I never called my first psychiatrist “doctor.” He was my parents’ friend, and I saw him because we didn’t have health insurance.
He asked me, over and over, whether I had gone through anything traumatic. He threw out the same list of traumas every time, rattling off the options — I shrugged.
When I told him, he asked if it had only happened once. Then he threw out the list again. “Anything? Anything?” he asked. My parents knew my second psychiatrist, but I still called her “doctor.” We had health insurance.Read more on themighty.com