Bread and Bread

Hear me out: I've been watching weight loss shows lately. Things with titles like 1,000 Lb Sisters. One of the shows is... 1,000 Lb Sisters. The other is 1,000 Lb Best Friends.  If you're not familiar with either of these shows, first, congratulations on having good taste and not consuming fat-shaming media. Also, here's my best attempt at a summary: The sisters in question are Amy and Tammy Slaton, who landed a TLC show that first aired in 2020 after their YouTube channel became a hit because they were genuinely funny and raunchy (lots of fart talk) and very fat. The premise of the TV show is that they will try to lose enough weight to qualify for bariatric surgery.  I assume there are medical reasons that people have to lose weight before they can have a medical procedure that helps them lose weight—to demonstrate that they can make the lifestyle changes that will be necessary after surgery? Because operating on someone with extreme amounts of extra fat is riskier? Nevert

Recently one of my therapists (plural) told me I talk too much. Well, technically she said that while doing EMDR, she needed to interrupt my highly intellectualized storytelling more, so that we could prioritize reprocessing rather than letting me tip into re-experiencing trauma. And she said it very nicely. But a little part of me heard "You're too much for your therapist, and now you have failed," and of course that kind of thinking is why I'm in therapy. Today I listened to this episode of This American Life, in which Yousef (above, with his family), an incredibly determined, kind, and good-humored Palestinian man, talks about how his two-year-old son wants "a thousand kisses" before going to bed. He laughs and says he doesn't mind. In nearly the same breath, he says he regrets having kids, because what's the point of having children if you can't protect them? I wanted to jump through my car radio and hug him, or some other useless action, be