Many people postpone therapy for exactly this reason — they feel they should arrive with a clear problem statement, an agenda, a well-organised presentation of themselves. As if the session were a meeting one must prepare for.

It isn't. In fact, the prepared speech is often the least interesting thing a person brings. It has been rehearsed so many times, internally and to friends, that it has gone smooth — and smooth material offers nothing to hold on to. The unprepared moments are where the work lives: the sentence that surprises you as you say it, the topic you didn't plan to mention, the silence you notice yourself filling.

"I don't know what to talk about" is itself information, and good information. Sometimes it means there is too much and I can't choose. Sometimes the real thing is not yet sayable. Sometimes I have spent so long attending to everyone else that my own interior has gone unmapped. Each of these is a different starting point, and finding out which one is yours — that is already the work, begun.

Practically: you sit down, and we see what is there. If nothing comes, I ask questions. Not an interrogation — more like walking through rooms together and noticing which door you slow down in front of. Nobody has ever run out of psyche in fifty minutes.