Mob Wife

Mob Wife 40

*ignore any grammar errors or misspellings xoxo
Mob Wife 40: Pittrice

Brooklyn sat on her knees in her art room this morning, slowly stroking the paintbrush on the canvas. She was still in the sweats from bed and a large t-shirt. Her bonnet never left her head, and Dr. Sullivan didn't make it to be a problem or point it out when Brooklyn picked up the video call.

Brooklyn told Dr. Sullivan she wasn't in the mood to go out this morning for their meeting. Dr. Sullivan really wanted to see how her patient was doing, so she suggested a video call for this one time.

She's created this emotional connection with Brooklyn in order to understand her and what she was going through. She cares about her deeply just like all of her clients she's seen before. That was her job.

But, in reality Dr. Sullivan's heart was so big, she didn't need a paycheck to check in on people.

"It's going to turn out wonderful," Dr. Sullivan says to derail Brooklyn's negative self-talk, "what are you gonna do when it's done?"

Brooklyn re-dips the brush in paint, "uh, I'm not sure. I wanna keep it here, but I'm scared I'll be reminded of her too often," Dr. Sullivans nods as she spoke, "but then I want to leave it at her gravesite to leave it with her," the canvas was a decent size to rest against her gravestone- if she chose to leave it there, "but I know I'd break down, and I need to be strong," going there was just too soon for her.

"That's not true," Dr. Sullivan fixes, "you don't need to be strong. It's okay to be sad," she frowns looking at the screen, "I think as black women, some of us forget that it's okay to invite these sad feelings in because we have had these stereotypes nailed to us for so long that we are strong and we can do it all. Sometimes we just need to be humans who feel," she's seen this in many of her black women patients. With years of it being embedded into their brains, they believed it even when they didn't want to, "it's normal. You are allowed to breakdown, Brooklyn."

Brooklyn kept her gaze on Dr. Sullivan, sighing softly, "you're right," a head nod following. At times it hurts to feel, to heal, to address the trauma, and to eventually take your power back. Not everyone is ready to do it. Some get scared and ignore it because it's better pretending than experiencing it all over again, afraid they'd stay trapped there.

Dr. Sullivan smiles, "may I see what you're working on? I know some artists don't like their work being seen before it's done."

Brooklyn says, "you can see it. I'm not done yet," she turns it around, "it's a sunset."

Dr. Sullivan compliments, "it's beautiful so far."

"Thank you," because she took time blending in everything, "this could easily look like an ordinary sunset, but it's not," she points at her work, "this is what it looked like the day of her funeral. The colors in the sky were just so beautiful, it seemed so surreal."

"Wow," she gaps, "did you take a picture to remember what it looked like?"

"No. It was embedded in my brain," she replied, flipping the painting back over to put on the canvas.

Dr. Sullivan said, "you have a true gift."

"My parents tell me that all the time," she picks up the paint brush, "which reminds me, I have lunch with them sometime this week. It's been a while since we had lunch together."

When she got up this morning, she had no clue she'd be working on anything that included her art supplies. Part of her still was a little lazy to get back into it after not doing it for so long. Although painting was her baby, it took up a lot of her time. There were points where she spent a good hour on something and finished it, while there were a few pieces undone that needed hours out of her day that she didn't feel like giving up.