My Therapist Says - My Therapist Says: Advice You Should Probably (Not) Follow

Advice You Should Probably (Not) Follow

FROM THE FOUNDERS OF
MY THERAPIST SAYS

I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO BE EXCLUDED FROM THIS NARRATIVE.

TAYLOR SWIFT

(ALSO, MY THERAPIST)

Thank me later when these quick and handy terms help you describe someone/something much faster than explaining to, say, a Carol for hours why she is, in fact, a Carol.

CAROL: The annoying friend/coworker/nuisance that pesters you with her presence and infuriates you just by being her generally upbeat and keener self. Always wants to do the right thing. Probably has a cat(s).

SUSAN: Noun and verb. Unpleasant, annoying, and delusional, the Susan is somebody who is literally awful in every way, is liked by no one, but has no clue, no matter how many open clues you give her. If you roll your eyes at this, youre probably a Susan. Uses: Susaning, Susanism. (See to learn about The Susan.)

CHAD OR BRAD: The frat-bro type of person who you love to hate, and unfortunately, cant be without. It could be anyone from the douchebag guy you keep going back to and low-key, high-key hate yourself for, or the guy who never grew out of his Lets get fucked up! stage. In summary, you never want to be a Chad or a Brad.

I dont hate you because youre a Carol. Youre a Carol because I hate you.

The music is too loud and everywhere you turn, bodies are pressed up against each other, swaying to the rhythm. Like Lindsay Lohan on top of the DJ booth in Mykonos, youre in that state of euphoria in which you feel invincible and as though any wish is within reach. Its the rare kind of confidence provided only by copious amounts of alcohol, and lighting thats too dim. Thats sort of what I want every day to be like, but better. I strive, constantly, for that elusive idea of perpetual happiness. Of course, Im not completely delusional, and know its unrealistic to be living in a constant state between responsible adult and low-key blackout. But, as I carry on, day by day, not necessarily learning from my mistakes, but trying my very best not to repeat them, I still chase the unattainable. The successful career. The best boyfriend. The newest clothes. The most fun group of friends.

Thats the reason I wrote this magnum opus on all things to do, or better yet, not to do. My sage advice has been carefully curated through years of wrong turns, bad decisions, and half-sober therapy sessions. Most of my life, like the clichd millennial I am, has been filled with anxiety, delusion, depression, avocado toast, euphoria, and all the unhealthy instability that comes with zero moderation. That is, until I met my therapist.

My relationship with my therapist, with its biting rapport, insatiable curiosity for life, and a familial dynamic, has made quite an impression on people all over the globefive million followers on Instagram and counting (my therapist has left the chat)! I began to chronicle our relationship in the form of memes on Insta, and in no time, I had legions of fans (cue crickets) telling me that theyre just like me! Look, my mother would say being in my company, even figuratively, isnt a compliment, and does not even come close to anything worth bragging about, but youll hear more about her later. Her questionable influence on me is prevalent through the fits of self-deprecation and delusional confidence gently woven within this book.

My therapist and I, however, are the true stars of this tale. We disagree on almost everything, and our road has been paved with a few obstacles here and there, including times when she tried to pass me off to colleagues; times when she conveniently didnt see me out in public, even though I was waving rather maniacally and watched her promptly turn around; and even times when she lost her phone for months to avoid the, and I quote, headache.

People tend to enjoy this raucous dynamic in which I make a slight error, or two, or, like, six, and my therapist wonders whether I can honestly call myself a functioning human being capable of using my last two brain cells. Her words, not mine. Sure, she pleads with me to make decisions that will benefit me and not take us back eight years. Also, sure, she thought that adopted by the Kardashians should not be my answer when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. And yes, Ive been known to misread (every) situation now and again, forgoing all reason and thought, and following only my (incredibly flawed) intuition. But slowly, I am becoming the version(s?) of myself she may eventually come to publicly acknowledge, so this is all part of the learning process and journey on which we are about to embark. Together.

With my current karmic journey doing me zero favors, the time for change is now. I decided to impart the wisdom Ive learned, with my therapists impatient guidance and exasperated twitch, to all the girls, like me, who roam this world, aimless and confused as to why they constantly keep making the same mistakes over and over again, dating the same awful version of their dad, and tolerating their annoying bosss whiny nagging.

I divided this book into six chapters that cover all the bases, ranging from self-love (or, honestly, self-like, because even I cant convince others to stomach me for more than a day) and relationships, to career advice and the ever-dreaded adulting. I also included cautionary tales of things my friends have done, every now and again, to remind people that theyre not alone in making colossal mistakes and seemingly ruining their reputations overnight because they decided to date a Scorpio. (Oops, have I said too much?) Oh, and yes, Ive brought the ancient science that is astrology, amid all the general wisdom, to warn you of the dangers of investing time in dating a water sign, because, no, there are NOT so many fish in the sea. GET OUT OF THAT SEA, ARIEL. Along with observations Ive collected from nights out, and from the cubicle next to the guy who smells like sardines, I explored every avenue and left no stone unturned in my quest to guide you like your own personal Deepak Chopra, but if he had no qualifications. Quite often, during all my advice-giving, and ruminations, I even placed myself at the scene of the metaphoric crime, like a wannabe Christiane Amanpour.