6:10, he sits at the kitchen table and types “therapist near me”. This is the fourth time this year he has typed in the same thing, the first three times, he closed the tab.
This time he opens three pages.
The first says “over 20 years of experience”, the second says 25. Twenty years is no small thing. Both pages list the conditions they treat, the methods they use, where they trained, and the fellowships after their names.
He reads through, he reads every word. He does not know what he would say when he sat down. Neither page tells him what the first hour is like, or what happens if he sits there and cannot find the words.
Both pages were written for colleagues. A colleague reads 20 years and knows what it cost. He wants to know what happens in the room.
The third therapist has 11 years, further down her page. Her page opens on the first session. She will ask what a typical week looks like for him, and what has been harder lately. If he does not know where to begin, that is where they begin. If it does not feel right, he does not have to come back.
His wife comes in for the kettle.
“Found one?”
He turns the phone around so she can see.