Never before in this country’s history has the importance of mental health been so culturally emphasized. Unfortunately, to some, “mental health” has the extremely narrow and ignorant definition of going to therapy. I can’t match with anyone on Hinge because they all want someone who’s been “therapized,” someone who has “done the work.” Well, I have done the work. If you do the math, I’ve actually done 316 hours of “The work.” I have binge-watched The Sopranos, start to finish, four times now, and there is nothing a so-called professional can say that David Chase’s prestige TV epic has not already taught me. 

Let me just get ahead of your criticism right off the bat, no, I do not mean just because of the Dr. Melfi scenes. I will, however, make the case that each one of those scenes does count as one full hour of therapy because it’s just showing you the part of the therapy where all the revelatory stuff happens, but that’s just one way in which The Sopranos is more efficient than traditional psychiatry! 

Through the Journey of Tony, his family, and his cadre of colorful Italian cutups, we gleam the full scope of the human experience. Our deepest fears — everything from Freudian parental complexities to death to sitting on your girlfriend’s dog because you did too much heroine — are acknowledged, confronted, and overcome. 

Yes, Christopher Moltisanti’s struggles with addiction mirrored my own problems with substance abuse, but when I watched him get clean for the 4th time, I knew I could do it. Now, of course, I did watch him relapse 4 times too, but statistically, that only makes it more likely that I will stay clean this time. Sorry Chrissy, it’s a numbers game. 

Remember when Janice starts thriving after anger management, but Tony is feeling low, so he just cracks wise about her estranged son until she tries to throttle him, and he walks away all smug? After seeing that scene four times, I now understand that Tony was in the wrong. The first three times, I thought it was awesome! I mean, I still kinda do! But like, also, not awesome. 

One of the hardest moments in life is realizing that someone you love is toxic to you. We all have a Big Pussy Bonpensiero in our lives at one point or another, am I right? I know I did, and The Sopranos taught me exactly how to deal with that person! How did I deal with them exactly? Well, let’s just say, I wound up buying that boat. 

I used to think trying to suffocate your mother with a pillow after she tried to have you killed was something that made me “weird.” Sometimes, all it takes is binge-watching a show about a sociopathic mobster four times to realize that beautiful, simple truth — you are not alone. 

I’m not trying to say I’m perfect; nobody is. There are still things I have to work on in my life. Like, did Tony somehow kill Hesh’s girlfriend or what? Renata, what happened there? 

Look, I know how I sound, but I honestly believe that between Dr. Melfi’s office, The Test Dream, and watching Phil Leotardo emerge from a closet to kill Vito, I have done the work. I am no longer the sad clown, going about in pity for myself. I am appreciative of any orange juice given to me, even if it has more than just some pulp. I have read The Art of War. 

The fundamental question is, will I be as effective as a Sopranos fan like my friend who went to therapy was?’ And I will be, even more so. But until I am, it’s gonna be hard to verify that I think I’ll be more effective.

I said my peace!