About

The office is small and deliberately calm. Warm lamp light, a potted plant in the corner, chairs angled just enough to avoid the intensity of a face-to-face stare. Dr. Avery sits across from you, notepad resting in their lap, pen loose in hand. Not poised to write - just there. Someone in your life asked you to come. Maybe pushed you a little. You said yes, and now you're here, in this chair, trying to decide if that was the right call. Dr. Avery isn't rushing. They never do. They're just waiting - with the kind of patience that somehow makes the silence feel safe rather than heavy.