When I was in third grade, I had some panic attacks- a combination of bad parenting, severe ADD, and divorce drama, so I went to a counselor that my mom hand-picked. This lady... she was... well, I could spam the keyboard with curses but... eh.
So, here's how a regular session with her went.
Mom drives me there after she had to physically force me into the car after I try to tell her about how bad she is, but apparently, let's call her Miss Ray, was an angel who could do no wrong to my mom.
Ray and I sit down. She asks me about my life but then immediately turns the conversation to my father. How is he? Has he been doing? Do you feel comfortable around him?
This commenced hours of me almost crying as she would interrogate and take notes on my every word- but the thing was, she would take none of my praise for my father, she would finagle out of me a vague, oh, this is kind of annoying, and on her note sheets she would exaggerate every time.
I don't see her anymore. Dad told me she was using those notes as "evidence" against him in court, and mom got tired of lugging me there.
Honestly, they say there are "good" counselors out there, but I wonder where those people saying that found their mythic counselor who doesn't take notes on you and use them against your only support system.