Now that you know about the differences between mental health professionals, you must be wondering what it's actually like to go to individual therapy on campus. Well, wonder no longer, because you're about to find out!

"Hi, I have a CAPS appointment at 11:30 with Dr. S." The receptionist smiles at you and confirms your last name before checking you in. She asks you to take a seat and says Dr. S should be right out to see you in a few minutes.

The chairs in the waiting room are comfortable, but not enough that you'd want to replace the one in your dorm. A couple other students are sitting around you; some of them coughing, one with crutches and most of them are silently scrolling through Instagram like you.

There are two reactions people usually have when a healthcare professional comes out into the lobby to get their patient. Either they glance up every time they hear approaching footsteps or they ignore most of them and are caught completely off guard when they're greeted. Somehow, you've managed to do both over the two years you've gone to Dr. S for therapy. (Not at the same time of course.)

"Hey there," Dr. S greets. You look up and see Dr. S smiling at you. She cocks her head toward the hallway and says "why don't we start heading back to my office."

"How are you doing today?" she asks along the way. Obviously, she's asking because it's the polite thing to do, but you can't help but think the question is a little rhetorical in this setting. At least she isn't expecting the regimented fine, and you? response. Here, you can be honest about yourself without any fear of judgment.

When you settle into a chair, you can't help but glance at Dr. S's office to see if anything has changed. There's a new flowery rug on the floor that's pretty nice. Dr. S gushes that she bought it from ROSS when you mention it to her. Probably not the ROSS where that employee gave her a hard time, you figure.

A couple crystals sit on flat plates around her desk. Was this what Dr. S meant when she offhandedly remarked she's into "some weird s**t" once? The brown clock on the wall and the box of tissues you, fortunately, haven't had to use -- a couple times you came close -- are the same.

"So what do you want to talk about today?" Dr. S asks.

The evening before therapy, you almost religiously go through what you're going to talk about in your head. It sounds so eloquent in your head and makes perfect sense. What you actually say is significantly less deliberate. Oh well, Dr. S probably knows what you mean. She did study people for a decade, so she's got to know right?

"Um, I want to talk about...like I have these really high standards for myself that are impossible to reach and yeah," you manage. Dr. S nods sagely. How does she always look so cool when she does that? She asks you a couple follow-up questions to get a better gauge of what's going on.

"It's like no matter what I do, it's not enough. And like it's keeping me from doing my hobbies or talking to people because I feel like I'm just not performing well enough," you explain. Yikes. No matter how long you do this for, voicing your problems always gives them a presence they didn't have before. It's like they're suddenly twice as real. Does Dr. S notice when you start rubbing your fingers together uncomfortably? She gives no indication if she does.

"Well, what do you value? Because when you talk to me, you sound like you really care about creativity and kindness so I don't see where these standards are coming from," Dr. S declares. You dip your head and exhale in frustration. It doesn't even make sense to you!

"I don't really know. I just kind of have them and like they don't line up with what I care about at all," you admit. Dr. S nods again and asks you if you've looked at that self-compassion website she told you about a while ago lately. You haven't. She thinks you should give it another go and suggests an activity in the meantime.

"This exercise is really great for visual people so let me know if it won't work for you, but what we're going to do is lay out these pieces of paper with words on the floor. You're going to rank what's most important to you and least important. Sound good?" It sounds really good to you.

"Great! Let me go get the slips of paper." Dr. S rises from her chair and walks over to her desk. The drawer she opens is an absolute mess, much to her dismay, so she has to rummage around for a bit before she withdraws the slips. It's a tight squeeze laying all of them down on all the floor, but she manages to get them in five columns on the floor.

"Now why don't you take a seat on the floor and we can get started?" You begin re-ordering the words in order of importance to you. After arranging a few pieces, Dr. S tells you it's less about speed and more about thinking. Somewhat sheepishly, you try to slow down trying to figure out what an appropriate length of time to take is.

After you finish placing the pieces where you want them, Dr. S points something out.

"You ranked fame and fortune as least important, but you say you keep feeling like you need to do better. You know you don't have to work so hard if you don't want to be on the top," she states. It's a good point. Most of the things she says are, but the only person who can change your beliefs is you. Therapy is great and all, but you can't change a thing without putting in the effort as well.

Dr. S reaches for the pile that has the most important things. She starts to go through them one-by-one with you.

"You can't control how helpful you are to other people," she says in a matter-of-fact tone before tossing it aside. You cringe to yourself slightly. Are you devoting your energy to the wrong things? Is it unfair to yourself to continue to care about them? By the time Dr. S is done, she's eliminated a majority of the pile.

The words that are left:

"That accuracy one seems pretty important, don't you think?" Dr. S said, tilting her head. Of course, it is. That lack of accuracy in your beliefs is exactly what brought you here. You nod smiling.

"Alright, keep these with you so you can keep working on them and I'll see you next time," Dr. S hands the slips to you. What? You blink at her confused for a moment before you realize what time it is. Time flies in therapy!