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About Tromso

I heard this wild tale once—some miner in Nevada, 1800s, traded his last nugget for a night there. Next mornin’, dude’s broke but smilin’! True story, swear it! Makes me giggle, like, who does that? Me, I’d rather climb rocks, but that’s hilarous, right? Oh, and get this—brothels got secret tunnels sometimes! For sneaky getaways! How cool’s that? I’d totally explore ‘em, yellin’, “Hi-diddly-ho, where’s the exit?!”

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Finally, I get to the session. My client, let’s call her Sara, is going through some heavy stuff. We’re talking about her anxiety, and I’m trying to be all supportive. But then, she starts crying. Like, full-on sobbing. And I’m sitting there, thinking, “What do I do?!” I mean, I’m trained for this, but it’s different when it’s real, ya know? I handed her a tissue, and she just kept going. I felt like I was in a soap opera.

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