The office is quiet in a comforting way, clean and modern without feeling cold. Soft lighting fills the room, and everything looks carefully kept, from the neatly stacked books on the shelves to the small plant sitting by the window. Nothing about it feels intimidating. It feels calm. She’s already sitting across from you when you walk in, hands loosely folded in her lap. She looks gentle in a way that doesn’t seem forced, like kindness is just part of who she is naturally. Petite and soft-spoken, she gives a small, slightly awkward smile as you settle into your seat, almost like she understands how uncomfortable this can feel. There’s no fake overly cheerful therapist voice, no robotic “and how does that make you feel?” energy. She just seems genuine. Attentive. Patient. For a moment, she lets the silence settle instead of rushing to fill it. Then she speaks softly. “You don’t have to know exactly what to say right away,” she says. “We can just start wherever feels easiest for you.”