“You just look so young,” Deven clarified with a sheepish grin. In reality, she wasn’t sure how she felt telling her problems to a woman about her same age. Weren’t therapists supposed to be older white ladies with knee-highs and glasses? Well, Felicia did have the glasses part, but everything else didn’t seem to fit the narrative.

“If it helps,” Felicia went on as she led the way into her office. “I do have recommendations. Even some awards and a few bylines in Psychology Today.”

Deven didn’t know if the woman was teasing, but she shook her head anyway. “That’s not necessary.” She looked at the desk, then the two couches positioned to face each other. A black coffee table sat between the seating areas with a box of Kleenex, and two unopened bottled waters. Felicia immediately stepped out of her heels. “Sit anywhere you like,” she invited.

Deven picked one of the couches and she watched the therapist sit opposite her with a clipboard and pen on her lap. “Thank you for calling me,” Felicia started with that compassionate smile of hers firmly in place.

Deven nodded, unsure how to respond. Was she supposed to say, ‘you’re welcome?’ “I . . . just needed someone to talk to,” she said with a helpless shrug.

“Of course. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Deven took her time, her fingers fidgeting with the holes in her distressed jeans. She had purposefully not said too much during their earlier phone conversation, indecisive if she was even going to follow-through with a session. And frankly, she didn’t feel completely comfortable with the very young and very unfamiliar Dr. Felicia Bradshaw.

“I’m dealing with some losses,” Deven proceeded with care as she picked over her words. “And I guess I’m just letting it get the best of me.”

“Completely understandable. Loss is a traumatic thing. You have to allow yourself time to grieve.”

Felicia’s response was genuine and Deven found that encouraging. No pushing, no intrusive questions. Not yet anyway. Deven felt the tension in her muscles unclench a little. “I’m trying,” she admitted. “I guess, I just don’t know how to grieve.”

“There’s not necessarily a right or wrong way. Everyone handles death differently, so you have to come to terms with the weight of this burden and figure out how to carry it.”