Wednesday morning, 11 am, Simoni is sitting at her desk, thinking about her day.
It’s a Wednesday and I only have one client to see. I am glad she scheduled an afternoon appointment because it just feels like Wednesdays are made of nothing. Maybe this new client will have stories that will take me to places. Maybe she will be pretty chill. Well, I am excited and I can’t wait to find out.
Simoni now shuffles around the room. It’s a cozy room with an L-shaped sofa that has a variety of cushions. There is a small coffee table near the sofa that has a box of tissues, a bottle of water, and some candy. Simoni places a new scented candle on the table. The cover says pinewood, but it smells like vanilla. She draws open the curtains and sees that it’s a gloomy day, fitting since it’s a Wednesday in July. Everything feels still and waiting in a forever transit. She takes a seat and reads about the client who is coming at 2 pm. It’s Simoni’s first session with this client, so she wants to be prepared.
Name: BRAT
Age: 29
Pronouns: She/her
Location: Essex, England
Reason to seek session: Sometimes I just wanna rewind
Wednesday afternoon, 2:03 PM. BRAT has entered the building.
Simoni is sitting on a chair adjacent to the sofa and is facing the door that is used to enter the room. BRAT is now standing on the door frame, with her glasses on. She has long curly hair and she is wearing a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of black hotpants. She is also wearing a sheer pair of black stalking and strikingly high heels. She is slanted slightly on the door frame, her face looking ominous, like she is deep in thought. Simoni observes her and, after a few minutes, shifts in her chair, looking ready to speak.
Simoni: Hi BRAT. Would you like to take a seat or is standing at the edge more comfortable for you?
BRAT: Standing here is so BRAT
S: What does that even mean?
B: I honestly don't even know at this point. It was fun last summer, but now I am just holding on to it, which honestly feels like my life has lost all its meaning now that summer 2024 is over. breaks down crying
S: I think we can take a seat and really take a look at what's coming up for you, BRAT. gently guides BRAT to the couch and hands her some tissue.
BRAT immediately crashes on the L-shaped couch, and Simoni hands her some cushions to make her feel more comfortable. Simoni takes her seat and sets her timer for an hour. BRAT wipes the lone tear that has managed to escape her glasses and places her left palm on her belly, which is followed by her right palm.
Simoni silently waits for a few moments to give BRAT the time to collect herself.
B: I don’t want to feel feelings. I don’t want to feel feelings. I don’t want to feel feelings.
S: What do feelings mean here?
B: This last year was so wonderful, you know? It finally felt like I got everything the universe owed me. I had my moment, but now it feels like time is slipping from my grip, no matter how hard I try to hold on to it.
S: It sounds like time held a lot of power for you last year – almost like it gave you permission to be someone. What happens when that sense of permission fades?
B: So I came out in the summer of 2024, and it felt like it was my world and everyone was just living in it. It all started in February, when I first told everyone about Von Dutch. And people that I never even thought of were now suddenly in my corner. They wanted to hear about Von, and the crowds just couldn’t get enough. I was everyone’s number one. It felt like the dawn of a new era, and the world was not prepared for what I had.
S: I am sensing there is more. What happened next? Or maybe could you tell me what you are referring to when you said “what I had”?
B: What I had were stories that girls and women feel, you know? Feelings of insecurities masked with an ego bigger than the room we are in. Fear of turning into our mothers, yet also being at a place where mothers are seen as other women, and not just as our mothers. All of these stories are now narrated with beats that can make anyone tap their foot no matter where. I could say that it felt like a party with all of my friends, and it just had a 360 point of view on womanhood. I did not expect it to land the way it did, but once it started, I did not want it to stop…
BRAT sits up on the sofa, her back arched, and is now looking for something in her bag. She stops, realizing she doesn’t have the said thing, gives out a sigh, and continues.
B: Then around April last year, I brought out Club Classics right? Now this was what I wanted people to think of me as. I wanted to lubricate the social fraction into thinking that this was a party girl story. I was doing this for the girls and gays who have stuck around. I talked about the greats and how much I wanted to hear them in the clubs. I wanted to be blinded by the lights, I wanted to dance all night. Now I wanted people to dance to me, which is what I also brought in B2B to the mix.
S: B2B sounds like more than just a track; it feels like a mood, maybe even a message. What does it hold for you?
B: B2B is a concept of what a party girl feels like at 2 am, in a sheer white dress with last night’s make-up. When the crowd in the club starts to thin out, not enough so that the creeps can come in, but just enough that you can take a minute to look around, then the beat drops and everything just sort of comes crashing back. The party has now left the room, and it feels like an entry point.
S: What comes crashing back?
B: Maybe I don’t even want them, maybe they should run right back to her, her who they thought I was. Or her – the one I can never be, but I am scared that people will find this out, and it feels like I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m spiraling.
S: Okay, maybe we could pivot here. Could you tell me more about the party girl in a sheer white dress with last night’s makeup? What is she feeling like exactly?
B: She is a mean girl. She is New York City’s darling, you know, in Vogue and worships Lana Del Rey in her AirPods. She is in her mid-20s, and I will never be her again, but that didn’t stop me from romanticizing her because I was thinking about how everything is romantic if you want it to be. She feels like she is it. Like she is THAT girl and rightfully so. No other woman can be THAT girl once she’s past 29.
S: Hmm, I am not sure I understand what you mean by THAT girl and her relation to women being 29. Could you tell me more?
B: I don’t know, I just feel like I could rewind back to June last year.
S: What happened in June last year?
B: That was the month I came out in my entirety. I had made everyone believe that I was all about the beats, but no one suspected that I would also have the depth that was going to be the sweet punch that would knock everyone’s wind out. Like I said earlier, my life was meant to be a moment for the girls and gays, and I never thought I’d blow up like this. But June 2024 was life-altering. I was everywhere, and the best part? Everyone wanted me to be everywhere. Girls were going crazy about how I feel, and even the men were coming to my party. Which I didn’t care for, still don’t, but I was inescapable, and I never thought I would have something like this for me. Not even in my wildest dreams.
S: You mentioned coming out in your entirety – what parts of you were finally visible that hadn’t been before?
B: So I wrote Apple, which blew up as a dance, and I absolutely loved that. It helped get the message around mothers and daughters
S: What’s the message around mothers and daughters?
B: It’s fucking scary, she is, you know? It makes you want to drive to the airport because when you cut open the apple, you see all the symmetrical lines, and you realize that your mother has always been more than who she is, to you. How do you even process that? I know I couldn’t, and I guess many daughters felt seen because when they look at their mothers, they see themselves in ways they never thought could be. It – the story – is not Brat, but the beats made it Brat.
S: That realization – about who your mother is beyond your relationship with her, how has it shaped the way you see yourself now?
B: I have started to think about it all the time. I have a few friends who have been blissfully married, and while examining my relationship with my mother, I happened to visit a friend who just had a baby. She was standing there, with the same old clothes she wore before holding her child. She was looking radiant, and it was all so sublime. It made me wonder about my own life and career and if I ever wanted to have a child, more importantly, if I ever wanted to be a mother. I think about it all the time, that I might run out of time.
S: What does being a mother mean to you?
B: Being a mother feels all-consuming to me. It feels bigger than anything I have ever done in my life. My career just feels very small in the existential scheme of it all when I place these things. It feels like a situation where I will have to choose. What if I can’t choose? What if I don’t want to? What if I have to?
BRAT’s voice breaks a little as she says these things, and she opens a water bottle in front of her. She has a few sips and lies back down on her back. Simoni observes her and continues.
S: How’s this conversation going for you so far?
B: I feel like I am seeing this put into perspective, like I have never before. It doesn’t help that I left my smokies at home. But overall, I feel scared.
S: When you say you feel scared, what do you imagine happening next?
B: I feel like I am holding onto this moment for too long. I have been hearing people say it, and now I think people might be right. But I am not ready to say goodbye, I just want an endless stream of hello. This is my moment, and I fear that if I let it slip any further, I will be forgotten into oblivion. I can’t have that. I am 29 years old, and the world is feeling like it’s suddenly against me. I feel like I am being kicked when I am already down. I want to hold on to my youth for as long as I can because what is a 30-year-old woman even? What will I even have to live for if not for the relevance of my youth? I am feeling like my heart is rising, and I am panicking so quietly. I am scared to say the final goodbye before I have said all my hellos.
The timer Simoni had set at the beginning of the session is now at 10 minutes remaining. Simoni glances at it and shifts on her seat.
S: You’ve spoken about the summer you came into your own, the image of the party girl at 2 a.m., the fear of turning into your mother, and now this quiet panic around turning 30. It makes me wonder… what do you think the world is really telling women about aging? And how much of that has shaped what feels possible for you right now?
B: I feel like the world is telling me that it has its thumb on a detonator and that my life as a spring breaker, doing crazy shit, is now on borrowed time. Spring leads to summer, but I had my grand summer last year. I really tried to make it long; there were three new songs and also the collaborations. I got to collaborate with a woman whom I was always pitted against, and it was beautiful that she saw me for who I am – just a young girl from Essex. We talked about starving ourselves thinner as women because we are always expected to, and when we put our conversation to bed, the internet went crazy. It made me realise that my friendships, particularly with women, are the only ones that are coming to save me. But when I extended myself, even that couldn’t take me back to my glory.
BRAT dramatically sits up again and ruffles her hair. She opens a candy and pops it in.
B: I just think that the world forgets women who are not new and shiny, and it feels horrible that I am at the receiving end of it now. I don’t want it. I have tasted the desire people had for me when I hit my prime, and I fear that my options after this are limited. I feel like my body is in protest, which is why I cannot let go. I don’t want to let go. I want to be able to go down as the album that changed lives and will never be forgotten. I want it to be possible to go down as one of the greats.
S: That sounds deeply painful, BRAT, like you’re holding both the weight of who you’ve been and the fear that the world won’t let you grow beyond her. I can hear how tightly you’ve had to hold on, and also how exhausting it’s been to keep proving that you’re worth remembering.
Simoni glances softly at the timer. Only three minutes remain.
S: As we come to a close for today, I want to acknowledge how much you’ve shared, your grief, your power, the rage beneath your softness, and the hunger to be seen on your own terms.
She pauses, then continues gently, making her tone softer than ever.
S: For our next session, would you be open to exploring what letting go could mean, not as an erasure of the girl who ruled summer, but maybe as a way to meet the version of you who’s trying to arrive now? We don’t have to rush it. We can take it one layer at a time.
BRAT gives a half smile and nods. Simoni gives a small nod, signaling the metaphorical container that holds her feelings is still safe, still held.
S: Until then, if it feels okay, maybe spend a little time noticing the parts of you that are still speaking even when the music fades. They might have something to say about what comes after the glory, and it doesn’t have to be a goodbye.
BRAT looks up tired, but a little less alone. She gets up and moves towards the exit door. As she is leaving, she looks back at Simoni.
B: You’re like so Brat.
Simoni smiles and watches BRAT leave the room, then sits still for a few moments after the door closes. The room, once filled with the weight of BRAT’s confessions and the echo of her candy unwrapping, is now quiet again. She leans back slightly in her chair, exhales, and lets the silence settle.
Wednesday afternoon, 4:16 PM, Simoni is sitting at her desk again, reflecting on the session she had, making session notes.
I had expected stories that might take me places; what I hadn’t expected was to be taken so close to the edge of cultural mythology, pop persona, and aching womanhood. There’s something about sitting across a woman who is desperate not to be; it catches you off guard, even if you’ve heard versions of it before. Maybe it was the way BRAT spoke of summer like it was a god she once pleased. Or the party girl in the sheer white dress who could never exist beyond 29. Or maybe it was the way she spoke of her mother; cut like an apple, split into symmetrical truths that daughters are never prepared to see.
It’s not uncommon for women on the cusp of 30 to walk into therapy saying they’re afraid. But what BRAT feared wasn’t just aging – it was irrelevance. Obsolescence. The slow quieting of applause. And underneath all of it, the question: Can a woman be great if she is no longer new?
I have no neat answer to that. But I know this: stories like BRAT’s don’t end in their prime; they expand, rupture, evolve. If BRAT could find a way to listen to herself after the beat dropped… maybe something entirely new could still be born.
I am now thinking about how BRAT clung to the word hello like a lifeline. “I’m scared to say the final goodbye before I have said all my hellos.” That line stayed with me, echoing like a refrain, both poetic and raw. There was something hauntingly honest in her refusal to be done. Not just with the moment, but with herself.
I’ve seen it before: not just in clients, but in friends, perhaps even in myself. That quiet dread that arrives when the mirror stops reflecting just a face and starts revealing a timeline. When the body begins to whisper its changes. When the world starts to listen to you less. When the power you once carried without question begins to feel like something you have to defend, negotiate, or grieve.
And yet, maybe BRAT’s fear is also her fire, that has echoes rooted in so many stories of stories I have been catering to. So many women in their mid to late 20s fear that their life and its, prime is limited to them looking young instead of other things. As if being in their 20s is their biggest achievement,, and anything they accomplish after the party of their 20s is over, nothing amounts to anything. As if their potential vanishes the day they turn 30 and the first signs of ageing hit their skin. There’s just so much racing against time and the fear of not amounting to anything if it doesn’t happen before a certain time, while for men, age is just a number.
There seems to be too much panic, and no matter the amount of disco present in the background, nothing is drowning the voices that stay in BRAT’s and other women her age heads – that too rent-free. It reminds me of the story of Picasso and how he would talk about women. He would say, “Every time I change wives, I should burn the last one. That way I'd be rid of them. They wouldn't be around to complicate my existence. Maybe that would bring back my youth, too. You kill the woman, and you wipe out the past she represents.” And yet when he started sleeping with his muse Marie-Theresa, she was 17 years old, considered to be at her prime, while he was 45 years old, at his prime. The narrative around women reaching their prime when they are young is tiring, and voices like BRAT’s still echo the stale narrative.
Maybe this panic about slipping out of relevance isn’t a weakness, but a symptom of having mattered – mattered to culture, to others, to herself. And maybe the real work ahead isn’t about letting go of glory at all. Maybe it’s about expanding what glory can mean. Maybe it is re-defining what prime even means when women allow it to transcend their physical appearances, like men have all their existence. Let it be more than a perfect summer, more than the drop in a club song. Letting it stretch into something quieter, deeper, and still utterly theirs – still BRAT’s.
Simoni took a sip of water and glanced again at the still, candle-scented room. She reached over to straighten one of the cushions on the L-shaped, couch, the one BRAT had sunk into, full of ache and glitter and defiance. She lingered on the indent it left.
She made a mental note for their next session.
Help BRAT meet herself in the afterglow.
Explore what glory can mean without an audience.
Find the parts of her that are still dancing, even when the lights come on.
Outside, the sky was still heavy with July gloom. But inside, something had shifted: barely, but undeniably. A story had been told. Not finished. But spoken into the room.
Simoni didn’t know what would happen next. Not for BRAT, not for other women who come to her with similar concerns, or even for herself. But she knew this: Sometimes therapy is not about fixing. Sometimes, it’s just about keeping the music going long enough for someone to realize they’re still in the room. Still here. Still hers.
About the author : Simoni Agarwal (she/her) is a psychologist and researcher based in Kathmandu, Nepal. She earned her Postgraduate degree from TISS, Mumbai. She has a myriad of interests and is passionate about social causes, particularly in the domain of political and feminist issues. In her free time, she co-runs a book club and finds joy in consuming various forms of media. She is perpetually curious about everything, which often translates into her work.
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