this without knowing what you're specifically struggling with. If you feel comfortable divulging more to me, I can help you narrow down your search more, but I hope this is helpful!!
#ask#anon#melanie answers stuff#psychology#mental health#it's a lot to keep track of i know#i hope u find what you're looking for!#you're v brave for starting the journey!!!! im proud of u!!!!!!
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This is the kind of stuff I’m talking about with advice for caregivers being flooded with stuff about handling feelings (which is also important) but completely missing the structural issues. I was taught that part of counseling is helping people see the larger issues at work and, if they want to address those, helping them find the tools. I don’t feel like there is enough out there validating that it is bananas that we abandon caregivers so thoroughly as a society. Naming it helps me to accept that things are the way they are, and the stress doesn’t come from my deficits. So just some systemic truth would help. But that’s not everything that bother me here.
(I get this magazine as a member of the American Counseling Association. I have a degree in counseling but have not sought a license. The pastoral counseling I do in my regular line of work is more on the level of triage, so if you want actual counseling advice, please see a licensed professional.)
The cover article here outlines some of what caregivers are dealing with, which is important for counselors to know. They don’t have time to unpack why things are messed up, which, ok, fine. But the interventions suggested lean into having the client use their inner resources to cope with the unmanageable. There is one clinical anecdote in which the client thinks about possible people to ask for help, but navigating that quest, whether asking a loved one or trying to get professional respite care, is a nightmare that is completely unacknowledged. There is a piece about encouraging clients to practice self-care and “to build a support network of resources.”
Knowing and navigating the resources is beyond the scope of mental health counseling, primary care physicians, and anyone else the caregiver might see in their limited windows for self care. That’s part of the problem. No integration with the systems the caregiver actually needs for practical help. That’s part of what is so overwhelming in congregational pastoral care. It’s these small communities of volunteers that families turn to as a last resort when these small communities aren’t offered any resources for supporting members, either.
It’s a mess is all I’m saying.
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A long overdue pinned post:
Hello! We are a polyfragmented DID system with about 20 "regular fronters", a handful of subsystems, subsystems within subsystems, several dozen littles and many, many fragments. We are bodily an adult (somewhere over 25) but our internal ages range the gamut from "very smol" to "infinite and ageless". We do not intend to disclose our trauma history in detail, but do think it's important to note that we are survivors of conversion therapy, csa, and RAMCOA (as well as being survivors of many other forms of trauma, abuse, and neglect) so please be particularly respectful on any posts regarding these topics.
We are also many other things, and you may see us post about those from time to time, but this is mainly a system blog for right now. We have been studying psychology and working in mental health professionally for over a decade now, and also have several mental health diagnoses of our own, so the bulk of what you see here will be related to mental health in some kind of way. We are pursuing a master's degree and eventually licensure in mental health counseling, and plan to specialize in treating trauma and dissociative disorders. We are happy to direct people to resources or to weigh in with clinical knowledge if needed, but mostly this blog is meant as a place for us to vibe without any of those responsibilities.
If you follow us and would like to request we tag a certain topic so that you can filter it, feel free to let us know and we'll accommodate as much as we reasonably can.
Some alters you're likely to encounter here:
- Quinn (they/them): usually 30s, main host, resident anxious bean
- Brand (he/him): 43, co-host, spicy protector, system dad, system therapist
- ghoul (they/she): 18, gatekeeper, vaultkeeper (guards memories and controls who gets access to what)
- Scarlet (she/her): mostly early 20s but ageslidey by a few years in either direction. trauma holder, reforming persecutor (we're so proud of her!), sexual protector
- Alex (he/they): early 20s, chill dude, resident pothead, Literally Just Some Guy
- gLItCH (it/they/he/???): teen, maybe? demon doggo, agent of chaos. BORK BORK.
- teenado: not technically an alter, but a common co-con blend consisting of ghoul, Mara Blu (who doesn't usually use tumblr), Scarlet, and gLItCH. teen sideblog @the-systeen-chapel
There are many, many more of us, but those are the folks you're most likely to see here.
DNI:
We don't want to assemble a complete shitlist or anything... but if we'd be on your DNI list for any reason, consider yourself on ours. Everyone's probably happier that way. :)
We block bigots, abusers, and other flavors of toxic folk on the first offense. If it somehow comes to your attention that we've blocked you, we ask that you respect that boundary and not attempt to bypass it in any way. This court of opinion allows no appeals and any further attempts to engage will be met with popcorn and laughter, at your expense.
Please interact (looking for mutuals):
- traumagenic/DID/OSDD systems
- LGBTQ, especially trans/nb
- neurodivergent & mental health blogs
- crippunk, disabled & chronically ill
- leftist & antifa
- trauma survivors, especially fellow RA and conversion therapy survivors
- fellow mental health professionals, educators, and activists
Okay, that's all for now! Thanks for reading.
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So usually I wouldn’t ask for advice of this genre, but I’m genuinely worried. I think my already abusive parents are catching on that I’m a trans guy. I seriously want to detransition but it almost feels physically painful. What do I do? For context, I’m pre-op, pre basically everything. I still look like a girl and stuff.
Hi! I'm sorry you're going through this. I would consider myself dysphoric/desisted, but not truly detrans because I didn't truly socially (de)transition or medically (de)transition. I have some suggestions (adapted from one of my earlier asks on this topic), but it might be useful to talk to detransitioned women to get another perspective.
Talk to a trusted adult in your life. It could be a parent, an aunt/uncle, a teacher, or an older sibling. The adults in your life generally want the best for your health and happiness. If your parents are abusive or you are afraid to tell an adult you are trans, you can just tell them you are distressed with you body/gender roles and want help.
Contact your doctor or a local gender clinic and ask if they can point you towards detransitioning resources (if you have medically transitioned)
Search online and see if there are any detransition support groups near you (unlikely this will pan out, but it's worth a try). If you happen to know anyone who has detransitioned, you can also reach out to them.
If you are able to, please look into counseling. If you are dysphoric, you can ask for a counselor that will help you explore your discomfort with your body/gender roles and reconcile your relationship with your body. I’d avoid any therapists who advertise themselves as LGBTQIA2S+ friendly: they may be well meaning, but their primary method of treatment for dysphoria will likely be transition. Therapists and other mental health professionals tend to have bios where they list their background and what they specialize in: I'd suggest looking for a therapist who is female, and possibly someone who is comfortable gender non-conforming (someone who doesn't see being unhappy with gender roles or gender non-conforming as being the same as being trans). I went to a counselor who was an older lesbian. You can also send an email to Gender Exploratory Therapy Association (GETA) to see if they can match you with a therapist.
If you can't go to counseling, I strongly recommend this DBT Workbook (the link is to a free PDF version). Dialectical Behavioral Therapy is a way to cope with distress and improve your distress tolerance through different techniques.
You can journal how you feel. It doesn't need to be fancy (it can be a notes page on your phone or some binder paper, but if journaling with markers and stickers and washi tape helps, you can do that too). Ask yourself what made you feel like you weren't or couldn't be a woman/girl? What does the thought of detransitioning make you feel? It can just be how you feel in general. If you're comfortable, you can also share your journal with a trusted adult or counselor. Or, it can just be for your eyes only.
Work on improving your integrity and comfort with your body. It helps you feel wonderful feelings, taste your favorite foods, see beautiful things... your body is not trying to hurt you or work against you. For example, your body is not menstruating because it is "punishing" you for not being pregnant (this is something I heard a lot growing up). Menstruation is just something female bodies do. It's vital to regulating your hormonal health, bone density, and weight. While yes, you can get pregnant and be a parent if you choose to as an adult, your body is not telling you to do anything. Your bodily functions are not a mandate. You exist for you!
Try to avoid seeing your body as a problem, or as fractured parts you want to fix: your body is just your body. Don't think of your body as a decorative object you need to change to please anyone. Your body exists for you and (most importantly) your body is you. Treating your body well is part of treating yourself well.
To improve your relationship with your body, I would recommend picking a sport or physical activity. Do something you like that makes you comfortable! If wearing a swimsuit fills you with dread, wear a more modest one or don't pick swimming. It can be as simple as walking, stretching, or yoga in your room. The point of a physical activity is not just to keep in shape, but to feel how your body is capable of doing whatever you want it to. Your body doesn't have to look a certain way for that.
Your image of your body and your comfort with being female might also improve if you take a social media break. I know it can be hard, but try to commit to a short break (a week, a month). Use this time to read, listen to music, draw, relax, exercise... whatever will keep you happy and healthy. Social media is saturated with images of sexualized, objectified, and impossibly thin women. It can be stressful to feel like you don't "measure up" to what the Internet tells you a woman is supposed to be. Take this time to remind yourself that you don't need to imitate these people to be happy.
I would also recommend you unfollow any social media accounts that make you feel bad about your body or talk about transitioning and gender all the time (you can always refollow later). Focus on how you feel about your body and yourself, not what other people promote.
What or how you decide to change socially, who you tell, or how you say it is up to you. You don't need to disclose why you're detransitioning either. You can just tell people you've decided it wasn't for you or that you'd like to go by your old name/pronouns. Don't let anyone, especially other transitioned peers, pressure you into doing or revealing anything you don't want to. If you have a friend group of trans peers your age, don't let them make you feel bad! You have the right to do what's best for you. If you have friends that aren't supportive of you doing what's best for you, it might be best to look for a new friend group.
If you've been happiest dressing in "boy" clothes or doing certain "boy" activities, none of that has to change when you detransition! Detransitioning should be about accepting that your natal biological sex is female. Being female is a neutral fact, like being brunette or being 167 cm. Being female has no bearing on what you can do, who you can love, what professions, hobbies, or interests you have... that's all gender. You don't have to change how you dress, think, feel, act, talk, etc. None of these things can disqualify you from being a woman or girl. Just be yourself and know there's no wrong way to be female.
Being a woman or girl can be scary. Menstruation sucks, sexual harassment sucks, sexism sucks. But there's light at the end of the tunnel, and that's other women and girls! Reach out to them. They are your lifeline. Build friendships. There are other women and girls just like you. You are never alone.
On that note, having positive female role models and consuming books/TV shows/movies/music by and about women can help you feel better about detransitioning and reconciling with being female.
Don't discount the wisdom of older women! They're not nags, shrews, or "Karens". They're female, too. Many of them have likely felt what you feel.
Detransitioning doesn't mean you need to feel a certain type of way on gender or trans issues. Don't let radical feminists, conservatives, or trans-rights activists bully you into saying or doing what suits their narrative. It's your life, so do what's right for you!
Lastly, here are some resources I would recommend, both about transition and detransition:
A Booklet on Gender Detransition
The risks of binding
Testosterone use and pelvic health
The LGB Alliance USA also runs a virtual group for adult dysphoric women every other Wednesday
Detransition may feel painful now, but I truly think accepting my body and working hard to deal with distressing thoughts like dysphoria has improved my quality of life a lot. It will take work, but freeing yourself from the expectations of gender and treating dysphoria like any other body dysmorphia (as that can be improved over time) is a lot better in the long run than trying to obsessively tailor every aspect of your life to be gender affirming to lessen your feelings of dysphoria.
The prevailing narrative told to dysphoric and trans-identifying teens is that you need to transition, you need to go on hormones, you need to do xyz or you will die. This is not true. Most dysphoric youth who do not medically transition end up as happy, alive adults. (If you are having suicidal thoughts, please tell a trusted adult or call a hotline). So I’m going to tell you instead what I was told, and what other lesbian, gay, and bisexual kids were told growing up: it gets better, and you are going to be okay <3
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