Trouble in paradise, Donkey? For you or for … ?
A very sweet girl friend of mine is looking for a relationship therapist in the Bay area (ideally SF).
Here’s the tiniest thumbnail of them: he, UBER successful, VERY type A, VERY brilliant, INSANE schedule. Her, SUPER sweet, selfless, needs help knowing how to voice her desires. Neither of them have ever been to therapy, either individually or together.
I can imagine he might be a tough customer in a therapy session so the therapist better be able to BRING it… but if so, they would be incredible clients.
Let me know if you have a suggestion either below or through direct message …
It still astounds me to hear about people who have relationships without getting help with them – not even because something is “wrong” (jeez, that’s such a narrow view), but because they want to learn how to evolve their relating to the next level. What’s possible with their relationship? Why wouldn’t they put the same amount of time into that that they do if they, say, hire a personal trainer or an executive coach? It’s like trying to get to the Olympics without a coach, or learn algebra without a teacher. The people who succeed in relationships without such things are the anomaly … not the rule!
Clearly the Bravo! star never roped Avocado or Debbie or Pancakes or Prom King or fill-in-the-blank into couples therapy or she’d be as happy, successful, and OMG! married as Brit Moron.
Nisha, she just doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes!
Sunday afternoon ballet at the Palace of Fine Arts with my sweet sister Nisha.
For the record, I think it’s time for someone to choreograph a dubstep/EDM ballet … — with Nisha Moodley.
I LOVE YOU RAIN! PLEASE DON’T SNIFF STACEY MORGENSTERN’S PANTIES WHILE YOU’RE ON THE ROAD!
Joan Didion expressed similar sentiments to me just this morning:
You know things are going well with your writing when you’ve used Time Machine’s backup FIVE TIMES in the span of one day.
Thanks to Elizabeth Gilbert‘s “Big Magic” (and a lot of therapy) … I’m over the idea that artists or creators should be tortured.
“I believe that enjoying your work with all your heart is the only truly subversive position left to take as a creative person these days,” Gilbert writes. “It’s such a gangster move, because hardly anybody ever dares to speak of creative enjoyment aloud, for fear of not being taken seriously as an artist.”
Conveniently enough (LOL), I’m already not taken seriously as an artist, and I love any white girl who tells me how to be gangster, so I don’t mind saying this: I had a LOT of FUN writing today.
Yes … FUN!
The word “fun” used to trigger me like you wouldn’t believe. I refused to admit I had fun. Ever. I didn’t want anyone – least of all me – to think I was enjoying something as crazy as … work. Or life, for that matter. I always had this strange sense like if I succumbed to fun, I’d get “in trouble.”
(Replaced that pattern. Thank you NLP!)
And hell yes, I’m at home on a Saturday night, chilling in my bathrobe with my word art and my pink hula hoop and my kombucha and one pretty badass 12-year-old white shih-tzu.
And you know what? I’m … happy.
No red carpet ever made me feel this good.
Tho productive … and hula happy! Especially if Petey keeps sending the checks.
Since Juliar also just posted that she’s going to Miami, the Caribbean, and BVI over the next three months – resort wear suggestions, please! – I’m sure we’ll be seeing Experiments in Crappiness sometime next year.
Bon voyage, Donkey, and fuck your word art!
There’s so much pressure on women to be perfect! Is this the new I-may-fail-at-everything-and-am-too-lazy-to-get-a-job-but-keep-paying-my-rent-Daddy argument? Oh wait, she’s played the anti-perfection card before, but it’s hazy. Anybody remember?
And while we’re at it, sisters – let’s put an end to perfectionism. The relentless stress of having to be perfect ALL THE TIME, coupled with impossibility of EVER achieving such a state – while simultaneously believing (Really believing!) that we must be perfect to be loved: is KILLING US.
“In a recent poll done by Netmums in Britain, 81 percent of those who drank above the safe drinking guidelines said they did so “to wind down from a stressful day.” And 86 percent said they felt they should drink less. Jungian analyst Jan Bauer, author of Alcoholism and Women: The Background and the Psychology, believes women are looking for what she calls “oblivion drinking.” “Alcohol offers a time out from doing it all—‘Take me out of my perfectionism.’ Superwoman is a cliché now, but it is extremely dangerous. I’ve seen such a perversion of feminism, where everything becomes work: raising children, reading all the books, not listening to their instincts. The main question is: What self are they trying to turn off? These women have climbed so high that when they fall, they crash—and alcohol’s a perfect way to crash.”
I ask Leslie Buckley, the psychiatrist who heads the women’s addiction program at Toronto’s University Health Network, if she sees a pattern in the professional women who come to see her. She doesn’t skip a beat: “Perfectionism.”
Such an unforgiving word, such an unforgiving way of being—echoed by yet another doctor, who speaks of patients who look like they stepped out of Vogue: perfect-looking women with perfect children at the right schools, living in perfect houses, aiming for a perfect performance at work, with eating disorders and serious substance abuse issues.
The tyrannical myth of perfection: it seizes the psyche and doesn’t let go. My mother was in its grip, and she paid a serious price for it. This was in the 1960s, when men came home from work and expected dinner and a stiff drink—except my father was usually traveling. For years my mother held down the fort. She wrote perfect thank-you notes, she cooked perfect meals. As a new bride, she ironed bed sheets and pillowcases; as a new mother, she starched our smocked dresses. My sister and I wore white gloves when we traveled, velvet hairbands in our hair, and wrote perfect thank-you notes, too. And then my mother was the one with the stiff drink, and it all crashed—but not before I had it imprinted on me: Perfect was the way to be.”
Not to worry, Donkey. One actually has to put forth some effort to project the illusion of perfection.
Smelly just posted a James Michener-sized screed in which he looks deep into the female psyche, sharing with us the allure of bad boys and how nice guys can become just as enticing to the weaker sex.
Lonely? Awkward? Still can’t get that hottie in homeroom to look at you? Let Michael teach you how to become:
–And of course, how you can become 50 shades of exciting in the bedroom
Soon, you’ll be exciting, too! Envision yourself as a whip-wielding dominant! Maybe you’ll even snag a goddess like Julia Allison, who owes her new found self-esteem to the greasy gargoyle and is now dating a pixie-ish 43 year old who goes by … Rain Phutureprimitive?
Update: Over 10 hours ago Donkey shared “a gorgeous new album” with the world. So far, no one has commented and she’s received one like – from Grape Nehi. I LOVE YOU, RAIN!