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// Patient 1, Part 2 
// Story: Cozy Glow: Psychology PhD 
// by Jmaster49 
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And after about an hour, just as I predicted, Whip would call out to me. “Done, Ms. Glow!”

In that timeframe, I had managed to sort all of the papers on my desk. So it was a total win-win since I could get extra stuff done in between. As soon as I heard the colt call out to me, I jumped out of my seat, and flew over to him. 

“Oh, you are?” I asked, “Are you ready to show me what you’ve made?”

The adolescent colt had a surefire, wide grin on his face. I could feel the confidence oozing off of him. It was a total one-eighty compared to what he was like when he first stepped hoof in my office. 

“Yup!” he replied, “Here it is!”

I waited with bated excitement. I felt like I’d explode within those few seconds of him turning his canvas around…

And that’s when I saw it.

A beautiful, almost realistic landscape made entirely out of the colored pencils I gave him. A simple field with beautiful, endless rows of grass, an apple tree in the middle of it, and a lake off to the right. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed it was someone’s old photo that they had taken from twenty years ago. It was that good!

“Wow!” I chirped, “That looks amazing! The fact that you drew this in an hour is insane! I’d never be able to come up with something this good in that amount of time.” I rubbed my left wing atop his head affectionately. “You could easily make a living as an artist if you’re this good.”

“I know,” his excitement dropped as he glanced at his flank once more, “But what still confuses me is that I have this buckball court outline on my butt. It doesn’t make sense. As you can see, art is...well, it’s not a talent, per se.”

That was rather new. Most ponies described their cutie marks as symbols that represented a specific talent that they or others had. But Whip Whirlwind was a bit different. He didn’t use the term “talent” to describe what he was good at. And I was curious as to what he meant by that.

I sat next to him and asked. “Would you mind going into greater detail? What would you refer to it as?”

He tapped his hoof against his chin as he looked up to the ceiling. “Well...from what I know, a ‘talent’ is something that you’re just sorta good at by nature or something. Something you don’t really need to practice because you’re good at it without even trying. ‘Gifted’ is also a word I hear ponies and other folk use. But...I wasn’t always good at art.”

“You weren’t?” I asked curiously, ready to take more notes if I needed to.

“Nope.” Whip looked directly at me, and kept going. “I practiced super hard for weeks on end every day when I came home after school. And I got better and better until eventually, well--I’m here where I am now.”

I had to think critically. Just how would a buckball court outline appear on his flank if he loves to draw? When would it have appeared? There were so many questions that I had at the ready, but unfortunately, I knew he wouldn’t be able to answer them all. I’d have to pry very hard into his personal life just to uncover those details. And while they may have proved useful, I knew my time was better spent tackling the problem directly rather than merely putting a band-aid over the symptoms.

Ultimately, I went a more simplistic route. The fact that he practiced hard to prove himself every day was something worth praising, so I made sure to congratulate him.

“That’s...spectacular,” I said, marveling at his skill on that paper, “You deserve all the support you get from your parents in that case. I can’t imagine how hard it must be on you.”

“It’s alright...but do you know why my cutie mark is like this? Like I said earlier, I don’t even play nor like sports. So I don’t get it…” he slumped over, placing his hooves against his cheeks.

Admittedly, I didn’t quite fully understand it either. Pony biology was a fickle thing with no absolutes. However, I did have one theory. One that may not have been correct, but was still worth mentioning. 

“...Whip…”

He sat up and looked at me with anxious eyes. Eyes that quivered with a make-or-break sensory perception. “...Yes?”

“...Your cutie mark--it’s not a buckball court.”

“It’s not?”

I shook my head. “It’s not. Because that’s not your special skill. I want you to look into my eyes. Tell me what you’re good at.”

“...I’m good at art?” he said in a half-hearted tone.

I stood up, and tried to motivate him a bit more. “Mind saying it a bit louder? What are you good at? What do you like to do?”

“I’m...I’m good at art,” he said with a bit more confidence than before, and stood up with me. “But what is this going to accomplish?”

I had a small hunch. This colt was so distraught over his cutie mark that he suffered from a lack of self-esteem. In order to help him acquire his correct, permanent one, I would have to help him accept who he was.

I could only hope it would actually work.

“If you feel right in who you are, don’t dictate what your mark tells you,” I said and turned to my side. “Mine is a chess piece and I don’t even play chess all that much, but it represents my intricate state of mind. You are suffering from a form of dysphoria where your mark isn’t positioned right. And thus, you need to grow into yourself.”

Whip rubbed the back of his head. “...I suppose so. But how do I do that?”

Since we were both pegasi, I could use that to his advantage. I walked over to a nearby window, and opened it. “Wanna come fly with me for a second?”

“Oh? Sure, I’m always up for a flight,” he replied with a smile and spread his wings.

“Then let’s go. And bring those art supplies with you.”

And so we flew off, and out of the Town Hall building where my office was located. I didn’t take Whip very high or very far. Just out into the air enough to where we had a good, bird’s-eye view of the landscape of Ponyville below us. A few other pegasi were busy pushing clouds around as usual, and earth ponies and unicorns were busy working various jobs in the markets and shops below. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I hovered in the air, and pointed a hoof at the notebook Whip had been carrying. “Alright, bud. Gimme your best work. Draw like you’ve never drawn before.”

“Will this really help fix my mark problem?” he asked, hovering next to me. 

“Like I said before--don’t let a body mark dictate what you can and can’t do. You have the power, nay, the right to take control of your life. Don’t let your life take control of you. Okay?” 

While I hated being vague, I had to be in this instance. If this was going to work, Whip needed to find the will within himself to break past his troubles. Yes, I could push him in the right direction as much as I wanted, but it was up to him to take that step.

And with newfound determination…

Whip stared at the colored pencils. The green colt stared at them, then the page, and then the town down beneath him.

And he started to draw. That kid drew faster and harder than he did before. After one illustration, he’d flip the drawing pad over and turn to look at a different part of the town, scribbling away with the most elated look on his face.

...And that’s when it happened.

I was almost blinded by the light from his flanks. Just as I predicted, his cutie mark had not properly formed yet. That buckball court outline was re-shaped right before my eyes into the outline of a black pencil.

“Double-Dub!” I called for him, “Look at--”

But he was too focused on his art to answer. “I’m feeling it!” he shouted with glee, “I’ve got it, Ms. Glow!”

I clapped my hooves. “That’s awesome! When you’re ready, let’s head on back to the office.”







That was just one example of many of my patients and how they turned out. It’s super fun to see the smiles on their faces when the gears turn in their heads or we reach an epiphany together. I’ve got loads more--oh right, I should explain how well it went with young Mr. Whirlwind, shouldn’t I?







After he was done drawing, we went back to my office, and I marveled over each of his works. That kid had drawn landscapes of the Town Hall, the School of Friendship, the markets, Sweet Apple Acres, and the sky itself. The amazing skill he displayed with those colored pencils was off the charts. Seeing his cutie mark adapt to what he wanted was just the icing on top.

“Yes!” he cheered once I put him in front of a mirror so he could inspect his mark, “You were right, Ms. Glow. I can’t let my body make me feel a certain way. I’m super glad you showed me how to handle it.”

I waved my hoof downwards, “Aw shucks. You did most of the work, Whip. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

The colt flew over to me, and almost tackled me to give me a hug. “Thank you so much. I’m gonna tell my parents about this! They’re gonna be so happy!” He let go, and grabbed up his drawings. 

“They will,” I said proudly, “Because you’ve earned it.”

With chipper good-byes, I waved to him as he left my office.

“Bye, Ms. Glow!” he said as he flew out of the room.

“Bye!” I replied, “Hope to see that art gallery one day!”







So...wanna know more about my job?