I Am Not Separate From This Work
People often assume that being a therapist means having it all figured out. That I’m somehow separate from the pain that brings others into the room. That I sit in the seat of wisdom, offering insight from a place just outside the fire.
But here’s my confession:
I am not outside the fire.
I am human, too — and I walk through the same terrain.
There are days I wake up tangled in my own thoughts. Days I second-guess myself. Days I feel lost or overwhelmed or afraid. I’ve known grief that splintered me, shame that silenced me, and love that undid me in both beautiful and brutal ways. I carry my own questions, just like the people I sit across from. The difference is only that I’ve been trained to hold space — and I consider it the deepest honour of my life to do so.
This work doesn’t place me above anyone. It brings me beside them.
Again and again, I am reminded: we’re not as different as we think. The themes that pulse through the therapy room — the longing to be loved, the fear of not being enough, the ache of abandonment, the confusion of being both strong and hurting — are the same themes that thread through my own life. I know these places intimately. And because of that, I can meet others in them without flinching.
And yet, what I didn’t expect when I became a therapist was how much I would be transformed in the process.
My patients have been some of my greatest teachers. They show me what it means to be resilient. What it means to keep choosing growth, even when it's painful. What it means to be honest about your needs, your wounds, your patterns — and to keep going anyway. They’ve taught me how to soften, how to listen more fully, how to respect the pace of healing.
They’ve taught me how to trust the long game.
Their courage reshapes me. Their insights challenge me. Their stories stay with me — not in a boundaryless way, but in a soul-marking way. Every person I work with becomes part of the soil I stand on. They remind me, every day, of the importance of tending to the human heart.
This work has saved my life more times than I can count. Not because it removes me from my own struggles, but because it keeps me connected to what matters. Being steeped in it keeps me honest. It asks me to do my own work. To stay aware. To slow down. To ground myself in presence and purpose. When the world feels chaotic or uncertain, it’s often this work that brings me back to center.
It’s not always easy to carry the weight of others’ pain, and I take that responsibility seriously. But I don’t do it alone. I’ve learned to tend to myself so I can tend to others. I’ve learned that holding space for someone else’s healing often creates space for my own.
So no, I don’t sit above the work. I sit in it. With my full heart.
And I just want to say, to every person who has allowed me to witness their journey — thank you. You’ve shaped me. You’ve humbled me. You’ve given me more than you know.
