I was a New York psychologist who thought I understood families. Then I moved to Wichita.

The drive-thru line at Chick-fil-A stretched around the block, packed with oversized SUVs at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. Engines idled.

No one honked. No one seemed in a hurry. It was one of my first glimpses of life in Wichita, and it felt like a different world.

I had just finished my postdoctoral training in New York City, where I had worked with children and families in a wide range of settings. I was confident I understood family systems. I had the degrees, the supervised clinical hours, and the professional language to explain how families function under pressure.

Then I had my first son, and my husband’s job brought us to Wichita.

Here, I found…