Skip to main content

For Colored Girls Who Aren't Afraid to Acknowledge Their Therapist, Pt. 2


A lot of people have read my earlier post (For Colored Girls Who Aren't Afraid to Acknowledge Their Therapist, Pt. 1) about being a strong black woman who unashamedly has a therapist. I've gotten a few comments like:

"Mia! You've always seemed like you had it all together! I'm surprised."

"Mia, this is my life! I've had/I'm having trouble finding a therapist too!"

"I had no idea therapy costs that much! Why won't insurance cover mental health care like they cover everything else?"

1. So, let me say this: I'm grateful to know that I am not alone in this process--that there are friends and colleagues who are doing or want to do work on themselves so that they, too, can be healthy. My generation might be deemed selfish or self-absorbed by older onlookers, but many of us are outchea tryna to cultivate the best version of ourselves--the version our families and communities expect from us. We ain't just outchea overachieving for no reason--running ourselves ragged tryna get multiples degrees only to get turned down by 72 potential employers for jobs that we were overqualified for. A family member who's in her 60's loves to suggest that millennials "have more mental health 'issues' than previous generations;" and while that complex statement may have a half ounce of truth in it, it by no means encapsulates the complexity of being a black millennial in the age of Trump--in a world where we are drowning in debt and the cost of living in the cities where many of our jobs are is climbing, rapidly.

Yes! We have issues that need to be worked out so we can dig this country out of the hole it's in and liberate our communities. Yes, we are more transparent about our issues than previous generations. Don't let anyone judge you for seeking the help you need and desire!

Ok. I'm off that soapbox.

2. Another thing: Yes, I'm put together. Although I'm quite the rebel, there's still an ounce of southern black belle in me. I still need to look like something when I leave the house. I have a reputation to uphold--a brand to maintain. I can't be preaching on the pulpit looking like what I've been through--what I'm going through. But, thanks for the compliments. Ha! Depression and mental illness have many faces. Even if you are experiencing mild depression, it still affects your heart beat, your immune system, your skin. A person may seem put together or be smiling constantly, but their body may not be processing food because that's the effect depression has on their digestive system. Stay alert. Pay attention to your friends and family. Check in with people when they cross your mind. Look beyond the outward facade. Your "hey girl, what's up?" might be the thing that saves somebody's life.

3. Lastly, insurance companies will fight you at every turn for your mental health care. They will make it difficult on purpose for you to obtain and maintain mental wellness. Don't be discouraged. Let your therapist or psychiatrist know so they can help you with the paperwork. It's their money on the line too! If they can't help you figure that shit out, you're gonna probably stop seeing them and they won't get paid!

But let's talk about it: basically, this country is built on the concept of productivity. If you are depressed to the point where you can't work--you can't produce-- insurance is going to cover the bare minimum to get you back on your feet-to get you to be "productive" on their terms. Talk therapy, which is a long-term treatment, is usually not fully covered or only covered up to a certain monetary amount because it is considered "more than you need" to get you to a productive level. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Hypnotic Therapy are short term therapies that cost less over time, but are, in my opinion, less effective treatments that don't deal with day to day struggles that may arise. Talk therapy doesn't give easy results. There are no quantifiable tools to test whether or not the "treatment" is effective in every patient. It's a very subjective treatment that manifests results differently in each person. Insurance companies do not like uncertainty or indefinite lengths of treatment. 

So here we are, emptying our savings, late on our rent, eating rice and beans all week, to help ourselves--to better ourselves in a judgmental world that doesn't take our mental health seriously ...unless it's affecting our productivity.

This. Is. Life in the 21st century as a black woman unapologetically seeking ways to better herself.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. 
Be well, 
take care of yourselves, 
and let's get to freedom together.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"Where Do You See Yourself in 5 Years?"

Today (December 1st, 2020), Facebook reminded me that 5 years ago, I wrapped up a 5-week run of Ain't Misbehavin' at Portland Center Stage in Oregon, and flew back to New York City to re-enter my life there. I had just applied to seminary a few days before Thanksgiving and was excited about the possibility of leaning into this strong calling I felt to deepen my theological knowledge. I was still under the illusion that I'd be able to maintain some sort of performance career, so I kept my manager, Greg, and he'd continue sending me out on auditions. I was becoming very picky about what I'd say "yes" to-- Would I go on that national tour of Hamilton that he wanted to send me on or would I go to seminary? Would I leave to do a 9-month stint in After Midnight on an international cruise ship or would I go to seminary?  That was the question over and over again. I decided that I'd still do local stuff in NYC or short stints in other cities. Even as I ente

Why I Quit Church...

On Sunday I quit church... for the day, at least. It was the most beautiful and painfully passionate act of self-care I've ever done.   Hi. My name is Mia, and I live with an anxiety disorder.  It's 4:30 on Sunday morning. My first alarm intrudes on the three hours of sleep I've managed to acquire. I begrudgingly assess the state of my vocal cords and decide whether or not they are well enough for me to sleep another thirty minutes. I hit snooze. Minutes later, my second alarm assaults my rem cycle. I pimp-slap my iPhone and decide whether or not I'm going to steam (a process in which I stand over a pot of boiling water for fifteen minutes to lubricate my cords). I, instead, opt for the less time consuming process of making tea, buying me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. at 5:15, my third and final alarm goes off. I roll out of bed and into the shower. As I lather, I do minor vocal warm-ups and meditate. It's 6:05. I'm clothed, tea is made, hair is done,

Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake

  Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake At the time of my writing this, I am sitting in my big chair, staring at my front window from inside the house, looking at the drippings that have stained the glass from the eggs that some neighborhood kids hurled at my window almost two weeks ago. They were mad at me (I suppose) because they came to steal another package off my front porch in December, but they did not know that it was a package I’d planted with a note inside. I had them on camera stealing several packages on my block during the winter break, including one of mine that contained dog food (I know they were disappointed when they opened that one up ha!). Instead of calling the police or posting their faces on the many neighborhood apps, I decided to take an old amazon box, place a note inside, retape it and leave it on the porch. The note read: “God loves you. I care about you. Stop stealing packages. -Pastor Mac.” I wanted these 3 kids who look like they ar