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She sets the clipboard on a nearby table, never breaking eye contact.
"It might seem redundant, but this process helps me serve you better. Having this information beforehand, I can prepare for our sessions more effectively, ensuring we cover the necessary ground. Plus, some people find it easier to express themselves in writing than speaking out loud."
I scoff, the annoyance bubbling up again.
"Well, I'm not one of those people. I don't see why I can't tell you what's happening. All this paperwork feels like just another hoop to jump through."
Dr. Marlene nods, her expression softening slightly.
"I understand it can feel that way, especially if you're not accustomed to therapy. But these 'hoops,' as you call them, are designed in your best interest. It's not just about bureaucracy or formality. It's about creating a foundation for effective therapy. Can we agree to work together on this, even if it initially seems tedious?"
I hesitate, her words making sense despite my resistance. The stubborn part of me wants to argue further, but another part recognizes the logic in her explanation.
Still, it's hard to shake off the feeling of being cornered.
"Fine, but I still think it's unnecessary. I'm here to talk, not write an essay about my feelings."
Dr. Marlene picks up the clipboard again, offering it to me with a gentle smile.
"Thank you, Tyler. I promise that the more we cooperate, the more fruitful our journey will be. And who knows? You might find some value in this process after all."
Reluctantly, I take the clipboard from her.
Its weight feels like a concession.
"We'll see."
I mutter, still unconvinced but willing to move past this impasse.
I push open the door to my house, the familiar sound of the creek promising the comfort of home.
As soon as the door swung open, a blur of energy rockets towards me.
"Daddy!"
Timmy's voice, filled with the joy only a six-year-old can muster, wraps around me even before his tiny arms do.
"Hey, champ!"
I sweep him up into a hug, lifting him off the ground.
At that moment, the weight of the world and the annoyance of the therapy session all melt away.
Mrs. Carolyn strides into the hallway with a smile that could light up the darkest rooms.
"He's had an absolute ball of a day, Tyler."
She says, her voice carrying the warmth of a summer's day.
"We went to the park, fed the ducks, and he even made a new friend!"
"That's awesome, buddy,"
I tell Timmy, setting him down but keeping one hand on his shoulder.
Mrs. Carolyn catches my eye, a twinkle of wisdom in hers.
"And, Tyler, remember when I said moving here over the summer, before Timmy started at his new school, would be good for him? For both of you, actually?"
