“What is your name again?” My psychiatrist asked in her usual, thick accent, that sometimes makes it difficult to decipher between words like “your” and “her.”
“The therapist I want to see?”
“No, your name.” I stared at her in disbelief. I’ve been seeing this woman for about five years now. Stunned, I opened my mouth, but before I could respond, “Amy!” she redeemed herself.
“Because I feel like I’m looking at a new Amy.” she added quickly. Relief flooded me.
The appointment began with questions about my less than conventional choice or haircut. But from there, it progressed to my recent decision to go back to therapy. My psychiatrist stated that she sees a change in me. That I’m less “superficial” and secretive, even since I last saw her three or four weeks ago. That I’m more open to talking about my issues. And that she agrees I’m ready to take this step.