She felt she was being judged. She didn’t want to look at the woman across from her. Would her judge think her a fraud, or worse, incompetent and weak?
“What is a good day for you?” the disembodied voice across the desk asked.
How to answer that? Think, think, but the thoughts came too slowly. Silence filled the room. She felt so weary. A psychiatrist’s couch would have been welcome at this point.
Then, “A good day is when I don’t have to rest in the car for an hour before taking my groceries inside.”
As she left the office, she could feel the doctor’s eyes boring into her back. She wondered what her gait and posture said about her, but she no longer cared.