I give a reassuring smile to both of them before diving in.
“Let’s pick up where we left off last week shall we?” I flip open my notepad and get to work.
The Beekers have been seeing me virtually through my therapy practice for three months now as we work through addressing the disconnect in their marriage prompted by Mrs. Beeker’s recent lack of desire for intimacy with her husband.
Though I’m a licensed psychotherapist, specializing in marriage and family therapy, my real title is sex therapist.
Most people think that a sex therapist’s job is solely about helping couples have more sex or improving the quality of the sex that they’re having, but that’s a huge misconception. There’s so much more to it: emotional connection, communication, non-sexual physical touch throughout the day, and addressing any hidden resentment.
In my experience, the problems are rarely about the actual act, and more about the things that haven’t been said that lurk beneath the surface.
Two weeks ago, we uncovered years of resentment stemming back to an incident they went through in college. And during our last session together, we worked on Mr. Beeker’s initiation techniques and ways to incorporate that non-sexual touch that Mrs. Beeker has expressed she needs into their daily routine.
Thirty minutes later, our session is wrapping up after another exercise. I’ve given them actionable steps to take as they work to gently bring down the walls that are preventing them from reconnecting intimately after eight months of celibacy, and I’m feeling optimistic about the progress they’re making on their treatment plan.
I smile and wave to them on my tiny, cracked laptop screen, feeling like I’m making a difference. This is the meaningful work that I enjoy doing the most.
“So same time next week?” I ask.
They both nod and we say our goodbyes.
I pull off my headset and toss it aside, heading for my first shower of the day. My mind feels stretched thin, like if one more responsibility gets added to the pile, it’ll all collapse. I just want ten minutes of quiet before diving back in, but even that feels like I’m asking for too much.
It’s only four in the afternoon, but I have another virtual therapy session at five, plus some furniture items that need to be uploaded to the family thrift store’s website that Gabriel recently restored. But first, I need to tackle the laundry and get dinner ready before Eden comes home from school.
As I pass Eden’s room, the glow of her laptop catches my eye. I pause, instinctively torn between curiosity on what she’s up to, and respect for her privacy. This past year of school for her has caused her to become more private. That plus my insane work schedule, means I’ve had less time for girl-talk with her.
The screen is illuminated with the last page that she was viewing, and the title of the website makes me pause: ‘Live Like an Influencer.’,
The banner on the page is wrapped in green ivy, almost in a holy way, and the slogan beneath it reads,‘Everything you need to consume to glow like an influencer.’
I hesitate at the threshold of her doorway, torn with guilt. I don’t want to snoop, but now I’m intrigued. I take a seat on Eden’s bed, glancing down at the web page.
Okay... just a quick peek.
I click on a post and start reading. The site is filled with blog posts warning about the dangers of chemicals in popular foods, cleaning products, personal care items, even clothing. Half of it sounds like reasonable suggestions, but the other half feels like a quick slide into panic.
I click on another page that is focused on name brand cereals, special waters that only have one ingredient, and supplements for just about everything you could ever imagine.
Curiosity drives me to click on one of the external links which takes me to a social media page for the company. There’s a woman on the first post who’s speaking. Her title is printed at the bottom:Vice President of Marketing.
She seems kind and well-meaning. Her videos are filled with soft music, sunlight, and messages about clean living, eating whole foods, buying organic fabrics. She talks about it with such conviction, like peace and clarity are something you can purchase if you just follow the right steps.
I get it. There’s something calming about her voice, about having answers that sound this simple. But as I scroll, I start to notice something else, too. There are comments from the followers, and they’re flooding each post heavy with guilt.
People apologizing for not being able to afford the version that this brand recommends in bread and cookies. The overwhelmthat they feel trying to get it all right, every time. The shame that they feel buying off-brand, synthetic fiber clothing versus the all-organic cotton label this company recommends.
“Buy only organic cotton clothes!”a guy in a linen suit with the title ‘Matt - Vice President of Operations’urges with a dazzling smile directed to the viewers on the other end of his camera.“You can find our recommendations on our page. And don’t buy second-hand from thrift stores!”
I blink, unsure whether to laugh or feel nervous for the millions that are hanging on his every word.
Bad day for thrift store lovers.
I scroll downward in disbelief, my eyes widening when I see the view count on this video:Five million views.
Now I’m completely hooked; I dive deeper, scrolling through the business’s posts, each having amassed over millions of views, all echoing the same message.
I’m no health nut, but I try to eat well and exercise when I can. I understand that there are many ways we can take care of our bodies and mental health that don’t involve food restriction or shelling out thousands in cash. However, this lifestyle ofonlypurchasing organic food, clothing, and products isn’t practical for most people, let alone those of us who are just trying to keep the lights on and food on the table for our families.
