President's Message

Everything But the Kitchen Sink

Jenni J.V. Wilson, LMFT, LA-CAMFT President 2021 & 2026

When I was a kid, summers felt lonelier to me than anything else in the world I could imagine.

Before high school, seeing school friends between June and September required a herculean effort.  If I couldn’t walk, bike or roller-skate over to someone’s house, I was pretty much shit-outta-luck.  In the homogenous community where I grew up, many parents might’ve taken great pains to socialize their children with the “right” families that could, perhaps, advance some of their own social standing - my parents did not.  As you probably know by now, my parents were unconventional, chaotic “theatre people” in a mixed race relationship, and never seemed overly concerned with whether or not my sister or I would (or could) develop meaningful relationships with our peers. The adults I knew prioritized their own relationships, and we were more likely to be dragged along to their rehearsals in darkened theaters on sunny days, where we’d play hide and seek in dressing rooms and closets after being commanded to stay out of the way. 

Occasionally my sister and I would be dropped off at my grandparents for a week or two, sent to some sleep away camp, or be deposited at the summer session of some children’s theatre – but no matter what was going on, it was always too little.  For me time moved slowly and there was so much of it to fill.  Excruciating. 

With only a handful of TV channels to distract me, I would get bored easily in those days.  I entertained myself to some degree by verbally stimming in front of a window fan to sound like Darth Vader, assuming multiple-roles playing board games by myself in my room, or listening to the same songs over and over again at full volume - without headphones - until someone in the house threatened (or delivered) significant bodily harm if I didn’t stop.  My older sister, who barely tolerated me to begin with, held extra resentment when my mother insisted she let me play with her and her friends, which almost always resulted in my sister hurling reoccurring insults about my intelligence, appearance, and all-around inadequacies.  It sucked.  But at least I had company.

In a stagnant house filled with the smell of books, aloe-lathered sun-burnt skin, stale cigarette smoke, and hindered possibilities, the real insult of those pre-teen summers was that I was hyperactive in a family where everyone else was hyperlexic and hyper-somnolent.  If they were around, chances are my sister’s and parents’ faces were obscured by books or they were napping.  That was year-round, of course, but especially egregious during summer months when I desperately sought connection, activity and fun, and the rest of them had nothing but time to read and sleep. 

I may have been the only kid I knew who didn’t dread going back-to-school.

When fall would come, it meant I got to see my friends on the regular and meet NEW people.  I might learn something in class, sure, but most importantly I wouldn’t feel alone in my daily existence.  I could find more of my people, who put the books down, wanted to talk, play board games for hours, listen to music or comedy albums, make prank calls after school, or just run around in circles on the lawn till we fell down dizzy.

The impatience for and anticipation of real connection intensified appropriately as days shortened and Septembers tiptoed in.  Fall was where it was at.  Fall felt like pure possibility, and by the time I started high school in 1984, I was ready to party. 

For teens in the 1980s, Saturday nights were something to be celebrated whenever you had the place, the people, and a plan.  I’d grown up watching Animal House, Revenge of the Nerds, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and Risky Business repeatedly on cable, and for a high-energy high school freshman with little-to-no parental supervision, those movies were aspirational as well as cautionary tales.  

Like any self-respecting latch-key kid, after my parents divorced, I began to throw parties in their consistent absence, bringing together an eclectic mix of the various social groups I floated amongst: the AP crowd, theatre and art nerds, burnouts, rockers, jocks, Xtian-youth, class clowns, and affluent popular kids destined for the Junior League.  Big or small, I hosted slumber parties, cast parties, pre-parties, after-parties, and one epic raging kegger – an ill-fated affair that included someone vomiting in the bathroom toilet, as someone else urinated in the bathtub, necessitating that someone else (who really had to go) peed in the kitchen sink all at the same time, due to the overoccupancy of the aforementioned bathroom.  (More than some crack in a glass egg, Joel.)

That party had EVERYTHING – (cue the Stefan memes) a pipe my friend carefully crafted from an empty toilet paper roll, two dudes fighting on my front lawn over some outstanding middle-school beef, the unwelcome arrival of “Miss Grosse Pointe Farms” – my boyfriend’s ex, and an eventual police presence.  I orchestrated enough occasions of unsupervised debauchery during those years, that somewhere between, “…go ask Alice to hang the DJ…” and “…Anne Murray, registered alien…”, my friend group included “…JV’s parties…” in the “dot-dots” of our senior yearbook pages. 

Although many memories from those days have faded, many are unforgettable – and truth be told, relatively tame compared to what I’ve heard from young folx over the years.  But that’s not the point. 

The point is that I still enjoy bringing people together from different backgrounds, social echelons, and interest groups - only instead of gathering to engage in unhinged teenage rebellion, now it’s for us to share resources, compare notes on professional occupations, and maybe form some authentic friendships. 

So, as fall gets underway, are you ready to assemble the LA-CAMFT Social Club for the third annual Self-Care Saturday Night (Sponsored by Lightfully) in my backyard (without the keg!)? There’ll be door prizes (want to donate anything?), yummy Home State tacos, a chance to introduce yourself to others on the big mic if you want, and much much more.  (Space is limited – Register now:  https://lacamft.org/event-6786270)

The only thing I ask, is that no one pees in my kitchen sink.  I beg you. 

Paz y Amor,

JJVW - Jenni June Villegas Wilson

Jenni J.V. Wilson, LMFT (she/her): As a collaborative conversationalist passionate about empowering and advocating for marginalized groups and underrepresented voices, Jenni uses an integrative approach based on post-modern principles to provide culturally-mindful and trauma-informed therapeutic services and clinical supervision. She works with creative, anxious, mixed race/culture, and co-dependent clients on improving and eliminating toxic relationships, while increasing authentic expression. She has a BA in theatre from Occidental College, an MA in Clinical Psychology from Antioch University LA, and is trained in EMDR, Brainspotting, and certified in Narrative Therapy. She is an accomplished writer, has produced/co-hosted multiple podcasts, worked in addiction treatment for nearly a decade, and sees the “worried well” in her private practice in Sherman Oaks. Website: www.JenniJVWilson.com