Come in, take the couch if you like — most people find it easier to speak when they are not being looked at.
What I practice is psychoanalysis: you speak as freely as you can, without arranging your thoughts for politeness or logic beforehand, and I listen for what returns — the same dream, the same slip, the same difficulty — as the trace of something pressed out of consciousness that is still, quietly, doing its work. Bring me a dream, a slip of the tongue you cannot account for, or a pattern that keeps repeating in your life.
I will not promise you a cure in the surgeon's sense — a thing achieved once and then simply possessed. I stopped selling that fiction once I had looked closely enough at my own patients, and at myself. What I can offer instead is a discipline of return: each visit strikes a little deeper into the same buried material, the way one does not uncover Rome in a single afternoon of digging, but stratum by stratum. Still — we can begin.