Love Beyond Expectations

Chapter 20: Therapy's Not Just For White People

In the dimly lit living room, Zuri sat on the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV screen. They were watching a TV show, but her thoughts were elsewhere, revolving around the impending funeral for her best friend, Jamal.

Her mom, Esha, entered the room, her expression a mixture of concern and care. She settled into an armchair across from Zuri. "Zuri, sweetheart," she began gently, "I've been thinking. Maybe you should consider talking to someone about everything you've been through. Therapy could help you process your feelings."

Zuri's fingers nervously toyed with her cuticles as she looked down at her hands. The idea of therapy made her uncomfortable, as if it were an admission of weakness.

"I don't know, Mom," she responded, her voice low.

"Please, sweetheart. Just consider it," her mother pleaded, her voice laced with concern.

Zuri paused, considering her mother's words. The funeral would be a challenging experience, and it might be helpful to have someone to talk to afterwards. But something was stopping her, she couldn't quite figure out what.

"I'll think about it," she conceded.

Zion, Zuri's father, who had been sitting in an armchair nearby, suddenly interjected with frustration in his voice. "Therapy? I've seen three of my friends die right in front of me in the service, and never in my life have I been to therapy. She'll be fine."

Esha's face reddened with anger, her fists clenched. "Zion, she's our daughter. She needs help," she argued, her tone stern.

"I know," Zion shot back. "And I know what's best for her. If I say she doesn't need therapy, then she doesn't."

Esha's eyes flashed with frustration. "Zion, she's not you!" She shook her head. "Maybe she needs something different. It's motherfucking therapy, not a damn lobotomy. It's a healthy way to deal with your emotions."

Zion's frustration mirrored hers. "ESH! They're going to feed her some white lies about resilience."

Esha's voice grew louder. "They're not going to lie to her! This is an actual professional telling her what she needs to hear!"

Zuri watched the exchange with a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. "Mom, Dad, please," she tried to intervene.

"No, Zuri. Your father is wrong," Esha snapped, her voice filled with anger.

The tension in the room grew thicker. Zuri's heart ached as she listened to her parents argue about her well-being. She knew they both loved her, but their differing opinions left her feeling torn.

Jordan walked into the room at the wrong time. What's wrong with y'all?" He asked, his headset hanging oof one ear.

Zion stood abruptly, his face etched with frustration. "I can't talk to you right now," he muttered before storming outside slamming the door.

"What's wrong with him?" Jordan said with a raised eyebrow.

Esha, her anger dissipating, turned her attention to her younger son. "Nothing," she responded, her tone resigned.

Jordan shrugged. "Okay. I'm going back to playing GTA."

Zuri watched him go, her chest heavy with mixed emotions. The discussion about therapy weighed heavily on her mind as the night before Jamal's funeral stretched on, filled with the echoes of unresolved feelings and family disagreements.

After her dad, Zion, stormed out of the living room, Zuri took a deep breath and decided to follow him. She found him sitting on the porch, gazing out into the darkness, his shoulders tense.

"Dad," she began gently, taking a seat beside him.

He glanced at her, his expression a mix of frustration and weariness. "What is it, Zuri?" he asked, his voice heavy.

Zuri hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I understand why you might be against therapy, but I think Mom's just worried about me."

Zion let out a long sigh. "Zuri, it's not that I'm against therapy per se," he began, his tone softer. "It's just... I've seen too many of our people, Black folks, go through that system, and it rarely helps. The system doesn't understand us, our struggles, or our history. It often pathologizes our pain and tries to fit it into a white, clinical framework."

Zuri nodded, absorbing his words. She knew that her dad had faced racial discrimination and injustices throughout his life. "I get that, Dad," she said quietly. "But I also don't want to keep all this pain bottled up inside me. Jamal meant a lot to me, and I need to find a way to cope."

Zion looked at his daughter, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness. "I know, Zuri," he said softly, reaching out to touch her hand. "I just... I don't want you to go through what I've seen others go through in that system. But if therapy helps you, then I'll support you."

Zuri managed a small smile. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that."

They sat together in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts. Despite their differences, the bond between father and daughter was strong, and they both knew that they would find a way to support each other through the challenges ahead.

As they sat on the porch under the night sky, the weight of their conversation hung in the air, but so did a sense of understanding and love that transcended any disagreements.