I Ain’t Sorry.

I knew during my very first session that the therapist I’m working with while I’m here would be a good fit for me. In a shocking lack of display of white fragility, I felt like she was truly hearing–and agreeing with–me as I effectively dragged #problematic white women into the next century.

The slow build to my rant had begun when she asked me what I wanted to work on, and any concerns I had, mostly related to how short-term our sessions would be. I decided to get the most awkward part out of the way, and revealed that while she seemed nice enough, I had some trepidations around working with a younger white woman. My therapist at home is basically a black auntie in the form of a shrink, and her “let’s unpack this” meets “aye but get your life together though” approach is perfect for me. Additionally, there is a very particular form of patronizing and self-centering that I’ve experienced in the past from white female therapists, and more recently from white women in my social work program. I didn’t want ~transference~, as those in the therapy world say, to get in the way of what we were attempting to do because she did some all-too-familiar bullshit.

While I spoke, her face took on a nerdy squint similar the one I have when my glasses have slipped too far down my nose. Not missing a beat, she pushed up her chunky tortoise-shelled frames and continued to note-take, nodding affirmatively and furrowing her brow in true therapist fashion. The furrow deepened as I recounted past therapy experiences with white women which were marked by maternalism, coddling, and attempts at empathy which centered their white guilt and tears more than my pain.

As I unloaded intense feelings that I’d forgotten I had, I could feel the speed and volume of my speech elevating, but made no attempts to lower them. If she was going to be shook, I needed to go elsewhere. To my surprise, she remained unfazed, her messy blonde bun flopping to the side as she tilted her head to listen more closely.

Once I was through, she validated everything I’d said, promised to make sure she didn’t engage in the behaviors I described, and encouraged me to call her out if/when she did. After agreeing on boundaries, we set specifics to work through since my time in weekly sessions was limited. One of those things was the ambivalence I was feeling about choosing to isolate and be completely self-focused during my time in Australia. Perhaps the biggest detriments to my mental health have been centering the needs of others at the expense of my own, and rooting nearly the entirety of my identity in what I do for and how I relate to other people. Once it had really processed that I would be 10,000 miles away from everything and everyone which defined me, made me comfortable, and in many ways, served as a distraction from the self-work I needed to do, I was petrified.

As time went on, though, I became increasingly comfortable with sitting with myself, my thoughts, and even my problems. Though there were quite a few growing pains, there was far more freedom. Intentional isolation gave me space to thoroughly examine who I am, what I want for myself, what is important to me, and what my goals are … absent of consideration of others. As Amber mentioned in one of our sessions, taking space to do that doesn’t mean that you never consider others again, it means you prioritize having a firm foundation for yourself, so you aren’t retroactively seeking fulfillment because you realize years down the road that everything you are and do has been for someone else, or that you can only find happiness in relation to others.

Some of taking that space looked like severely limiting or completely cutting off communication with people, which was the hardest part. I worry a lot about what others think of me–especially those I care about deeply–and about whether or not I’m doing enough for my loved ones as a friend or family member. Just as I was settling into the fact that growth would look like isolation for me over the time I was spending abroad, guilt crept in. So did anxiety, and after I spent the first 30 minutes of a session weaving an imaginary world in which everyone would hate me when I got back, Amber sat quietly for a second before simply saying: “Brittney, from what I’ve observed about you so far, and what you’ve told me, you worry about everyone but you. Right now is a unique time to just worry about you, and you need to take the mindset that ‘I deserve,’ and be ok with taking time to be selfish.”

Now, the young ratchet in me wanted to burst out laughing, because all I could think of when she said ‘I deserve’ was Mama Dee. But she was right. It’s not likely that I will ever have another time in my life in which I can shut out all distractions—people included—and solely focus on personal growth and defining who I am at this point in my life, as well as who I want to be. And as far as friends and family are concerned, literally everyone that I hold close in any way has told me constantly (over the past couple years in particular) that I don’t take good enough care of myself or think of myself enough. I was hospitalized twice for exhaustion and dehydration this year, and passed out in a friend’s kitchen the day before leaving for Australia because I’d been running myself ragged and had barely had anything to eat or drink all day. I risked significant grade deductions in a course because I didn’t want to let people, or my late mother, down by missing the Alzheimer’s Advocacy Forum.

I could honestly write a totally separate post about all the stupid and/or risky shit I’ve done because I wouldn’t put myself first. It was absurd, and sitting with solitude allowed me to reflect on that and gain some insight into myself and what needs to change so I can be at my best. It also made me reflect on who actually meant it when they said to put myself first, and who is actually more comfortable with the version of me which would bend until breaking for their sake. 

About four or five sessions later, I found myself nearly full-circle, venting to Amber with ferocity in defense of my new-found priority…me.

“This is the best and the most I’ve slept in literally years. My skin looks fucking phenomenal. I’m realizing so much about myself, and I’m going to need to have a strong sense of self to do the things I want to do in life. So it’s like, if I’m restoring myself and growing as a person, and you’re salty because I haven’t returned your fucking text message? I just, I won’t. And you can’t tell me to practice self-care, then be mad about how I do it. I am in such an incredible place, and it’s because I’m doing this; being alone, taking care of me. So I’m realizing now that I am not fucking sorry. I’m just not.”

Amber beamed with pride at my introspection. “And you shouldn’t be, Brittney. Don’t ever be.”