I had to dig deep to even remember a time when I didn't know my t. I was 22, fresh out of college and depressed. I wanted to try therapy for a long, long, time and didn't know how to find a therapist. I browsed the yellow pages over and over, for months. Finally I asked my mom if she knew anyone. In retrospect, it's funny that I ended up with my therapist, considering the source.

She was young too (still in grad school) and bubbly. I hated her office. Really, really small ---- probably a former closet. She had carpet on the walls for soundproofing and there were no windows.

I sat on the ugly chair and just started crying. I remember thinking the questions she asked me were odd, "how would I describe my mother?" (it's always the mother, isn't it?) After the second meeting, she asked if I could come twice a week. I was simultaneously happy/relieved and distressed (was I that far gone?). I hated and loved her at the same time those first months.

She has since moved to an office of her very own And the carpet is only on the floors.