After reflecting on her experiences, Nia grew curious about what she truly carried within herself. Was she simply shy, an introvert who might find peace in the contemplative life of a monastery, or perhaps an extrovert trapped inside a socially anxious mind? To begin answering these questions, she decided to seek professional help. She began searching for psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists in her area, although at first, she wondered what the differences were between these professions.

The process felt surreal. Nia had never imagined reaching out to mental health specialists. Until now, her perception of mental illness had been shaped by the society around her, and that society often painted a picture of someone who had lost awareness of themselves. In everyday conversation, people would ignorantly use the word “mad” to describe such an individual. Now that she was confronting her own need for help, she recognized that the term carried stigma and misunderstanding. This realization challenged her assumptions, and she sought to understand what mental health truly meant.

After a brief search, Nia settled on one specialist. She was drawn to him because they shared an interest in research. He ran a research organization, and after years of conducting analysis herself, she had begun to develop an interest in health research. The appointment was scheduled for December 2nd. On the day, she was shown into the waiting room. It was a simple space, dressed mostly in brown hues. At one end stood a tall wooden cupboard that reached the ceiling, and at the other, a television was mounted on the wall. Between them were cushioned seats arranged to face each other. Nia barely noticed the program airing on the screen as her mind was preoccupied with questions. How would the conversation unfold? Would it confirm her suspicions?

As the minutes dragged on, Nia began to feel uneasy and wondered why she had been kept waiting so long. She had seen videos online where mental health professionals recorded client sessions, and the thought crossed her mind, did they have surveillance cameras in the waiting room? Perhaps they were watching to monitor her behavior. What would arms or legs crossed indicate to the clinicians? Should she watch the television or pull out her phone and pretend to read something important? She laughed at the thought, but the anxiety beneath it was real. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she was led into the consultation room on the first floor of what had once been a residential house. Nia ascended a dimly lit wooden stairway, and a few steps let out a squeak that reminded her of the horror movies she had watched in her late teens under the influence of her brothers.

The room was elongated and spacious. At one end stood a desk with papers stacked in careful order, and at the other was the doctor’s desk, set adjacent to a large window. His presence carried the air she instinctively associated with professors and psychiatrists, tall, heavy‑built, and wearing glasses. He ushered Nia to take a seat opposite him. The chair was placed about two meters away, perhaps a remnant of the distancing arrangements from the COVID period. The space felt intimidating. Would she be able to project her voice across it? She sat anyway, managing a sheepish smile. Silence followed. The doctor continued typing on his laptop, and Nia felt the awkwardness settle in. What was she supposed to do in the meantime? She guessed he must have been completing notes from the previous session.

After what felt like five minutes, the doctor finally looked up and introduced himself. He then asked Nia to do the same and explain why she had come. At that moment, she burst into tears as she recounted her experiences in social situations, especially at work. The excuses she gave to avoid social functions, the nervousness that gripped her during presentations, the inability to initiate conversations, and the way she took feedback too personally. Together, they explored other everyday situations that others seemed to manage with ease, like boarding a bus and ordering food in a restaurant. After this brief exchange, the doctor delivered his conclusion. Yes, she had what he referred to as social phobia, and he prescribed some medication.

The diagnosis left Nia with mixed emotions. On one hand, she felt relieved that finally, there was a name for what she had been experiencing. On the other hand, she felt confused. She didn’t yet know what a full assessment process looked like, but she had anticipated a deeper dialogue over a couple of sessions, perhaps even some tests. Was such a brief conversation enough for a diagnosis?