The Invisible Black Woman

For a moment, I considered making a run for it, calling it a day, and skipping group altogether. But I know what Carrie would say: that the moments when I most want to run are often the ones I most need to stay. So, I took a deep breath and made a beeline for the restroom to rinse my face with cold water. It didn’t help a ton, but it would have to do. I quickly head to the room where group is held and place my bag on the chair “island” I claimed for myself. Then I headed upstairs to the break room and decide to sit there for a bit. Five minutes before we’re ready to start, I head back down, park myself in the chair and nod to a few early arrivals. Then I plop myself in my chair and decide to type until the session starts.

It’s Thursday, right before Christmas break and Melody, one of our therapists, is guiding us through a game of Music Jeopardy. It’s the kind of exercise that breaks the tension and pulls everyone in with decades-old tunes, boy bands, and movie themes. We’re all competing to see who can name the song or artist the fastest, laughing at missed guesses and cheering on correct answers. It was a welcome distraction.

As we wrap up the game, Melody beams. “Nice job, everyone! You all almost cleared the board. Have a good holiday for those who celebrate, and I’ll see you next week!”

I decided I’d stay parked in my chair during the break rather than head out. That way, if I needed to make a hasty exit during a particularly difficult portion, I could do so.

Nathan, our therapist for processing, decides to pull no punches during the session. He leans back and gives the group a thoughtful look. After a pause, he asks, “What’s a recent mistake you made? Something that didn’t go as planned.”

His question hangs in the air, challenging us to bring ourselves down from the high energy of the game and into a more reflective place.

The room goes quiet. It’s not the question we were expecting after an upbeat Jeopardy round, but after a few beats, Marie raises her hand. She tells us about a mistake at work—an accidental deletion of some critical files.

“My boss had me write down everything that happened,” she explains, “not to reprimand me, but to help me understand what went wrong.”

I for sure would have taken that as a reprimand or at minimum, a heavy scolding.

Nathan nodded, looking around the room as Marie’s words sink in. “Think of mistakes as lessons. They’re just moments that feel big right now, but in the grand scheme, they’re small chapters in the whole story of your life.”

I wonder if there were hidden cameras sprinkled throughout the office. It sure seemed like they came to the sessions with plenty of material, if you get my drift. I’m sure it’s all in my head though… mostly.

Nathan continued, gesturing as he speaks. “Think about it: we have millions of minutes in our lives. Are we really going to let one or two of those minutes or hours dictate everything else?”

I immediately thought of the musical Rent and that song, the number of minutes which I could never get right because I never remember what they are off the top of my head. I just know it involves a whole lot of minutes. But, to his point, seeing our mistakes in the context of a whole lifetime rather than as all-consuming moments… that is a concept I could get behind.

Another group member shares about a summer job he had where a group of teenagers gave him a hard time the entire summer and called him names. He was furious at the time, and let them have it in front of quite the audience. Now, being far removed from what took place he chuckles, shrugging off the embarrassment as he recounts the story.

“That’s the beauty of perspective,” Nathan said. “What feels mortifying in the moment becomes a story you can share later. And the more you share, the lighter it gets.”

Nathan, noticing the weight in the room, adds a touch of humor. “You know, laughter is an antidote to shame,” he says, his smile inviting us all to loosen up. “It helps us reframe those moments that haunt us.”

Jason grins, nodding in agreement, and the group starts sharing small moments—mistakes that seemed massive at the time but now feel like simple missteps. We’re laughing, realizing that so many of our past mistakes have lost their sting over time.

“You can laugh at it now,” Nathan says, “and that’s growth. You’re bigger than the mistake.”

I was seriously looking forward to the day when I looked back at the decade-and-change mistake that was my job and could just “laugh it off.” I wasn’t gonna hold my breath on that one.

Nathan must’ve wanted to ride the energy momentum of the group, so he decided to introduce the concept of “negativity bias.” He explained how our minds are wired to hold onto negative experiences—the cringeworthy memories that pop up at night when we’re trying to sleep—while the positive moments tend to drift into the background.

“It’s why we remember that one thing we did wrong at work rather than the hundred things we did right,” he says. “The key is learning to challenge that bias. Start accumulating positive experiences and recognize your wins, even the small ones.”

I had no idea the thing that was keeping me up at night had its own very fancy title and classification. Who knew? I appreciated what he was saying and at least I had the knowledge of knowing what “it” was, even if I hadn’t quite figured out how to shake it yet. But I was definitely open to giving the idea of listing the wins of the day a shot.

As the session wrapped up, Nathan offered a final reminder: “The mistake is tiny compared to who you are,” he said. “You have resilience. You have the power to turn any stumble into something meaningful. You’re bigger than the mistake.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if that statement still applied if you kept making the same mistake by virtue of staying at the place that represented the mistake. Does each day add compound interest? It sure felt like it. Maybe the better term was compound deficit. For each day I stayed, I lost 3 or more days I could have had somewhere else. Somehow that goofy math felt right. Almost as if by virtue of being someplace so wrong and toxic, I aged and lost time faster than I would were I in a place that was worthy of me.

It was gonna be hard to shake this one off. Truthfully could I really even call it a mistake? It felt more like a choice. One that I kept making over and over again by not leaving. Suddenly I heard my “outside therapist”—that’s what I call my therapist outside of IOP—suddenly I hear her voice and the term she introduced me too: trauma bond. As it sounds, it’s the unhealthy emotional bond that can be created between a victim and their abuser. And, surprise, surprise, trauma bonds can and do happen at work.

Was I even really serious about leaving this time? I mean, it sure looked that way based on the steps I’d taken to explore my options and decide what would be best. But was this just smoke and mirrors again, where I applied for jobs, took interviews but ultimately, never moved past the offer stage? It was hard to take myself seriously when I had yet to make any meaningful change over the past 10 years and counting.

Sure, a boatload of this was comfort: they are the devil I know. Every now and then the job managed to sink to a new low, but the benefits were great and the pay wasn’t shabby. I questioned even if I were to find a place to match or surpass the pay and benefits, whether I wouldn’t just have the same issues as where I was. What would be different really? I kept thinking about a quote I heard growing up: “wherever you go, there you are.”

If the only thing changing was my environment, would that really be enough?