Yeah, real f*cking helpful

*Ahoy, sailor's mouth ahead, lest ye be faint of heart.*

One of my first long-term therapists was a psychologist up in Fayetteville. Dr. C was a sixty-ish (emphasis on the ish) year old woman who wore long sleeved blouses buttoned all the way up to her neck and pantyhose under her slacks (even during Arkansas summers). Her light brown hair was cut into a bob and her glasses hung from a chain. She spoke with dignity, confidence, and even a hint of elegance. So naturally, it came as a surprise to me when she told me of a term she had coined- "fucking helpful".

Let me back up here. I had been expressing frustration I felt toward people who feel the need to give unwanted advice and information, especially if it's something I already knew. (Example: "You know, not eating is bad for you." "You know, Splenda is even worse for you than sugar." "You know, you know you know you know...") "YES. I know!" I screamed toward the figurative person I'd imagined up on the ceiling for some reason. A sly smile spread across Dr. C's face. "My family and I have a term for that. It's called being 'fucking helpful.' As in, 'gee thanks, real fucking helpful of you to point out.'"

I was stunned into silence, then couldn't hold the laughter back. To her, it probably looked like I'd finally snapped. I couldn't help it though. What she'd said just made so much sense. Fucking helpful. Isn't it perfect? Thanks for letting me know that my coffee addiction will only increase my anxiety, that's real fucking helpful. Thanks for your concern in regards to my pursuing theatre, that's real fucking helpful. (Side note: I was earning my theatre degree during this time.) What's that? My phone cracked because it didn't have a case? Wowza, thanks for letting me know, you sure are fucking helpful. (Side note: I've actually never cracked a phone. Fried one to death, yes, but cracked? Nope.) (Another side note: I've never in my life actually said "wowza". Okay, never mind, I just did. Alone in my room. In the quiet. It left me feeling kind of gross for some reason. Anyway...)

So yeah, fucking helpful. Don't get me wrong, Santa's little fucking helpers sometimes mean well. They see a concern and feel the need to speak up. Other times, they just want to hear themselves talk. Depends on the person, I suppose. And another thing, we all do this at times. No one is immune to Fuckingus Helpfulitis. But for the love of, I don't know, cheese? For the love of cheese? Yeah, that works. For the love of cheese, get vaccinated. Be mindful.

What if, instead of talking talking talking, we just listened? Take a step back and remember that we are only in control of ourselves, and our own actions. People can talk all they want, but we get to choose how we live, what we eat, what goals we pursue etc. And yes, we know that the car stopped in the middle of the road because it needs gasoline to run. We know. And if we don't know, let us figure it out for ourselves.

Argh.