I’m Your Therapist’s Therapist, and That Girl is a Fucking Mess

Hey, it’s Mark—your therapist’s therapist. I’m sure you’re really looking forward to your appointment with Joan this week, and I wouldn’t normally do this… but I think you should probably start considering other providers.

I’m not telling you to abandon ship. Just, you know, maybe keep your options open. Because—and I hate to be the one to tell you this—Joan is not Doing Well.

I know she seems composed—the very picture of emotional stability and grace. But trust me, thirty seconds before your session, she was lying face down on the floor after DM’ing her high school boyfriend’s mom on Instagram to ask if he’d cheated on her in the eleventh grade.

Homegirl is going through it.

Look, most of us get into therapy because we want to help people. What we don’t put on the brochure is the subconscious motivation: If I learn enough about other people’s feelings, surely MINE will sort themselves out, right? It’s a bold strategy. We are still workshopping it. Joan is not helping.

I’d love to say that she’s just had a rough week.

It has not been just a rough week.

Buddy, she’s been dumped three times in the last four months—twice by amateur magicians. She got two hours of sleep last night and asked ChatGPT for “grounding techniques” when you got up to go to the bathroom. That Zoom session you had? She hit a new high score on Candy Crush. It was the highlight of her week, which should give you a sense of where the bar currently is.

To be clear: I’m sure Joan cares about you very much. She wants to help with everything you’ve got going on right now. But she’s also just a person. An earnest, sincerely empathetic, emotional dumpster fire of a person.

She has assured me multiple times that she’s fine. Not, like, fine fine. But like… she can locate her shoes most days, and you’ve got to celebrate the little things.

And honestly, who are we to judge? Who is doing well these days? I know you’re certainly not (she’s told me all about that stuff with your mom…which is another reason you might want to consider other options). Then again, do you have any idea how many professional guidelines I’m violating just by telling you this? You think I’m doing okay? Last week I asked my therapist point-blank if he was mad at me. Over email. Twice.

I’m starting to think that deciding to become a therapist should be viewed as a cry for help.

Anyway, no need to panic. Just consider this a friendly nudge to maybe have a backup therapist on file. Like a spare tire. Or an extra phone charger. Something you don’t need to think about until things get spicy.

That being said, she’s got a date with another magician this Friday, so sooner might be better than later…