The Grumpy Therapist: Episode 15: “Everything.”
(a short exchange from the couch)
Malik:
“I’ve decided to start introducing myself as ‘Malik, professional burden.’”
Grumpy Therapist:
“That’s not funny. I mean, it’s funny, but you know what I mean.”
Malik:
“Come on, it’s a little funny.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“More like sad wearing a clown nose.”
Malik:
“See? Humor.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Correction — defense mechanism.”
Malik:
“Tomato, to-mah-to.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Malik, we’ve been doing this long enough that you know the difference. And I thought we agreed we’d try to get outside of this defense mechanism. I mean, I appreciate humor, obviously, but I’m also a therapist. Which means, by law, I have to ruin a perfectly good joke with emotional insight.”
Malik:
“I know, I know. I just don’t like the difference.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“That’s fair. Say more. And don’t give me the Instagram-caption version.”
(Grumpy gulps her coffee. Vanilla?? First it was nutmeg and now it’s vanilla. What out-of-control monster is buying the coffee grounds?)
Malik:
“I’m moving into my own place next week and everyone keeps saying how proud they are of me.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Because it’s a big deal. You’ve been working toward this for almost a year.”
Malik:
“Yeah, but they say it like I’m a Make-A-Wish kid who just learned to tie his shoes or something.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Ahh. So it feels infantilizing.”
Malik:
“Exactly.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Yeah, that would make me upset too. Valid rage acknowledged. I’d be plotting mild crimes if I were you.”
Malik:
“See, thank you.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“But also, what’s underneath the frustration?”
Malik:
“Underneath? What are we doing, cave diving now?… Okay, well, I guess this isn’t about me being brave. Like, I just need somewhere to live.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Also true.”
Malik:
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just that people act like I’m supposed to be grateful for crumbs or something.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Gratitude culture is a cult. You’re allowed to want a whole cake, Malik.”
Malik:
“I know… and I used to have a whole cake.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“There it is. Tell me more.”
Malik:
“Don’t ‘there it is’ me.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“I’ll there-it-is you whenever appropriate.”
Malik:
“Ugh, fine.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Listen, tell me what you’re actually mad about. It’s not just the moving out, and it’s definitely not about cake.”
Malik:
(sighs) “Everything.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Everything? That’s not an answer, that’s a mood. Pick one.”
Malik:
“Okay, well, I guess dating is top of mind. So let’s go with that. I just… I don’t see the point anymore.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“The point of dating?”
Malik:
“Yeah. No woman is going to want to sign up for this.” (motions to his wheelchair.)
Grumpy Therapist:
“What is ‘this,’ exactly?”
Malik:
“Really? You’re going to make me say it?… Fine. The chair. The paralysis. The whole package that I now am, that I don’t even want to deal with most days. I can’t expect someone else to want to sign on for this too.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“You mean… you.”
Malik:
“Oh, don’t get poetic on me, Grumpy.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Malik, listen. All that stuff you just said? It’s not fact. It’s fear dressed up as logic, but fear nonetheless.”
Malik:
“Well… I think it’s realistic.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Maybe. But it feels mostly just cynical.”
Malik:
“Same thing.” (shrugs his shoulders)
Grumpy Therapist:
“Nope. Not even close. Try again.”
Malik:
“Come on. If you were single and scrolling apps and saw a guy in a wheelchair, you’d swipe left.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Excuse me?”
Malik:
“Just be honest. Please.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“I am being honest. You’re projecting your own rejection onto imaginary women you’ve never met.”
Malik:
“Wow. Hostile.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“You just reduced four billion women to a personality disorder. I’m allowed to get a little spicy about that.” (raises her eyebrows)
Malik:
“Touché.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Also, you’re assuming the only thing you bring to a relationship is legs.”
Malik:
“Legs are kind of a big feature, right?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“So are humor, kindness, intelligence, and not being an emotionally constipated jerk.”
Malik:
“Hey, whoa!”
Grumpy Therapist:
“I said not being.”
Malik:
“But did you?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Malik, you’re rejecting yourself in advance so no one else gets the chance. You’re basically ghosting yourself. That’s definitely not protection, that’s more like preemptive sulking.”
Malik:
“Okay, ouch.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“And I’m not sure this is the best strategy for dating. I mean, I’ve been out of the game for a while, but something tells me this isn’t how it’s done.”
Malik:
“No, but it’s efficient. And it saves me the trouble of feeling like shit.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Yes, but it’s also a little… how do I say this gently?… cowardly.”
Malik:
“Double ouch.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“You asked for honest. There it is.”
Malik:
“I guess that’s fair. And yeah, I’m being a bit of a chicken. I can see that.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Can I risk a tiny piece of self-disclosure for a second?”
Malik:
“Uh oh.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Relax. And remember, confidentiality goes both ways here, Malik.”
Malik:
“I guess.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“I’m mostly deaf in my left ear. And when I was younger, I decided it made me unlovable, weird, different. That I was too much work and too inconvenient.”
Malik:
“And?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Turns out I was wrong. And, apparently, a little dramatic.” (shrugs her shoulders)
Malik:
“You? Dramatic? No!”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Watch it.”
Malik:
“So you’re saying I’m being dramatic.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Maybe a little. But what I’m mostly saying is that you’re letting shame make decisions for you. And fear is riding shotgun. And between the two of them, they’re taking you down some pretty dark roads.”
Malik:
“I don’t feel ashamed. At least I don’t think I do.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“You said you think you’re a burden to someone because you’re in a wheelchair and paralyzed. As if you’re somehow responsible for the bus accident and the last two years.”
Malik:
“…yeah, okay. Maybe a little ashamed.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Shame is a terrible life coach, Malik. It wears sweatpants and makes bad decisions. Trust me. I spent nearly a decade listening to it. Also, bad breath. Yikes!”
Malik:
(laughs softly) “That actually sounds about right.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“And right now, you’re letting it plan your entire romantic future.”
Malik:
“I just don’t know how to be ‘a guy in a wheelchair.’ There’s no manual for this kind of thing.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Good. Manuals are boring.”
Malik:
“I just… I miss who I was. And I hate that this happened. I hate all of it.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Of course you miss who you used to be. And the accident was unfair. Hands down, this whole thing has been extremely unfair.”
Malik:
“And if I’m being really honest here… I’m scared no one will ever look at me the same way again.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Okay. So that’s the real sentence. You’re scared no one will ever see you the same way again. Oof, that’s heavy.”
Malik:
“Yeah. At least twenty pounds heavy.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“At least.” (smiles toward Malik)
Malik:
“I liked it better when we were making jokes.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“No way. This is much better, Malik.”
Malik:
“So… what’s the plan then?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Well, I’m not a fortune teller — not one of my many talents — but I do have a plan.”
Malik:
“I’m listening.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“The plan is this: we stop letting a bus accident narrate the rest of your life. We let grief have its seat at the table, but we don’t let it run the meeting. And we gently, slowly, start proving to you that the story you’re telling about yourself is not the only story available.”
Malik:
“Whoa. Aggressive plan.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“I’m an aggressive therapist. What did you expect?”
Malik:
“True.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“And Malik? You are not a burden. You’re a person with a complicated chapter.”
Malik:
“That sounds suspiciously like encouragement.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Yeah, well don’t get used to it.”
Malik:
“So… same time next week?” (gathering his jacket and coffee mug)
Grumpy Therapist:
“Unfortunately for both of us, yes.”
Malik:
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Let’s not make it sentimental.”
Malik:
“Too late.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Come on, I’ll walk you out.” (They move toward the door together.)
Malik:
“Oh, wait. I forgot to show you this.” (pointing to his wheelchair)
Grumpy Therapist:
“Please don’t tell me it’s another cup holder.”
Malik:
“Better.” (He presses a small button on the side of his chair. A little light strip along the wheels turns on.)
Grumpy Therapist:
“Are those… mood lights?”
Malik:
“Technically they’re safety lights.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Those are absolutely mood lights.” (smiling)
Malik:
“Okay, fine. They’re mood lights.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Put that in your dating profile. ‘Emotionally available, good sense of humor, comes with ambient lighting.’”
Malik:
“See? You do believe in me.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Malik:
“Next week?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Next week. And Malik?”
Malik:
“Yeah?”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Nice wheels.” (winks)
Malik:
“Thank you. I’ve grown attached.”
Grumpy Therapist:
“Get out of here.” (laughing)
Malik:
“Already rolling.”
(He heads out. The door clicks shut.)
(Grumpy Therapist walks back to her desk, picks up her coffee cup, takes a sip, makes a face.) “Vanilla flavored. Absolutely not.”
(She dumps the coffee into the sink.) “Some things really are too much to ask a person to tolerate.”
(curtain closes)
A fictional series about a younger therapist who’s lost the rose-colored glasses but still believes in the work. She’s honest, a little sharp, and probably over-caffeinated, but she’s here, saying the quiet parts out loud. If dry humor, emotional truth, and slightly unhinged advice sound like your thing… stick around. She’ll be back with more hot takes and lukewarm coffee.
Disclaimer: This fictional exchange is intended for entertainment and reflection — not as a substitute for professional mental health care. While it contains emotional truths and therapeutic themes, it is not actual therapy. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a licensed clinician. Preferably one who won’t prescribe floor naps or video game recommendations, unless clinically justified.
This touches a quiet truth: how we withdraw first, as if retreat were wisdom. Shame wears the robes of practicality, calling self-erasure “sense.” The ending leaves a small lamp lit, though, and that's not to instruct, but to remind us that the dark was never total.
This dialogue really nails something. The concept of "preemptive sulking" and rejecting yourself before anyone else can is painfully accurrate. I've watched friends do this in so many contexts beyond dating. Its interesting how shame disguises itself as practicality. The mood lights ending is perfect too, just the right amount of hope without being preachy.