So today, I was scrolling through a list of therapy groups in San Diego. For a friend. TOTALLLLLY for a friend. She really needs my stable, even-keeled, always-rational help in finding a reliable therapist…for, you know, her.
I stumbled across this ad for a group and my immediate reaction was sheer, outright embarrassment for whoever put this out there for actual people to see.
This poor woman. Oh. My. God. Before you look, be somewhere warm because you’re gonna get the chills.
I’m super embarrassed for her. I mean, this is bad. So bad.
This therapist has got to be someone who is:
- so incredibly-beyond-all-logic-to-the-contrary confident she has her finger on the pulse of America’s youth or …
- she’s surrounded by people so loving and supporting that no one will tell her how incredibly lame this is or…
- she’s a genius in marketing to equally out-of-touch, desperate parents.
All good things on their own; I wish I had a drop of any of those traits but I’d trade it all for a reality check. What pre-teen do you know, have known, or had been one yourself that wouldn’t be mortified to be sent to Yo! What iz!?! therapy group once a week to share the horrible realities of pre-teenhood to eagerly waiting-to-tweet schoolmates about your pimple anxiety and lack of pubes? To a therapist that doesn’t know that Fresh Prince of Bel Air ended 19 years ago.
I know I never would’ve spoken to my parents again. I wouldn’t have talked to any parents ever again. My maturity would’ve been stunted at 12 instead of 19 like it is now.
Well, more power to the Fresh Doc of SD. I hope her particular way of marketing and relating to today’s youth keeps her in business for a while to come. God knows she’s gonna have plenty of repeat customers.
(Before you get all uppity commenting about confidentiality issues in therapy, pre-teens and teens don’t have confidentiality issues. Just ask any of them, they’ll tell you.)
I write awkward tales. Mostly funny. Usually true. Often truthfully funny.