My second therapy session was pretty much just picking up where we’d left off two weeks earlier. She asked questions. I answered questions. She wrote notes about what I said. Then there were questions about what else I wanted to do to transition. She peppered me with questions about pronouns, name changes, surgeries, testosterone. She’d caught me off guard. I knew I’d already said that all I wanted was top surgery, so this line of questioning made no sense to me. I assured her that I was good with just the top surgery and had no plans for anything more. She reminded me that my options were open if I changed my mind. Again, I assured her that I was good with my decision. I tried to figure out why we were even discussing these things. They had nothing to do with my letter as far as I could tell. I didn’t need them or want them. I could only figure that she was doing some sort of therapist thing where they have to present all of the options, so I let her ask and I responded – rather uncomfortably, if my memory holds. Besides, she was running this show and I just wanted my letter and to be done. Clearly this therapist was thorough and for someone who was all business, she was pleasant enough to be around; but, the longer I sat across the room from her the more I knew that therapy was not for me.