On Monday, Faith pepper sprays her boss in a case of mistaken identity, by the following Thursday, she’s on her way to her first therapy session. She’s 47, perimenopause is doing a number on her body, her mind, and her confidence, and now she’s worried she’s losing her mind. It doesn’t help that her husband isn’t there to support her because he’s away at a conference with his hot twenty-something assistant. Cliché much.
She arrives to find she isn’t the only person in the waiting room that day: Chiti, the medical student, believes she has a new and deadly health condition every week; Benny’s OCD makes him straighten the dog-eared magazines incessantly; elderly Patrick, a recent widower, is guilt-ridden over his new girlfriend (and is embarrassed to admit to certain bedroom troubles as a result); and timid 19-year-old Seb has horrendous social anxiety, not helped by his mum who insists on accompanying him each week and quizzing the other patients every chance she gets.
But every one of them has a secret and it’s not until they start to tell the truth that their weekly wait shifts from being unbearably uncomfortable to being the intervention Faith and the others never knew they needed.