The Bearing

3. The Clinics

I stand on the doorstep of Dr. Daisy Black. I couldn't get an appointment for an entire week, so she must be relatively good. Her office is bigger than I thought it would be and doesn't look as modern as most doctor's offices do. Its unusual brick walls are painted white to match the city. The sloping roof looks off-centered and tilted at a weird angle. The black door rests on the side of the building instead of the front. I knock using a golden door knocker in the shape of an angel. Door knockers are rare to find nowadays. Normally people have cameras outside their doorstep and the house announces the person at the front door. Maybe she really is secretive.

A boho-chic, older middle-aged woman answers the door. Her big green eyes widen in excitement when she sees me.

"Hello! You must be Leah Heartbeat. Welcome in."

"Hello." I step into her office, hesitant.

"I see you're nervous. First time in therapy?"

I nod slowly.

She extends long, bony fingers toward me and wraps them around my hand.

"Worry not, sweetheart. My services are indeed confidential. No cameras and no microphones in here."

"How?" I ask in disbelief.

"Well, I made an agreement with the URA. I told them that the mental health of their citizens mattered in order for them to be productive workers, and confidentiality is necessary to help them feel comfortable in seeking assistance."

"And they let you?"

"Surprising, I know. But they really care about citizens being fit to contribute to their society." She takes a seat in a big green armchair. "So, what brings you in today, Leah?"

"Well, Honey Stillwater recommended me. I'm about to turn 25." I take a seat across from her in the smaller wooden chair lined with pink plush.

"Ah, yes Honey. New name Postpaper. Are you nervous about the forced adoption?"

"You could say that."

"Well, just so I get a little background, tell me about yourself."

I tell her about how I grew up in an adoption home crowded with sickness. How I am happy to help a child myself because I've worked my way to success and hope my child can do the same.

"I see. That's wonderfully sweet. So, what's the problem then?" She leans forward in her chair inquisitively.

I almost decide to mention the pregnancy, but instead, I choose to say a different truth.

"I'm scared to be a mother. I don't know if I am fit."

"Ah. Why do you feel that?"

"I don't have much experience with children."

"You're putting a lot of pressure on yourself. You seem to do that in multiple aspects of your life, especially in your career. You seem so focused on achieving perfection and being "good enough" that you don't realize you're good enough as you are."

I'm not sure if it's from the stress, but I start tearing up out of nowhere. I brush a strand of my unkempt hair behind my ear.

"Nobody has ever told me that."

"You deserve to hear it. I challenge you to wake up every morning and, when you look in the mirror, tell yourself that you are enough, and it's going to be a great day full of possibilities."

Her presence is comforting, and her aura is genuine. I part my lips slightly to form words, but none come out. I desperately wish I could tell her the real truth.