I should rename this blog Becca’s Therapy Chronicles. This week therapist and I talked about finding my place. Not in that passive woman way, c’mon. I have more of a hallway than a kitchen.

After the weekend of 2 baby showers, I spent a weekend in DC with my dearest Valentine and visited with my long lost cousins. I’m not sure when this happened, but looking around me I’m surrounded by babies, couples, house purchases, people with baby fever. That’s awesome, that’s life moving and shaking. I make my life as passionately dramatic as possible, but the stories I tell are usually about the bad TV I watch or fun info learned from my podcasts.

I don’t want my podcasts to be my best friends, I want to keep my friends. I guess I worry that my married, coupled, parent friends are passing me by and I’ll get lost in the wind. Am I supposed to find new, single friends? Lame. I don’t feel lonely, or alone, or jealous. I just don’t want to feel left out. My cousin said I sound like a Sex & the City episode (aka, compliment taken. We muse like Carrie Bradshaw as we frantically type after intakes).

Therapist told me that good friends will stick by you, and all this change is relative. In a few years, who knows, maybe I’ll be the one forcing you to come to my celebration shower. Play silly games and pretend to surprise me with registry gifts. I need to put in the effort with my friends, and the friendships will sustain. Part of this is being vulnerable, bold with the people that have earned the right to hear my story and engage in my life wholeheartedly. (Guess the author)  I remind myself, I have to do the same- despite new additions, partners, and other forward movements.

Basically, I will invite myself over to other people’s house.




Our vastly changing government has lead to many actions, thoughts, emotions, and confusion. It’s been hard to understand and accept the supporters of our new politics. I’m trying. Therapist encouraged me to extend compassion to his supporters, compassion for their fear of change and fear of poverty and loss. I’ve tried that for a few weeks…giving compassion in place of understanding.

What’s gotten me stuck, though, are people openly expressing they don’t care about others. A friend of mine described neutrality with our president, as his  own daily life isn’t expected to change much (cough…white male). When asked, “what about everyone else?” he responded with a shrug. When I asked a red coworker that same question, he responded with, “who cares?” Last night I read the Facebook comments of a post by my Uncle, a well educated, kind, articulate man. My Uncle presents the facts of society, and in the midst of the comments, someone wrote (in all caps), “American lives are more important than everyone else. Period.” That is so hard for me to write and repeat. That’s not fear, that’s hate.

I meet strangers everyday. People I don’t know, most likely will never see again. Part of my work is to speak with empathy, without judgment, and to listen without distraction. I can’t imagine not caring about the lives of other people. Don’t get me wrong, there are people I dislike. I’m no saint, but I can’t imagine caring nothing about the people around me.

This world gives me a heavy heart. I try to read positive news, about the lawyers and politicians doing what they can to stand up for what’s right. It’s hard to make sense of this, to find direction. It’s easy to get overwhelmed, disheartened, angry. This isn’t the kind of world I want to live in. Another reminder of our American privilege; there are countless people living in countries that have no voice against their oppressive governments.