Chapter 5 – Rhiannon #2
When I pull into the driveway, I waste no time unlocking the front door and peeling off my cleaning uniform, tossing it into the laundry room, which is already overflowing with dirty clothes that I’m behind on.
I quickly change into a simple, button-up black top, then rush over to my laptop.
I have just one minute to spare before my first virtual therapy session.
Of course, my clients are already waiting for me to join them.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Beeker. It’s so nice to see you again. How are you both doing today?” I greet with a smile.
“We’re doing alright, Rhiannon,” Mr. Beeker says, while Mrs. Beeker fidgets nervously, looking down.
I know that these appointments are a source of anxiety for her, but I feel like we’re making progress, working through years of miscommunication and missed connections in their marriage.
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 overwhelm that 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 of only purchasing 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.
And the idea that it’s the only way to live—while pushing guilt onto those who can’t afford a six-thousand-dollar, glue-free, all-organic couch to sit my bare ass on while I’m eating chocolate ice cream straight out of the carton and binge-watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother—isn’t just unrealistic. It’s impossible for many.
And it’s not that this company is right or wrong, it’s that they’re missing half the picture. Life isn’t clean and perfect all the time. It’s messy and complicated, and sometimes the right choice for you is just the one that keeps you going.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve been a therapist for years now, but with everything in life, I’ve always thought that the truth lies somewhere in the grey. That the best decision is variable and that most things are subjective.
Food choices? There’s no single plan that works for everyone. Figure out what feels right for you and don’t stress over the latest fad.
Toilet paper? Over or under, either works, as long as you’re wiping till the job’s done.
The pronunciation of the word GIF? (You can’t tell me that it isn’t said like Jiffy peanut butter and not Gi-ff.)
Coke or Pepsi? Who cares. Drink what makes you happy.
Pizza, though, especially here in the Northeast, that’s sacred. Fold it like a taco, don’t even think about crust-first. Some lines we just don’t cross.
What’s that old saying? ‘Opinions are like butt holes. Everyone has one.′ And opinions on almost everything in life are subjective.
After another thirty minutes of scrolling through the company’s social media, absorbing all their recommendations, my eyes are burning, and my ears are ringing from their bright, bubbly voices telling followers how “ABC is GOOD!” and anything else is “BAD!”
I stare at the glowing screen, at Madison and Matt’s bright smiles and soft voices. And I think of Eden. I think of the overwhelm and pressure to be perfect all the time. How she’s been quieter lately, stricter with herself and routine.
Maybe this is where she’s been finding comfort: in rules that promise safety and give her some control.
In the black and white. I get that. I also get that this company receives commission for the products that they sell, and therefore their marketing approach is going to support their mission statement.
They’re simply repeating what they believe to be true.
And at Eden’s age I wanted someone to tell me exactly how to live, too. She’s on the cusp of so much change, clinging to something that feels safe. I just wish she’d felt like she could talk to me about it all.
While showering, I try to think through what to do with this new information.
Gabriel and I have kept Eden sheltered from the harsh realities of life since our parents passed.
We’ve always wanted to protect her innocence, support her dreams, and shield her from the struggles we’ve experienced while trying to rebuild our lives and raise her without anything seeming different.
But maybe we’ve sheltered her too much because things are different for our family. Are we setting her up for failure when she learns that adulthood isn’t about meeting a measure of perfection defined by someone else, but compromise?
Is there a way that we can find space in our budget for the higher cost of purchasing some of the brands she believes are healthier while still being able to pay our water bill each month?
By the time I finish showering, it’s almost five in the evening, and there’s no time for me to pull together much for dinner or come up with a solution.
I remember Eden’s complaints from earlier in the day and throw together a simple pasta salad with some chopped veggies that are on the verge of expiring, mozzarella balls, and drizzle olive oil over them before leaving it out on the table for when she gets home.
I then light my favorite pumpkin candle, giving the whole home a cozy, autumn smell and feel that takes me back to simpler days when mom was still alive and I could just be a kid instead of worrying about screwing up my little sister.
I sigh and head upstairs for my final therapy session of the day.
Later that night, lying awake in bed, I can’t stop thinking about the company that is marketing to their followers on how to live like an influencer.
I reach for my laptop, unable to resist looking their page up again.
I find a new video where Matt spends five minutes breaking down why he believes a popular sneaker brand is terrible for your foot health and ends with a recommendation for a shoe brand he partners with.
It’s the kind of sponsorship every influencer seems to have these days.
And the cost of those shoes? A whopping five-hundred dollars.
I can’t help but laugh, an idea suddenly sparking in my mind. And that’s the moment that I decide to offer another perspective. Not to mock anyone, but to remind people that someone else’s definition of perfection doesn’t have to be yours.
My fingers hover over the screen as I create a brand-new social media account, one hidden behind the anonymity of the internet.
‘Living in a world of fifty shades of grey.’
I chuckle to myself as I set up the info. For my bio, I choose a tagline that sums up how I feel: ‘There’s no one right path. The correct answer for you, may be different for someone else. Don’t feel guilted into your choices. And with most matters, the best choice lies somewhere in the grey.’
After publishing the page, I record my first ever video, never showing my face, just my voice, where I take on the topic of Matt’s latest post by suggesting alternatives like bare feet, a much cheaper brand that does the same job as the shoes he’s recommending, or you know, just wearing the shoes you already have in your closet.
I never mention their company, blog, or the shoe brand directly. That’s not the point of this. The goal is just to start a conversation about how not everything in life has to be all or nothing. Your options aren’t either to spend $500 or suffer.
"While suggestions on shoe brands that do more than cover your feet are well meaning, I’d urge you not to feel pressured to burn your wardrobe to look like an influencer.
Go barefoot if you’d like. Purchase new, high-tech shoes, thrift, or wear your high heels.
Do whatever makes you feel the most confident and happy physically and mentally. ”
My pulse quickens as I hit submit, close my laptop, and fall asleep with a smile on my face.
I’ve got zero followers and just one post, but somehow, taking that simple action makes me feel lighter. Like I’ve just set something good into motion.
I never imagined that single post would cause so much chaos and bring my one-night-stand from seven months ago back into my life.