~”The loneliest woman in the world is a woman without a close woman friend”—The life of Reason, 1905-1906

~When I observe two or three women walking together, I usually sense an immediate correlation with them.  I’m like, yeah, I’m from Venus, too, Sistahs, and I know what you’re talking about, as well:   hubbies, kids, dreams, ideas, God, sex, diets, world issues, and of course, significant nothingness.

        Am I right? 

You’re discussing the last book you’ve read, the last sexcapade you’ve had, the last remarkable chocolate chip cookie recipe you’ve made, or the last time your heart splattered to the ground because your kids didn’t need you anymore…at least, not like they did when they were babies.  You’re discussing the health care plan, the cardio exercise plan, the make your marriage more spicy plan, and the get skinny as hell plan.

When I’m with girlfriends, I can immediately fling my bra (like Mary Tyler Moore…without the hat!) in air and be myself.  Don’t you absolutely adore when you’re accepted for exactly who you are?

Walking with my girls is like having your own psychologist, psychoanalyst, and psychiatrist.  The appointments are free, honey.  And honestly, these walks / talks have given me back my sanity when it’s been shit canned and thrown into the world of psychosis.

That’s when I call my therapist-hilarious-outrageous-spontaneous girlfriends.

“Gotta get outta here, and I mean, RIGHT NOW!”

Here’s sort of how the dialogue goes as we begin our walks / talks:

K.  So, how’s it goin’ being out of the work force?

R.   I feel useless and insignificant, like a big fat, ugly loser.

K.  YOU’RE NOT!  Think of this as a time of reflection and prayer, a time to find out what you want to do with the rest of your life. You are so gifted, so smart...actually, the smartest person I know.  The right job will come along when you least expect it.  Believe it, Sister.

R.  I know.  But it’s been over two months. I’ve even started watching The Young and The Restless and that’s not making me feel any better, that’s for damn sure.

K.  It will happen.  Now, shut your trap about being a loser. It’s sooooo not true.

R.  Change the subject.   It is all such a bore.  

K. Okay.  What else is new in your life?  Tell me something reeeeeally good and gossipy.

      A small hesitation.

R.  Have you ever crapped your pants, Kim?

      That’s something good?

      Alright, at this point in the conversation, I’m laughing so hard I need to stop walking or I’d literally crap my pants.

K.  Whaaaaaaaaaat?  What the Sam-Hell are you talking about?

R.   I’ve been taking those Alli diet pills and I need to change underwear a few times a day.  I’ve been wearing my old lady balloon undies.

K.  Are you kidding me? Well, you do look like you’ve lost a few pounds, but how are you going to get another RN job if you keep crapping your pants? 

    Giggling.  Cracking up.  Snorting.  Peeing in britches now.

R.  Did you watch America’s Top Model last night?

K.  Yep, but I can’t stand Tyra Banks.  ME—ME—ME, I— I— I, blah, blah, blah.  I can’t endure that narcissistic, annoying woman.  The next Oprah, My Ass!  And I can’t believe that Barack actually went on her show.  Absolutely ridiculous.

R.  Yeah, saw that one.  I think Barack really liked her, and I do, too.  She discusses the real issues out there with young women.  Have you heard about those “Rainbow Parties” the kids are having?”  She talks about stuff like that on her show. It’s pretty raw.

K.   But do they even get a chance to speak? She’s so freaking busy boasting about herself. I am soooooooo beautiful.  I am soooooooo rich. Look, America, this is my own hair, not a weave.  Big Bloody deal. 

R.  Point taken, even though I think you’re dead wrong.  Just tell me how you really feel, Mrs. Mouth.  How’s Dave, kids, school, writing?  How are the blogs going?

K.  My next blog is about you. I’m going to write that you crap your pants. Perhaps somebody will hire you then.

       Snicker. Snort.

R.   Shuuuuuuuuuuuuuut Uuuuup!

  Okay, maybe it’s not so much about the walking; it’s more about the talking and belly-laughing.  It’s more about the releasing, the knowing that you’re accepted and loved regardless of your mental illnesses and disagreements.   It’s like having Sigmund Freud at your disposal, minus

the penis envy; it’s like an entire hour with Coaches on the Edge; it’s like reading a Nora Ephron book cover to cover, or savoring the beautiful verse of Li-young Lee.

      It’s life changing, soul freeing, Venus rocking.

So next time you notice two or three women walking together, give them a slight nod, a slight grin.  I have a feeling they’ll recognize that we’re all related, all from the same blood.  I sense that our connectedness will eventually save a broken world.

Life on the planet is born of woman—Adrienne Rich

Click for more information: You Can Be... - Walking Talking Therapy

Walking the Talk Therapy - City Room Blog - NYTimes.com

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