I’ve finally arrived at a place in my career where I am sitting across from people who are hurting, confused, or simply needing someone to really listen. This feels like a gift to me, especially as someone who has always placed tremendous value on relationships and the way they shape our emotional worlds. There is something deeply grounding about realizing that another person’s internal experience often looks far more familiar than we expect. Sitting with others is something I had long looked forward to, but the reality of it doesn’t look the way I imagined. It has required me to reevaluate what showing up truly means and to confront relational dynamics that are much harder to ignore when you are face to face with them.
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that discomfort is not something to avoid. In fact, it’s often where the most growth happens. As a beginner, starting this work felt incredibly hard. There was anxiety, self-doubt, and a constant awareness of how much responsibility I was holding. Still, I kept showing up, even when the anxiety was present and even when I didn’t feel fully ready. Over time, I’ve learned that readiness is not a prerequisite for growth; presence is.
I try not to ignore the feelings that come up for me, especially the uncomfortable ones. Discomfort is inevitable in this work, but when I allow it rather than resist it, something begins to shift. Slowly, things around me start to open up. I’ve learned that whatever emotional state I bring into the office with me is allowed. I don’t need to arrive feeling energized or emotionally available. Some days I show up feeling tired or lower in vibration and that’s okay. I trust that my passion for connection will eventually take over, because it always does.
I no longer feel shame around emotional exhaustion. Instead, I see it as evidence of care. It reminds me that this same exhaustion is often what brings my clients into the room, the weight of holding too much for too long. Sitting with others’ emotions has taught me that being impacted does not mean being ineffective; it means I’m human.
Imposter syndrome has also been a familiar friend in this work. For me, it often shows up as a fear of not being “enough” or of being discovered as unqualified. Over time, I’ve come to see this not as a flaw, but as a form of protection. It reflects how deeply I care about doing my job well and providing thoughtful, ethical care. The problem isn’t its presence; it’s when it takes the driver’s seat. I’ve learned to acknowledge it without letting it dictate my confidence or decision-making.
Some of the most meaningful moments in my work have come from sessions that didn’t go perfectly. In fact, I’ve learned that moments of rupture, uncertainty, or awkwardness are just as valuable as moments of insight or progress. Perfection isn’t what heals people; authenticity does. Sitting with others has taught me that repair matters more than performance and that being real is often far more powerful than being polished.
Through listening, reflecting, and holding space for others, I’ve also come to deeply value the importance of having a third-party perspective. Engaging in my own therapy has been one of the most growth-oriented experiences of my life. It’s something I genuinely look forward to, not just as a professional requirement, but as a personal anchor. The consistency and safety of my own therapeutic relationship remind me why this work matters. I don’t just believe in therapy; I experience it.
At this point, self-work feels unavoidable. Sitting alongside clients creates a parallel process that continuously invites reflection and growth. It has taught me that understanding others inevitably leads to understanding yourself. And perhaps the greatest lesson of all is this: emotions don’t need to be fixed to be honored. When we allow ourselves to sit with them, patiently and without judgment, they become teachers rather than threats.