D* my wise therapist says we all have an inner brat.

Not inner voice. Not egocentric tendencies.

A BRAT.

I picture a pigtailed girl, arms crossed, sitting in her closet till she gets here way.

The BRAT in all of us is the warped and self-centered part of our souls that truly believes (despite all the convincing evidence around us) that we, in fact, ARE the center of the universe. And we deserve what we want. And everyone around has us needs, yes, but it’s not nearly as important as the needs of the BRAT.

D* tells me this matter of factly, “Oh you have brat alright. Alive and kicking in there. She’s a live one!” D* seems almost amused at my stories about inner conflict, anxiety, unreasonably high expectations that lead me to feel like a morose failure. I want to release the BRAT on D* herself and watch with popcorn as the BRAT eats her alive and triumphantly holds the DSM-IV above her.

Instead of engaging this fantasy, I tell D* that I am very aware of others’ needs. So much so, that I don’t even see mine anymore.

“Well, that’s why you’re in therapy,” D* says with a kind but self-satisfied smile. “Bigger perspective.”

I suddenly hate *D and all the ways she seamlessly weaves my troubles down to a simple hand held mirror with gentle advice to simply look deep enough into the mirror and I’ll find my answers to my questions.

So, I muse aloud, this BRAT you speak of. Is she someone that I can shut-up or do I have to live with her until I’m dead?

*D is typing away, probably adding a secondary diagnosis to my crazy label. I simply wished she would diagnose me on a MAC instead of an HP. I’m a computer snob and am offended. “Oh, yeah,” she says nonchalantly, making a mark on my genogram, “I suspect you’re going to have to struggle with the BRAT all the days of your life.”

Well, this is encouraging.

Laughter. Only I’m not laughing with her.

“What I mean is, “she tries to comfort me and reaffix her glasses on the bridge of her nose, “you are a person who is high passion, high energy, high creativity. And you tend to think in “if only, if only” mentalities. And your BRAT feeds off of that. So, as long as you are a creative person, you will have to struggle with the BRAT who feeds your tendency to think the grass is greener on the other side.” She looks at me, waiting for my reaction.

So, what you’re saying is that as long as I am ME, a person who creates and thinks with her brain, I will struggle with my inner BRAT who is, by nature, ego centric and whiny?

*D nods.

I knew therapy was a mistake.

*D disagrees, “You’re growing. This is what growth looks like. You revisit the same issues you have struggled with in the past, except this time, you are able to approach it in a different way. I bet you are talking about this much differently than you would have at 22 years old.”

At the thought of my 22 year old innocent yet cocky self, I laugh outloud.

“And I suspect that when you’re 42, you’ll look at this differently, too.”

The thought of aging to 42 years old sobered my giggling. Oh yeah. Growing older. I guess it won’t surprise you when I say that both myself and my inner BRAT are completely NOT EXCITED about being 42?

*D shakes her head. “Not at all.”

I run out of things to say, but *D has not. “I don’t know you well, but I suspect

How many things does she suspect in one hour?

that you have not been able to grasp and appreciate who you really are because you keep listening to that BRAT of yours. When you listen to anything or anyone that focuses your attention on the past or the future too much, you lose focus on the here and now. And the here and now is pretty fabulous.”

The here and now is pretty fabulous.

Perhaps. I’m open to the concept of fabulous, yes.