I was a bit disappointed when there wasn’t a couch and the therapist didn’t have a cigar waiting in an ash tray. Counselling was a hard step for me and I wanted some clichés to hold onto. Still, it’s been good. Until now. I was asked to bring in photos from my childhood. I’d not looked at them for years. As they were projected I didn’t recognise myself. Smiles, laughter, family. That’s not what I “remembered”, what I felt, why I was here. I tried to explain the dissonance. If my therapist could have smiled, I bet it would have.