Now that we’re 6 weeks into 2021, I finally feel ready to talk about 2020. Well, to be fair, I was “ready” 4 weeks ago but I had to write 9 drafts of this blog before I could post it. Anyway, with everything that happened last year, I needed to move a safe distance away before I could process what the hell happened. Like 2020 was a black hole I feared getting sucked back into. Is that how black holes work? If not, not to worry. I have another metaphor.

It’s like when an emotionally exhausting movie finally ends. You don’t know how to feel, you’re just so relieved it’s over because you can’t possibly process one more humiliating moment. We’ve all see Meet the Parents, right?

2020 was the series of events leading to Greg Fockers’s demise. Spiking a volleyball into his girlfriend’s sister’s face, losing Robert De Niro’s cat, finding a replacement cat and spray painting its tail, breaking the urn that held his girlfriend’s grandmother’s ashes, and let us not forget his claim that it is possible to milk anything with nipples. I saw Meet the Parents in theaters as a preteen. I was so horrified by the pure volume of cringe worthy moments, I found myself hiding behind the chair in front of me. I literally could not bear to watch it. Only when the credits started rolling did I feel safe enough to finally let out the exhale which I had been holding for at least 45 minutes. Only when I got back to my mom’s Dodge Minivan could I decide if I even liked it or not.

Anyway, 2020 was a challenge. Personally, I have never been less motivated to exercise, eat healthy, or wear anything except pants with elastic waist bands. I traveled less, which is tough as someone who lives away from many of her family and friends. I found myself tired most of the time, regardless of the amount of sleep I got the night before. And talking with people only became increasingly more challenging. I’m a bit of an introvert anyway, but multiply that by months of isolation, and I found myself tripping over my words like I was a 6^th grader giving a book report in front of her crush. The only thing I did well this year, was watch television; including but not limited to Breaking Bad, Brooklyn 99, Tiger King, Billy on the Street, Feel Good, Sex Education, Schitt’s Creek, and You. And if you are wondering, yes. I feel both proud and ashamed by the length of that list.

Personal challenges were easy to come by last year, and so were professional ones. It should be clear by the amount of time I spend talking about my feelings, that I am a therapist. I always feel a little odd saying that. “I am a therapist.” I think it’s because the word “therapist” conjures up the image of someone who has their shit together. Someone who has great communication skills, is open to new experiences, feels self-confident most of the time. Which, for me, is certainly an overstatement.

Few things are more humbling than when I’m in session and my client says something to the effect of, “I’m sure this doesn’t happen to you, but sometimes when I get home from work, I just want to go to bed. I went to bed at 10:00pm last night. How sad is that?!” At which point I’m reminded of the previous Friday where I dozed off reading a book at 8:45pm.

Or when a client is looking for feedback on how to approach their partner about a communication issue and I quickly flash to earlier that day when I came across an empty milk carton Keegan accidently left on the kitchen counter, and instead of asking him to throw it away, or simply throwing it away myself, I put it right in front of his chair and waited for him to notice. You know, like an adult…

But despite the flawed way I operate in the world, I love being a therapist. It fits well with my personality. I’m a good listener and I love learning about people’s stories. I also think I’m generally a pretty nice person. I mean, not like “Midwestern Nice”. You Midwesterners take nice to another goddamn level. But that’s a story for another blog (it’s in the works. Stay tuned).

2020 was a challenging year to be a therapist. To be fair, it was a challenging year to be anyone doing anything. And I don’t know that I consider therapists, “frontline workers,” the way most healthcare workers are. When I was able to meet client’s in person, I sat 6 feet away from them, we wore masks, our temperatures were taken, and if they had any contact with a sick person, they were turned away. Most of the time, I could sit in the comfort of my home to connect with people on ZOOM or telephone.  My face never bruised from an N95 mask. My feet did not ache from standing for a 14-hour shift. Many days, an 80-pound golden retriever laid at my feet. Best coworker I have ever had.

So yes, doing therapy during COVID had some perks, but it wasn’t all leggings and loose-fitting tops. 2020 was a roller coaster year to be a therapist. But not like an amusement park roller coaster. More like one of those ferris wheels you find at a county fair. The kind where you sit in an egg-shaped cage, flipping upside down with no particular rhyme or reason. Meanwhile your cage, and the 7 others move at a speed significantly faster than a regular ferris wheel. And the ride has the structural integrity of the swing set that’s been sitting in your parent’s backyard since 1996. That kind of roller coaster.

The problems people presented with this year were unlike many I had seen before. The kinds of problems that could only be brought on by fires, floods, a global pandemic, a social justice movement, drastic ongoing shifts in how people were receiving education, the most contentious presidential election in recent history, and now I’m hearing skinny jeans are going out of style.  I could go on. All the while people were asked to stay at home. Which, while being socially responsible and safe, also left people without the support of their loved ones. And that really amplifies the struggle.

Most days, I felt powerless. My clients were on this crumbling roller coaster asking for help.  Meanwhile, there I am, a couple cages over with a death grip on the seatbelt I never heard click. Some days, it really felt like the blind leading the blind. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being there to help my clients, but those humbling moments, when they were describing themselves and I flashed to my own dysfunction; those moments only increased in frequency.  

Because as my clients were seeking support from me, I wasn’t always handling my own stress as you’d imagine an upstanding therapist would be.  I often found myself without energy to do some things that used to be so easy. Or at least easier. At the start of the year, I woke up in the morning with enough time to journal, exercise, walk Bozeman, pack my lunch, shower, properly do my hair, and drive 30 minutes to work. By September, I was barely getting out of bed with enough time to walk Bozeman, take a shower, and make it up the steps with my soaking wet hair to my computer for my first session. After a very average week of work, I was appalled if anyone suggested I do anything but sit on my couch and fall asleep before 10:00pm. And by 10:00pm, I mean 9:15.

The only way I can describe it is, you know those day when you spend the entire day running errands and nothing goes according to plan? You try to accomplish something at the Post Office, but the Postal Worker says you need to go to the bank. And then the Bank Teller sort of helps but sends you to the DMV to do the rest. And then you wait 40 minutes at the DMV and can complete your task, but not without a government employee telling you to fuck off. Then you stop at Little Caesars on the way home, only to find out that their Hot N Ready pizzas are neither hot, nor ready. And you hit every red-light on the way home. And when you finally step into your house, the slightest inconvenience could send you over the edge into a full-blown melt down.

That’s how I felt at least once a week, without any of those things happening.

However (are you ready for things to come full circle? Because I’m about to blow your GD mind…), after all the times I found myself in some version of exhaustion this year, I was presented with yet another humbling opportunity.

Much of the time, I like my clients a lot more than I like myself. That sounds harsh. What I mean is, I am more understanding, empathetic, and compassionate toward them than I am myself.  And I think that’s true for all of us in some capacity. That’s why we look in the mirror and mutter endless harsh comments toward ourselves, but threaten murder upon anyone who even slightly criticizes our best friend. You know what I’m talking about.

Despite all the dreadfulness of last year, one benefit was being able to work with clients on redefining their own success and happiness. This country is all about achievements. Making the most money. Having the biggest house. The coolest car. The most extravagant vacation. The most orange spray tan (at least that seemed to be someone’s aspiration).

But 2020 called for different criteria for success.  In 2020, success was going to the grocery store without having a panic attack. Success was putting on jeans. Wearing make-up. Turning on the ZOOM camara and participating. Getting re-acquainted with an old hobby. Learning a new one. Giving money, clothes, or belongings to help those in need. Donating time, money, or support to a charitable cause. Admitting you need help and being able to get it from the comfort of your own home. It was learning how to set boundaries with family, friends, bosses, and strangers.

Success was slowing the hell down.

Part of the joy of being a therapist is knowing I’m no different than the human sitting across from me. I am just as flawed as they are, in my own super charming ways. And as much as I wish it did, putting on a blazer and dress pants does not allow me to transcend the problems of an average adult person. It does make me feel like a boss bitch, though. So that’s a bonus.

So my biggest life lesson in 2020 was just that. Re-defining my success. Re-defining the expectations I had for myself. Learning to accept that things were different last year in order to create a set of expectations that were more fitting for the year I faced.   

And it was not easy. For example, here is a sampling of my New Years Resolutions for 2020:

1. Complete an Olympic Triathlon
2. Run a half-marathon
3. Eat no fast-food

When Keegan and I were evacuated from our house because of city wide flood, we ate fast food twice in two days. By December 2020, I was proud of myself for running 2 miles consecutively. Which, for those of you who don’t know, is mere 11.1 miles short of a half-marathon. And a triathlon? I swam laps 4 times last year. Again, this is just a sampling of my 2020 failures.

For me, my crucial life lesson was realizing that those “little things”, like walking the dog, reading a book, going to bed early; those were not “little things”. They were essential ingredients in maintaining my sanity. It was letting go of basing my value on productivity, and instead putting value in things that brought me joy. Whether it was skipping the workout to get some extra sleep. Or spending an hour on a Friday night video chatting with family I lost touch with. It was spending extra time in the kitchen to figure out how to make the perfect butternut squash bisque. It was taking the long way home from Costco on a Thursday night so I can practice my rendition of “Someone Like You”, by Adele. Which, 10 years later, is still as abysmal as the first time I attempted it.

And chances are, if you’re reading this, your year was likely as hard as mine. Or harder. Or at least a different kind of hard. And here we are in 2021, quickly finding out that the problems of 2020 are going no where fast. We may be getting off the run-down, Ferris Wheel of Doom, but we still must ride the Tilt-a-Whirl, walk through the Fun House, and digest the funnel cake and chicken tenders we ate earlier. Or was that just me?

If 2020 was Meet the Parents, 2021 could very well be Meet the Fockers. Or maybe we’ll get lucky and a year from now I’ll be comparing 2021 to another Ben Stiller classic, like Dodgeball. And I’ll get to reflect on how we all came together in our breathable Average Joes jerseys to defeat the common enemy. Globo Gym. But in this case, the common enemy is whoever decided to take The Office off Netflix.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. But, hey, if I have to think at all, I might as well be wishful.

*Outtake for Common Enemies included:

• Nickelback
• Toothpaste stains
• Password Protected Wifi at Healthcare Offices
• Hot steering wheels
• Climate Change
• Low Rise Jeans
• The price of Dot’s Pretzels
• Hangovers
• Consequences
• Leaving milk cartons on the countertop (This is just a test to see if Keegan is still reading. Hi Keegan!)
• When you shrink your favorite clothing item
• Convenience Fees
• Self-Doubt
• Styrofoam