I grew up thinking that therapy was only for those who don’t “close their suitcase well”.
The first time I sat in a psychologist’s office I was 14 years old and I was forced by my parents. It was a difficult phase of my adolescence. Either he didn’t eat, or he vomited. The mirror reflected me fatter and fatter as the numbers on the scale decreased day by day.

I remember little about that period, in fact, my memory tells me that I only went to one appointment, my mother tells me that it was six months of weekly visits.

Later, at the age of 26, I decided to make an appointment with a friend’s psychologist. I had some difficulty crying and thought it would be interesting to talk about it. I scheduled it as someone who schedules a cleaning at the dentist. And so it was. I went, we talked, I left, I didn’t come back. The same happened when I found out I was pregnant with my first child. For me, going to the psychologist was that. “Thank you very much for your help, from now on it’s up to me.” It was always very uncomfortable when, at the end, they opened the agenda to make the next appointment. He answered, with one foot in the elevator, that he would call later to make an appointment. He never cared.

Two years ago, after the birth of my last child, I realized that it would be important to start taking care of myself, my body and my mind. I signed up for the gym and made an appointment with a friend’s psychologist, another friend, another psychologist.

When I rang the doorbell I heard an almost immediate click, but when I entered I didn’t find anyone waiting for me. I went down the corridor until I glimpsed a room that appeared to be a waiting room, because the door was open and inside there was a boy sitting. As soon as I entered he greeted me with a “Hello Luísa, how are you?” and a smile. How strange, I thought. So this must be the office, for him to approach me in such a familiar way. But it looks nothing like the person in the whatsapp photograph. Well, there are a lot of people who don’t look like whatsapp photography. And all this was happening in my head as I sat down.

A little uncomfortable, because I hadn’t been to a psychologist’s office for a long time, and because there is always so much to say in a first consultation, I started talking about my life, first out of fear, then, when I felt him listen attentively, with more confidence. When I was already quite integrated in that new place, and the words were already flowing to me with great naturalness, I am interrupted by a gentleman who appears at the door, this one, just like the whatsapp photo: “Luísa? Shall we go in?”

The boy is the sound technician of a friend’s band. We had been together once at a concert. I only found out later.

This funny episode did not keep me away from the office, on the contrary, it gave me a good story to break the ice as soon as I sat on that sofa that is so familiar to me today.
As for the boy, I don’t know if he realized the misunderstanding, if he thought I was one of those people who share his life with great ease, or if I ended up falling into the category of those who, as a child, I thought were the only clients of psychologists, those who don’t close their suitcase well.