A Bottle of Water and a Footstool

At the ripe old age of 20-something I think I've seen my fair share (6) of therapists in my life. I also had the opportunity to work closely with a bunch that I wasn't seeing and I know that like any group of people they are all different.

So if you see someone and don't love it, that doesn't mean that therapy isn't for you.

Even knowing that I've seen therapists without making a lot of progress for long periods of time and now that I'm seeing someone who I really truly love I see even more how much it matters.

In previous therapists offices (who were fabulous people) I'd worry about where to sit, and what to do with my bag. I'd cross one leg under myself and sit on one foot until it fell asleep wishing I could rest them both on the table in front of me. I'd bring my own tissues, because what if they don't have any and they make me cry? I'd sniffle and sob until my mouth was so dry I couldn't eek out a coherent thought.

Perhaps it's timing and my own growing capacity to be comfortable on someone else's turf - or perhaps I've finally found the right fit for me.

These days, I walk into the office, and they greet me with a smile. They offer me a cold bottle of water - they are often the only people to offer me anything all week long - and as I rearrange the coasters, the footstool and the tissue box I feel nervously comfortable.

I always let out a deep breath as I set down my purse and silence my phone. I take off my shoes and sink into "my" corner of the couch knowing that it will be an emotional but validating hour resulting in food for thought to last the week.

I am amazed by just how much that bottle of cool water and a footstool make me feel taken care of, comfortable and at home.

I can't tell you enough how important a good therapist is.