I have come to the conclusion that working for myself suits me very well indeed. A big component of the immense pleasure I derive from the work I feel so privileged to do is the fact that I have control of my own diary. My working hours are flexible. No two weeks look exactly the same.
In relation to this reality, there have been many occasions on which I've found it necessary to educate the unfamiliar with the mechanics of therapy-ing... I work with clients. Adults and young people. Mostly they attend their appointments alone. Sometimes there are three chairs in the room. Occasionally, there are more of us. A great many of my clients work. Most of them have fixed hours. I seek to offer them appointments around their immovable commitments. I offer them my own commitment. In turn, I ask them to make a commitment. There are only so many hours in a day. And of these, there are only a number that I like to work. These are those when I feel alert, sparkly, and therefore more likely to be (potentially) helpful.
So, we try and find a time that sits well with both our diaries. Most of the time it works. Except for when it doesn't. Life happens. I am a realist. I have ideals, and I appreciate notice. But I understand... And this is where it gets tricky, in my explanations to the uninitiated. Charging for missed appointments must have been the lecture I missed. The seminar topic for which I never got the handout.
I'm getting better. Experience counts for a great deal here in the big wide world. I understand, but this is my vocation and my profession. I love what I do, but it's not a hobby.
So yes, I do have a cancellation policy.