I Don’t See A Therapist, I Pay Someone To Clap For Me While I Thoughtfully Sip Tea

In today’s world, there’s no stigma about going to see a therapist. It’s a helpful way to get perspective, advice, and self-improve. But when it comes to my own journey, I don’t see a therapist. Instead, I pay someone to clap for me while I thoughtfully sip tea.


While my friends are running off to their respective therapists’ offices, I’m running to Kathy, who doesn’t need an office at all.


It’s simple—I pay Kathy to give me a hearty round of applause while I sip Honey Lavender Stress Relief tea and reflect upon my life. Sometimes I affectionately refer to her as my Personal Clapper, but she’s so much more than that. She’s my rock, my best friend—heck, sometimes she’s my worst enemy. Just kidding. Kathy’s claps are nothing but consistent, and any way that I choose to sigh is the right choice for me.


Kathy does not challenge me, and I love her for it.


Hiring Kathy is the best decision I’ve ever made for myself. Sure, my problems haven’t disappeared, or even improved, but I’ve never been more confident in my ability to sit and silently think about them. And that’s exactly what I do once a day, five days a week, in Kathy’s living room. I’ve recommended finding a Personal Clapper to all of my friends, who then recommend that I reconsider seeing a therapist. “It’ll change your life,” they say, “You’ll be better because of it.”


But I can’t hear them over Kathy’s enthusiastic applause.


My friends don’t understand my methods. Just last week I made some great personal discoveries while downing a cup of chai, and Kathy was with me every step of the way. I didn’t have to say a word, and she didn’t have to tell me that she agrees that I’m a great girlfriend and that all my ex-partners were the ones with the problem—she let her hands do the talking, as per the conditions of our contract. She was so thrilled to be paid to be thrilled for me that day.


After all, if I wanted to dig deeper, I wouldn’t have scoured the internet for someone who was “willing to keep it light” and “just be happy for me” for 5 to 9 hours every week. My friends are even starting to be jealous of me, and I know that because I thought that, and Kathy clapped in agreement.



Kathy’s claps are always in agreement. Or solidarity, or praise, or encouragement, or simply in celebration of me.


So I am doing great—I’m fine. I’m…good. Just ask the woman next to me, loudly applauding!