The "Psychologist" Cycle
Russian version
Ukrainian version
Natalie watched her client with a blend of pity and astonishment. How old could she be? Somewhere around 35? Closer to 40? Maybe younger? Her extreme thinness gave her a worn-out look and made her seem older than she actually was.
Natalie barely stifled the urge to check herself in the mirror to confirm that nothing had changed and she was still blooming, although a little fleshy.
“So much the better!” She thought with an internal tremor, glancing sideways at her female guest.
The client presented a rare occasion to enjoy being soft and curvy. After all, despite the body positivity trend, a beautiful woman had to be thin anyway. And not just women; overweight men also lost out to their rivals, the athletically built Apollos. However, when you saw what excessive slenderness could lead to, you began to appreciate how far you were from those ideals.
"I must remember that argument... and use it when necessary!" Natalie made a mental note. The body image complex was still a pressing issue on her agenda, and many of her clients (especially the female ones!) worried that they weren't attractive enough. By attractiveness, they meant being skinny.
"It's the fashion designers' fault!" She thought bitterly. Yes, it was the famous couturiers who imposed this absurd belief on society in the 20th century. Sure, it's much easier to sew a dress on a broomstick than on a woman with a bust and splendid hips!
Her thoughts returned to the client. The woman was sitting hunched over, making her seem even more frail—not just thin but emaciated... sickly.
As if reading Natalie's mind, the woman smiled wryly and said with a dry laugh:
"I'm not sick, no. I'm... I'm anorexic," she tried to straighten her shoulders (unsuccessfully—she lacked a muscular corset) and added sadly, "It's the first time I've said my diagnosis out loud... it sounds scary."
"Whose diagnosis?" Natalie asked, displeased. Like many experts, she disliked it when amateurs boldly used specialized terminology, naively assuming they knew the true meaning of certain concepts.
'Amateurs, ha!' Natalie scoffed mentally. 'Who are you anyway? A fake expert...'
However, she dismissed this thought, fearing it would be reflected on her face, and the client would guess that she had come to a therapist without a higher education (but with a wealth of practical experience!).
"Everyone around me! They all say the same thing, like parrots," there was irritation in her voice.
"And you don't agree with them?"
Alice shrugged: "I don't know... Lately, I've been thinking more and more that there's some truth to what they say."
Natalie nodded, accepting her answer, and asked the next question:
"So, you want to change that, right? Do I understand you correctly?"
"Well... I guess," Alice said uncertainly, a flush creeping up her cheeks, giving life to her gaunt, hollow-cheeked face.
"You can only achieve results if you really want it yourself," Natalie warned sternly. "If you're only here because someone else pushed you into it, it won't work."
"No, no, I came on my own!" the girl protested vigorously. "It's just... I don't know where to start. I... I need help. I realize that now."
"Well, awareness is always the first step to healing. So let's begin! Tell me everything in as much detail as you can."
Alice
I can still picture it clearly: the day I became obsessed with my weight.
I was sixteen, and we were spending the summer at our family's lakeside cottage. You know, the usual: me, Mom, Dad, my sister, and my brother. We'd go there every summer to escape the city noise and enjoy the peace and quiet. It was the perfect place to unwind: fresh fruit straight from the orchard, a sandy beach, and a crystal-clear lake. What more could you ask for?
I was feeling pretty good about myself, and honestly, I thought I looked awesome—which was rare. Like most teens, I was always worried about my appearance, but for once, I was actually happy with it. And let's face it: a 16-year-old girl without apparent flaws IS beautiful! She's got that youthful glow... something she'll never have again.
And there I was, wandering barefoot along the country paths and soaking up the sun in my red and green swimsuit with rhinestones. It was pretty tacky, as I see now, but I absolutely loved it back then. And I loved how I looked in it; it was so bright and sparkling (literally). Turns out, not everyone shared my opinion…
"You should try a different swimsuit," Mom said, giving me a critical once-over. She was busy weeding the lawn or something equally dull. I never really got into gardening or all the chores around our country house.
"What's wrong with this one?" I asked, confused. Was there a stain or something?
"It's too revealing. I can see your cellulite on your legs."
That's exactly how she said it: "on your legs". Not my thighs or my butt, which were pretty exposed in that outfit, but my legs.
From then on, I was obsessed with their shape. Some people worry about their thighs or arms, but I was all about my legs. In the end, that's where I had "serious cellulite," according to Mom.
I don't remember what I said. I remember feeling lost and realizing I couldn't trust my judgment anymore. I hadn't even noticed anything wrong with my legs!
Today, I know that having cellulite isn't the same as being overweight. Even thin girls can have it (like me). But to my younger self, "cellulite on your legs" meant "your legs are fat." They weren't fat... but they became fat in my mind. Unfortunately.
I should've been mad at Mom for saying that, but I wasn't. I just felt hurt and embarrassed. Apparently, I was fat.
Since I didn't want to be fat, I went on a diet. That's how my whole weight loss journey started.
At first, it was the usual stuff: cutting out junk food, running in the morning, and hitting the gym hard. But then I'd stress eat at night, binge on holidays, and have cravings during my periods. Sound familiar? Most girls trying to lose weight go through this.
I lost a little weight, then gained it back. No big deal... and definitely not anorexia. The real problems started later, with pills.
Harmless pills, like green tea extract or chitosan. Not those dangerous Ozempic pills for diabetics everyone's talking about. But I was only 19 or 20, and I believed in them. I thought they could help me. And sometimes, believing can make a difference, especially when young.
I lost about 15 or 17 pounds in a few months, going from a curvy first-year student to a skinny girl. It wasn't just the pills but my strong desire to make them work. That desire helped me develop willpower and live a healthier life.
I realized how much weight I'd lost when I tried on my old jeans. They were so loose that they literally fell off—no joke.
I was shocked and excited at the same time. Had it actually happened? Was I... thin? No way!
I stepped on the scale (which I'd been avoiding). 117 pounds... perfect for my height (about 5'7"). Unbelievable!
It might sound crazy, but for me, being thin meant being happy. Suddenly, I felt beautiful, desirable... worthy of love and happiness.
Unfortunately, the joy didn't last long. It was quickly replaced by fear. Fear of gaining weight again, of becoming "fat" (even though, really, is 132 pounds that much?). I was afraid to eat anything extra, and even "healthy" food made me nervous.
As they say, hello, anorexia! Finally, we met…
My weight kept dropping, and after a few months, I hit a critical point of 106 pounds ("looking better," as I thought). "Are you okay?" my family and friends asked me more and more often... and it wasn't surprising. I didn't look elegant—I looked painfully thin.
I don't know what would've happened if my body hadn't been smarter than me. My brain decided to save me, to keep me from starving, by turning off my self-control and making me super hungry. Previously, I was barely eating, but now I couldn't stop eating—anything and everything—until I felt sick, lost all my self-respect, and was basically addicted to food. It became an obsession, like a drug.
I hated myself for being so weak, but I still ate. I'd wake up the following day feeling bloated and gross... trying to start a new diet, restricting myself as much as possible, sometimes successfully... until I'd binge again.
Of course, I eventually gained back all my lost weight—and even put on a few pounds.
"I have bulimia," I told my friend.
She looked at me in horror.
"You... eat and then, you know, get rid of the food?"
She was disgusted. Honestly, so was I.
"No..." I corrected her. "I haven't gone that far... I'm too squeamish for that."
"Then it's not bulimia," my friend said, relieved.
I shrugged. What was the point of arguing? It wouldn't solve my problem anyway.
I was convinced I had bulimia. Sure, I wasn't at the final stage (no fingers down my throat!), but everything else was the same. It wasn't just a late-night binge from stress or boredom... it was something primeval, something that clouded my mind. I wasn't eating for pleasure or to calm down—I was eating to escape. And the price was way too high.
It took me about a year to break free from that cycle. Do you think I became "normal"? Nope, I slipped right back into anorexia and pushed myself to the point of exhaustion... which, of course, led to another bout of bulimia.
And so it went, a vicious cycle that I couldn't break out of until about seven years later when I was hitting my thirties.
Surprisingly, a career change helped. I finally quit my soul-sucking job as a project manager and became a graphic designer at a branding company. I'd been dreaming of doing this for a long time.
The new job demanded everything from me, but it was a good thing. I threw myself into this unfamiliar work with passion and excitement, and it helped me heal—at least, that's how it felt.
I couldn't completely relax and behave like "normal" people. I still watched my diet, counted calories, and limited sweets and carbs... but there was a big difference. Food didn't control me anymore. I was finally living... and sometimes, I was even happy.
And then the war started.
* * *
"And then the war started..." Natalie repeated when Alice fell silent, finishing her story.
"Yeah," the client replied in a low voice, looking down. "And everything came back... I don't know why."
Natalie sighed. To her, it was plain as day why everything had resurfaced.
"I think you know... why you relapsed," she said softly. "Especially since you didn't fully heal... right? It was more like you were in remission."
She deliberately used fancy words: relapse, remission... It made her sound more meaningful and impactful. At the same time, Natalie was putting on a bit of a show, reminding the client that she was a "real psychologist."
Alice blushed.
"Yeah, you're right. Why pretend?" she mumbled after a brief pause, the flush slowly fading from her cheeks. "It wasn't a real recovery. No wonder the war brought everything back."
"Exactly," Natalie said in that same calm, soothing voice she'd mastered after countless hours of consultations. "War is stressful... like any stress, it brought back our old problems, both physical and mental. Everyone has their own..." She paused, then continued in a more businesslike tone, "When did you first notice your symptoms come back?"
Alice shrugged.
"I don't know. It just kind of happened on its own."
"You started restricting your food intake without realizing it?" Natalie asked skeptically.
"I wasn't starving," Alice seemed almost offended. "It's just... I can't really explain it. My eating habits changed, that's all!"
"Just cucumbers and cabbage left?" Natalie barely held back a bitter laugh.
"Pretty much," the client admitted gloomily, giving a crooked smile. "Not just cucumbers, of course... but... yeah. Very little protein, carbohydrates, or fat. But I wouldn't say I'm starving."
"You just think you're not. Eating mostly greens can fill you up without providing enough nutrients."
"Yeah," the woman sighed, her mood darkening immediately. "And in the end, I've lost way too much weight again..."
"The second... hmm... phase... hasn't started… right?" Natalie asked, struggling to resist adding a sly "yet." Yes, yes, she should have said, "hasn't happened YET..."
"You mean bulimia?" Alice shuddered. Just the thought of that returning seemed to fill her with dread. "No... I hope bulimia is in the past... and... that's partly why I came."
"That was the right decision," Natalie nodded confidently. "It’s hard—sometimes impossible—to deal with anorexia and bulimia alone. I’m glad you recognized that."
Alice gave a skeptical smirk.
"Well... it's not that I figured it out on my own... more like, I was helped to see it... and convinced to come..." She frowned, then quickly added, "But convinced, not forced! So I’m here willingly."
"Yes, that's an essential condition for successful treatment," the psychologist agreed. "But who exactly convinced you? And what arguments did they use?"
"It was originally my sister's idea. But my other close relatives… they supported it too. What arguments? Well… I don’t really know… they said I’d be happier. Healthier… they think I should learn to see myself in a positive light… and accept myself."
Natalie tilted her head thoughtfully, pondering. Caring relatives, huh? Interesting. Did Alice realize what an incredible resource she had? Probably not.
"Were your loved ones pushing you?" She asked after a brief pause.
"Pushing me?" Alice repeated in surprise. "No, no, they’re not like that… well… my sister was persistent, but out of kindness. She… worries about me."
"That means a lot… and it’s rare," Natalie said with a hint of sadness, remembering her own family. Alas, they couldn't have cared less about what was going on in her life. She seemed fine, and that was all that mattered.
"Guess I'm a classic case of the shoemaker's child," the woman thought grimly and continued aloud:
"Attentive relatives… people who care… they're precious. Not everyone has that; trust me on this."
Alice shrugged, clearly not entirely convinced.
"I don't know, maybe. I just thought that's how it's supposed to be."
"It should be like that… but it's not always the case," Natalie assured her. Deciding not to push and approach the topic from another angle, she asked, "Alright, if you had to sum it up, why was it personally important for you to come to me? What finally made you ask for help?"
Alice frowned, thinking.
"A lot of things… for example, I'm not 25 anymore. After a certain age, these weight fluctuations immediately take a toll on your body... skin, hair… everything suffers."
"If you understand that, why are you so obsessed with staying so thin? Gaining a couple of pounds is one of the easiest things to do. Of course, there are rare cases where someone genuinely can't gain weight… but that's clearly not you."
"Yeah," the client snorted. "That's definitely not me. As for your question… I don't know. I really don't know why I want so badly to stay slim."
"Not slim," Natalie shook her head. "Thin. No one's asking you to gain 10 pounds… so this isn't about being slim, it's about being healthy."
"You're right," Alice seemed confused. "I understand that logically… but the fear of gaining weight still doesn't go away."
"I guess the word itself scares you. I don't like it either. Let's put it differently: you don't need to gain weight; you must develop a more curvy figure."
"It's the same thing," Alice scoffed.
"Maybe your partner prefers women with that kind of figure?" the psychologist suggested. "You know, women with no curves at all?"
The remark sounded harsh, but that harshness was deliberate—a carrot-and-stick approach that Natalie often employed in her expert arsenal. Yes, sometimes you must be tough, even cruel, to achieve results… like now. The time for kindness would come later.
Unfortunately, the arrow didn't hit its mark. Alice wasn't bothered by Natalie's not-so-subtle hint about her lack of "curves."
The client shrugged and replied indifferently:
"No, it’s not about a man. I’m single… and I’m not in the mood for… how should I put it? For romance. I’m totally fine being alone. At least for now." She paused, then added with a touch of defiance, "And I know what you’re thinking! I’m not 18, not even 28… time for love games might be running out."
"I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort," Natalie retorted sternly, hating it when someone tried to speak for her. No one knows her thoughts—they belong to her alone, and only she decides with whom to share them.
"Everyone thinks that way, I’m sure of it," Alice said stubbornly, embarrassed by Natalie’s sharp tone. "I mean... that I'm too old."
"You’re not a mind reader. You don’t know what people around you are thinking," the psychologist shook her head. "You can only assume... nothing more."
"So, you’re saying that a woman can still find a close friend even when she is around 50?" Alice scoffed in disbelief. "A lover?"
Natalie shrugged. She herself was in her early 40s, and 50 was just around the corner. She wanted to believe that after crossing that daunting threshold, she would still be hot… desirable… at least to some category of men. So, her answer to the client's question was unequivocally yes.
"Yes, I'm sure that at any age, you can find a companion to enjoy life with. And I'm not just sure—I've seen plenty of examples," the psychologist said firmly. "But let's get back to our previous topic... So, we've established that you're not striving for slimness for your man. Then, who is it for?"
"For myself. Isn't that enough?"
"Sure, it's more than enough. But why can't you love yourself in a less ideal form? Or rather, a form that only seems ideal to you?
"I just can't…" Alice frowned. "I haven't thought about it... from that point of view."
“Then I suggest you think about it," a faint smile crossed the woman’s lips. "Think it over, and we can discuss it. By the way, what about kids? Do you have any?"
Alice pressed her lips together in displeasure and responded curtly, "No, I don't have kids. And I probably never will… I have reproductive health issues… that's also… a consequence of anorexia."
Natalie barely held back from making a biting comment. Imagine that—the woman sitting across from her was depriving herself of so much for the sake of imaginary ideals and society's imposed beauty standards... chasing after the emaciated models from '90s magazines! On one side of the scale, there was painful thinness; on the other, you saw delicious food, good health, and even children. Was it really worth it?
Her son, Platon, came to her mind. Of course, their relationship was complicated at times—almost always complicated—but Natalie never regretted having him in her life.
"You've sacrificed a lot for your dream," Natalie remarked quietly, carefully choosing her words. "Not everything can be regained... but some things can. Why not give it a try? Life will take on new colors, believe me! You just need to relax... and trust fate."
"Well... I'm ready to try... that's why I'm here."
"We have a long road ahead of us, but we'll make it," Natalie assured her with feigned enthusiasm. She wasn't entirely convinced they would "make it," but showing these doubts to the client was out of the question. On the contrary, it was crucial to motivate Alice as much as possible.
Especially since Natalie already had one promising idea…
Natalie
About once a week, Natalie would try to schedule a call with her son, Platon. It was a real challenge—sometimes, her attempts would just fizzle out. And it wasn't her fault; the war raging in their homeland, Ukraine, wasn't to blame, either.
The reason was Platon himself, who wasn't that into talking to her. In fact, most of their conversations were pretty tense. As a self-taught psychologist, Natalie tried to keep things calm and avoid arguments, but it always left a bad taste in her mouth. And that made the next call even more challenging for both of them.
However, today, Natalie was determined to make him answer her call! She would do whatever it took to avoid arguments and fights.
It was hard to say why she suddenly felt this strong urge to reach out to Platon and find some common ground with him. Maybe it was Alice's emotional story that got to her. Despite all her setbacks, Alice had something precious that she didn't even realize. She had people who cared about her, you know? People who wanted her to be happy and healthy. Not everyone's lucky enough to have that.
Take Natalie, for instance. She didn't have that kind of support. Her husband was just a memory now; there were other guys, of course, but they came and went without making a big difference in her life. Her son didn't give a crap about her. Her dad, who was always there for her, had passed away a few years ago. And things weren't going well with her mom either, especially since she started having problems with Platon. Unfortunately, her mom always took her grandson's side, and it seemed like her daughter didn't matter, even though she was the one who helped her out financially.
Well, enough is enough. Natalie often told her clients that complaining and whining were pointless, so it would be stupid not to take her own advice.
So, she decided to call Platon and try to talk to him like a caring mom would talk to her loving and beloved son.
To get herself in the right mood for the conversation, Natalie poured a glass of wine and tried to make things cozy. She turned off the overhead lights, lit a few candles, and even treated herself with some chocolate. On other days, she could've been upset for being so weak and eating sweets at night, but not today. What's wrong with having an ample bosom and an incredible backside? Men love mouth-watering shapes. The key is not crossing the line and keeping that perfect curve between the waist and hips. And she definitely had that curve. That's all that mattered.
Finally, Natalie got the courage to pick up her phone. It was almost midnight, and in Ukraine, it was even later... Platon could easily prove stubborn and say he was too tired to talk… just trying to annoy her.
Platon answered the call, which was a victory in itself… Unfortunately, her headstrong son often declined the call and later claimed he’d been insanely busy. Maybe he wasn’t lying… who knows? How could she check?
Well… this time, he answered. Not bad!
Such a promising start gave her a boost of confidence.
"Hi, son," she began gently. "How are you?"
"Alive," he grumbled.
That terse "alive" meant that he, her son, was still in a war-torn country, constantly in danger. A game of life and death… real crapshoot. Would he get lucky or not?
As if it were her fault! She wished she could change everything… but sadly, she couldn’t.
"I'm glad," Natalie replied in the same upbeat tone, trying not to show how much his deliberate coldness hurt her.
"You're glad I'm alive?" Platon let out a laugh. "How nice of you... thanks! We Ukrainians are lucky to make it through another day. You, as an emigrant, don't have to worry about such minor things. You get to relax. You're safe."
Natalie clenched her teeth in frustration. It was as if her son was accusing her of being a coward. "You're safe!"
Yes, she was safe—for now, at least. Tomorrow, the situation could change. But Platon didn't have that luxury, not even today. As a young man of draft age, he couldn't leave the country. And she, his mother, didn't know how to help him... or how to justify her own escape to Poland.
"Are you still going by Natalie?" Platon asked mockingly. He was clearly in a foul mood and eager to take it out on her, his so-called parent. "Natalie Valedo?"
"Yes, I am," she replied curtly, "So what?"
"So what? You're not Natalie Valedo; you're Natasha Valedenko. Why the lies?"
"There’s no lie," Natalie coldly countered, struggling to keep her composure. "Legally, I’m still Natalia Valedenko."
"Legally!" Platon scoffed. "Who sees your passport anyway?"
"Whoever needs to does," Natalie shot back, on the defensive. "I use my pseudonym with clients. It's perfectly normal to have one."
"Normal… if you're a writer or an actor," her son disagreed. "Not for psychologists… but then again, you lied about that too."
It felt like a burning lump was lodged in her throat, making it hard to breathe. The people closest to you hurt the most. They know exactly where to strike.
"Alright, let’s change the subject," Natalie said again, still trying to keep her tone friendly. "How’s Grandma?"
"You mean your mother?" Platon clarified with a hint of sarcasm.
Natalie rolled her eyes—thankfully, the call was audio-only, so Platon couldn’t see her reaction.
"Of course, I mean my mother—your grandmother. My grandmother has been in heaven for a long time."
"Right," Platon snorted. "Grandma’s fine, thanks. Except for the war, of course. All these air raids aren’t good for an elderly person."
Natalie pressed her lips together. Here we go again! As if she hadn’t tried to convince her mother to move to Poland!
"You know she doesn’t want to leave Ukraine," Natalie said wearily after a pause. She wanted to add, "She doesn’t want to leave you," but she held back. Why bother? Platon would just think she was accusing him of something…
"Well, then convince her," her son said irritably. "Aren’t you supposed to be a 'psychologist'?"
The last word dripped with undisguised disdain as if Platon spat it out.
"Even psychologists can’t achieve the impossible," Natalie remarked with a touch of sorrow.
"Especially if you're not a real psychologist, right?"
She shrugged.
"You're being cruel. And unfair."
"I'm not cruel, I'm just honest," Platon argued indignantly. "And completely fair. You don’t have a degree; you're self-taught. You took some courses… workshops… whatever! and now you’re trying to cure people. Is that really right?"
"You talk as if I’m a surgeon," Natalie said, her voice heavy with pain. "But I’m just a psychologist."
"Just? You may not be cutting people open like a surgeon—thanks for that! But you’re fixing their souls… or trying to fix, at least."
"I thought you were an atheist and didn’t believe in souls," Natalie couldn’t resist commenting—and immediately regretted it. Platon flared up like dry straw:
"You know what I mean!" He paused briefly before adding, "And anyway, I’m tired. It’s late. I need to sleep. Another workday tomorrow."
"Yeah, alright…" Natalie sighed in response. The "early workday" argument was always the best in persuasion. The job is important; there was no arguing about that!
"So, what are you working on?" she asked, trying to soften her tone again. "What project are you busy with?"
Platon had recently graduated from university, joining the ranks of IT experts, and was now gaining experience by taking on various freelance projects.
"Are you joking?" he asked sarcastically. "You really think I can explain to you what I’m working on?"
Natalie found this IT arrogance amusing, the way developers imagined themselves as masters of the universe. Her son was no exception. Well, good for him. Let him be proud of himself—he had every reason to be.
"Well, if you're *really* interested in my work, here you go!" Platon said sarcastically. "I’m doing backend development for medical software. It helps diabetics… tracks their blood sugar levels and stuff like that."
Natalie forced a laugh.
"You're right, the only part I understood was about the diabetics. Sounds serious."
"It IS pretty serious. So, maybe you let me get some sleep? I’m completely exhausted."
"Of course, honey. Goodnight," she said, her tone falsely cheerful.
"Let’s hope it actually is a peaceful night…" Platon muttered. "Without any surprises from our neighbors…"
With that, he hung up. Well… it could have been worse.
Natalie set the phone down, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes in exhaustion. The conversation with her son had drained her—just like it always had.
When had things fallen apart between them? They didn't always talk like that, teetering on the edge of conflict. There were happy, peaceful times in their family history… a long time ago.
"That’s right," she muttered, sitting up straight with a sigh. "Family history…"
Their family had a difficult fate. A complicated history. And the main villain in that story was her ex-husband, the neglectful father… Pavel. He had left them when their son had just turned 16 and, since then, had all but cut off contact with him. Even though, God knows, Platon had tried hard to reconnect with his father, to get his attention. It was pointless! Pavel didn’t push him away outright, but he never reciprocated, always keeping his distance—both physically and emotionally.
Platon blamed his mother for this coldness. Why had she let him leave? Why didn’t she hold the family together for her son’s sake? And if the divorce was inevitable, why hadn’t she explained to him that being an ex-husband didn’t mean being an "ex-father"—that it didn’t cancel his responsibilities as a parent?
But she was a psychologist, not a miracle worker! She couldn’t change a person. Pavel was who he was. If he were different, they wouldn’t have separated in the first place.
Unfortunately, Platon saw things differently, and Natalie hadn’t been able to make him understand that life was more complicated than a storybook. She could only hope that his own life experience would eventually be a better teacher.
Alright, enough of these negative thoughts! It was time to get ready for bed. As Platon had rightly pointed out, tomorrow was a new day with a new agenda.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Natalie was lying in her bathtub, filled to the brim with hot water and covered with a fragrant foam layer. A glass of wine was in her hand... a rare indulgence she allowed herself only on emotionally tough nights. Like this one...
With a soft sigh, Natalie took a sip (delicious!) and wearily closed her eyes. She was drifting off to sleep.
Ah, my son... Platon... why are you so prickly? What made you defiant and unyielding toward me, your own mother?
No, enough thinking about him. It's better to focus on something else, like that intriguing client who visited her office earlier today.
Alice... a complicated case! Complicated... but promising. Natalie really wanted to help the poor thing, and not just out of compassion. More than anything, she wanted to prove—to herself and her son—that education wasn't the most crucial thing for a psychologist. Experience and skills truly mattered, nothing else!
So, Alice. Her problem is the inability to value herself for her inner qualities, which is why she clings to external ones, to her distorted perception of beauty standards.
The strategy is clear, then. Alice must be taught the art of self-respect—the kind based on what truly matters, not inches and pounds.
Easy to say... harder to achieve. It might take hours of conversation... discussions... even persuasion. Will she be able to find the right approach to Alice? To unlock her, so to speak?
“Well… let’s give it a try,” Natalie muttered sleepily, taking another sip of wine and smacking her lips with satisfaction.
And that’s only half the problem! Even worse, Alice is terrified of food. Normal food. No one’s saying you should live off McDonald’s, but why swear off shawarma, pizza, and burgers forever? That’s way too extreme... with bad consequences, as Alice’s case (one of many) clearly shows.
So, task number two is to ease her fear of food. And Natalie had an idea—it might not work, but it was definitely worth a shot.
The idea was simple. Instead of the usual dull therapy sessions, they’d have brunches. They’d start with “non-scary” foods… say, avocado toast with tomato slices. Later on, she’d try adding more “risky” items to the menu: cheese, ham, butter… eventually, they’d even make it to desserts.
Of course, the food was just the backdrop… the main focus would be conversations about beauty, health, and self-perception. But the backdrop matters too… especially one like this.
Now, all that was left was to convince Alice to give this strategy a try. She needed to see for herself that having a slice of pizza now and then wouldn’t turn her into some kind of pig-like creature, which she apparently feared. The fear would slowly fade, taking the problem away, too.
At least, that’s what Natalie was really counting on.
* * *
It was one of those rare days when everything went according to plan and just worked out, and that's why this day felt so special.
There was no shortage of good news, either. For example, Alisa agreed to combine her therapy sessions with brunches, which was a victory. She might regret that decision later and backtrack, but that's a problem for tomorrow... not today. There's no point in worrying about something that hasn't happened yet... and might never happen at all.
"Everything is just perfect!" Natalie hummed to herself while touching up in front of the mirror, transforming from a "professional psychologist" into a "sophisticated woman." When dealing with clients, you need to look serious and respectable. Still, a dinner at a nearby café is the perfect excuse to dress up. Why not?
After such a productive, eventful day, she had every right to unwind and enjoy a delicious meal at a nice restaurant. And she definitely would do that! Unfortunately, Natalie conducted most sessions online (Alisa being a rare exception) while she craved face-to-face interaction, real emotions... and vivid experiences.
"Not bad… not bad at all!" Natalie mused under her breath, critically assessing the results of her efforts.
In the mirror, a youthful green-eyed brunette stared back at her, with marble-white skin, a long bob, and full bangs that hid the first wrinkles on her forehead—effectively standing in for Botox for now. Her incredibly feminine figure resembled an hourglass: curvy hips (perhaps a bit too heavy), a full chest, and yes, a waistline (even if far from model-like ideals). A luscious, desirable body with its expressive curves subtly accentuated by a fitted dress. A kind of delicate French chic—nothing excessive, nothing overdone.
In fact, Natalie really did resemble a Parisian with her unassuming charm, and she knew it. Not only did she know it, but she eagerly cultivated that touch of "Frenchness" within herself.
The day was clearly a success! Oddly enough, she had Platon to thank for that. He was the one who arranged the surprise for her that morning.
The surprise came in the form of a courier interrupting her breakfast.
"Mrs. Valedenko?" he asked politely in Polish. After receiving a confirming nod, he handed Natalie a small box.
Inside, nestled among layers of paper, was a delicate bottle of perfume—and not just any perfume! It was her favorite scent: Chanel N°5.
The perfume was accompanied by a short note.
“Ma! I missed your birthday (sorry, totally forgot!). But I think this month is Psychologist’s Day. So, here you go… a gift for the occasion. Anyway, congrats! Have a couple of sips of wine for me and Grandma. Plato.”
Natalie pressed the note to her chest and closed her eyes. Her son’s message, though crudely written, meant far more to her than the gift itself. After all, Platon had congratulated her on Psychologist’s Day! Psychologist! Could it be that he was finally acknowledging her right to this profession? At least, that’s how she chose to interpret his words.
Still, the gift was terrific! Chanel wasn’t cheap... and Platon wasn’t the type to throw money around—nor did he have much to throw around. Sure, he was in IT, but he was just starting. Calling him wealthy would be premature.
“Thank you…” Natalie murmured with a sigh. “Thank you…”
She messaged him through WhatsApp without expecting a reply. None came, of course. Platon wasn’t the sentimental type, especially with her, his mother.
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was his attention, his thoughts about her, and his care for her. After all, he had found a gift to her taste and even had it sent to Poland, setting the tone for her entire day. And not just the day!
“Everything will be fine,” Natalie said aloud, looking at her reflection, and smiled. The brunette in the mirror smiled back with equal confidence. “Everything will be fine…”
Yes, it would. The key was to set the right mindset. Who would know that better than her?
