Tag Archives: moving

Gay People Move Too

Can you believe that gay people have to move too? Honestly me neither. Not only do I have to deal with the idealization of mediocre gay white men within the gay community, emotional unavailability/unresolved emotional baggage from the few men I have been interested in, and heteronormativity – I have to sell and pack my furniture and set up utilities and wifi too? Please knock me out and wake me up when Le Sserafim, Blackpink, or Twice releases their next comeback so I can jog to it while screaming along the Charles River.

Obviously I’m joking in that I have a ton of privileges and having to move is a piece of cake compared to hardships other people face in life. At the same time I have felt a wee bit stressed. So, I wanted to write this more casual post as a sort of interlude, in the form of specific strategies I’m using to cope with the moving stress, drawing from various therapy orientations. I love writing therapy-related blog posts instead of wasting time contending with mediocre men!

1. Breaking things down into smaller steps from cognitive behavioral therapy. Continue reading

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44 Days

I signed a lease for an apartment in Cambridge last week! While I felt relieved after receiving the final confirmation email, the stress about moving itself soon sunk in: I have so much random sh*t strung about every nook and cranny of my apartment, I lack any sense of where to obtain boxes to pack this random sh*t once I get it together, and I still need to figure out how to attain furniture for my new place. I have told my friends over the past week or so that I feel stress adjacent – not stressed, because of my intensive use of emotion regulation strategies, though approaching stress, because moving blows.

On one level, I think I may feel stress adjacent because of just how much logistical effort moving entails. However, today, I made a to-do list of sorts to orient myself. Figure out where to get boxes. Ask about the parking situation at your apartment complex. Get rid of old clothes. Make a plan to procure furniture. Find a new hair stylist in the Boston area. Sacrifice your values and seduce a rich man of color to finance your life so you can afford a 1bed/1bath right on the Charles River, an apartment filled with books and far from the man himself.

When I paused to self-reflect on my stress adjacency today, I thought about the urgency I felt throughout my childhood. Continue reading

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Reflection of Feelings

I saw my first client in 2017, toward the beginning of my time in graduate school. Before my cohort and I saw our cases, we practiced therapeutic basics with one another, such asking open-ended questions instead of closed-ended questions to encourage deeper exploration, or reflecting and paraphrasing statements to get to the gist and the heart of the matter. Though these techniques feel automatic to me now, I still remember how much my listening skills – and my self-awareness – improved when I started using them on a consistent basis.

“You don’t really go toward sadness,” my first therapy supervisor told me, way back in 2017. Continue reading

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Things Change

My fists beat against the couch. Tears sting the scars on my face. Nothing matters anymore, now that I’ve failed. I didn’t get in. I didn’t pass the test. I didn’t get in. It’s time to say goodbye. I’ll never see my friends again. The bonds I’ve made, the lives I’ve touched, the games I’ve played – gone, forever.

I was only eight when my life changed. Continue reading

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Unafraid

My family members tell me that when I was little, my mom refused to change my diaper. My dad did, sometimes, but usually my grandmother would. Even at a young age, my grandmother was stepping in to provide the support I needed, when my mom wouldn’t dare to do so.

My mom made me cry a lot when I was little. Almost every day. I remember all the little mistakes I made, the endless missteps of an inexperienced toddler, always met with a sharp hand or stinging words. I don’t think I would have survived if it hadn’t been for my grandmother, who has lived with my family since the day I was born.

Every time my mother abused me, I would run to my grandmother. Continue reading

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