The Invisible Black Woman

Yep, it was already time for Day 2 of IOP, intensive outpatient program. I was dreading it even more than the first day, if that could even be possible. As I dragged myself to the car to head there, I thought of the million other things I would rather be doing than this. I even entertained going to a Starbucks and just sitting there for the duration of my session. But then I reminded myself that I promised to give this my best effort. I couldn’t very well do that if I didn’t show up. So I did, against my brain’s better judgment.

And lucky lucky me, we started the session with drama therapy. I immediately regretted not going to Starbucks. Amber, who was leading the session, kicked things off by going around the room, asking folks to introduce themselves and to name a season that represents our mood for the day. If I was being completely honest, I’d have said full on thunderstorm to convey the aggravation, anxiety, and agitation I was feeling, but it was way too early for honesty. Yes, I’m aware that’s not a season, but that’s the best I could come up with. Considering someone said “windstorm,” which last I checked, is not a season, I think I could have gotten away with it.

So I went with what I thought would be a safe answer.

“Fall, I guess.”

“Any reason for that?”

I didn’t think my answer would spark an inquiry.

“Yeah, just eh.”

“Eh” as in I was in the midst of some pretty significant changes in my personal and professional life. First time in individual therapy, first time on medical leave from work due to mental health reasons, first time in group therapy. So, lots of first and lots of changes. That’s probably what I should have said, but again, I wasn’t even remotely interested in engaging with her or anyone else.

A momentary aside, where I found myself in that particular moment in time makes me think of the song by Charles Bradley, “Changes.” The opening line that goes, “I’m going through changes (in my life),” pretty much sums up exactly this particular season of my life. If she had asked us what song most represents how we were feeling, I would have nailed it, I think.

“Anything you feel you might need from group today?” she asked.

“I have no idea.”

“That’s okay. That is absolutely allowed.”

She sure was making it very difficult for me to dislike her, but that sentiment didn’t last very long. Amber decided that what the group needed was a bit of improv. We were supposed to partner up with someone and we would act out whatever scene Amber gave us. The one caveat is that during the acting out of the scene, we were not allowed to speak. Glass half full, if you ask me.

Each team would take a turn acting out their interpretation of the scene assigned. So there was no opt-out waiver I could invoke. I wanted very much to sprint away when she told us, but I forced myself to get through it. The guy next to me, Cash, looked over at me. He shrugged, I chuckled and nodded, and we partnered up for the miserably, entirely too damn long improv session.

Our first skit, we had to act out what our expression would be at that moment where they take your picture on a roller coaster ride. Christ almighty.

For the next scene, we were in a public space. One of us would be doing something gross while the other looked at them in horror and disgust. I was already disgusted and horrified at having to do this exercise, so it didn’t seem like too big a lift to act that out. Each team took turns at the same scene.

I have to admit that some of the skits were pretty funny. But I wasn’t quite ready to show that this was the F word: fun. So I was a mix of reservedly amused and that scene from The Adventures of Billy and Mandy when Mandy attempts to flash a smile but very much looks like her face is about to crack in half because she doesn’t know how.

During our last skit, our instructions were to act out kindness. How we did it was entirely up to us. Everyone came up with different ways to act out kindness. From sappy to cute, each team understood the assignment. Cash and I were last. We decided that I would be carrying a stack of papers and they would fall on the floor, and he’d help me pick them up.

There were collective awwws. Internally, I was smiling smugly. Competitive to a fault, remember?

So when we finished our skit, Amber said the reason she wanted to have us do this skit last, was not just about reminding us to be kind to other people. It was a reminder to be kind to ourselves.

Snaps, Amber. Snaps.

With that, Amber exited and we got a break.

I stepped out just in time to see a text from hubby.

“Any better today?”

“Well, I don’t absolutely hate it, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“That’s better than yesterday!”

“LOL. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Just hang in there until the end of the week and see how you feel. You’re almost halfway through today, so that’s something to be proud of.”

“I guess.”

My “I guess” statement has always been code for, “you are right, but I’m not ready or willing to admit it right now.”

Break was over entirely too fast and it was time for processing. That’s where we got to go around the room and anyone that had something they needed to work through could do so and get support from the group as well as the group lead. I was beginning, on a subconscious level, to understand that they had a bit of a compliment sandwich going on. They would start with the light stuff (drama, music therapy, etc), move to the heavy shit, then end on a mild to medium note (with the dialectic behavior therapy). It kinda worked.

Nathan was leading processing again. He started with his version of standup as a warmup them moved on to gauging the room on who may want to share. We had a lot of takers. It was more engaging than I expected in that others were encouraged to chime in on their perspective of the situation while the lead took a bit of a backseat. He would weigh in at intervals once others had a chance to share their perspective on the issue.

It was more than a bit impressive how Nathan found a way to highlight the commonalities of what was being shared. I had to give him credit for that. It made me realize that what these therapists did was quite a gift and a delicate balancing act: finding a way to show those there they could see themselves in the circumstances of others while still validating and honoring those willing to speak up.

That said, I couldn’t help but feel a bit critical during what I dubbed the “fortune cookie” moments. And by that I mean that the statements made sounded very much scripted or pulled right out of a fortune cookie.

Statements like:

It’s about recognizing what’s out of our hands and finding strength in the actions we can take.

It’s about setting the groundwork for future changes, finding those small steps that lead to big shifts.

It’s not about immediate solutions but about paving a path forward.

Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means starting to work with what you have from where you are.

I mean, there’s really only so many ways you can say things and I myself have been guilty of having fortune cookie moments a time or five. But it’s always so much easier to be hypercritical of someone when you’re not the one in the hot seat. Fully admit and acknowledge I was being a bit judgy.

After processing was over, we headed into DBT, and then it was time to go home—thank Christ.

Here’s hoping tomorrow is at least 1% better than today.