Chairs

When I reflect on my journey to the therapy chair—the place where I hold sacred conversations—it’s hard to believe how far I’ve come. My chair is a black and white houndstooth, not the coziest seat, but it holds me as I hold space for others. While it may not be physically comfortable, I am more at ease in this chair than I’ve ever been in my career. But how did I get here? It doesn’t feel like I’ve been in this chair for over 11 years, yet here I am. And I didn’t get here alone—supervisors, mentors, peers, my own therapist, and most importantly, the people who trust me with their stories have all been part of this journey.

When I landed my first job as a therapist, I already had nearly a decade of experience in human services, mostly working with women. Starting therapy practice meant 4,000 hours of supervision, all while being a new mom to a 14-month-old. I was thrown into the deep end as a unit therapist at an inpatient psychiatric hospital, working with patients ranging from age 6 to the elderly in some of the most acute levels of care. Those early days stretched my emotional boundaries in ways I wasn’t prepared for. The sounds of children in trauma are forever etched in my memory, and my body still recalls the sensation of those cries. I was changed.

During those 4,000 hours, my daughter was diagnosed with a genetic condition, which pushed my emotional limits even further. I had to learn how to navigate being both a clinician and a mother in pain. I constantly reminded myself of the saying, “hurting people hurt people.” It was a hard, uncomfortable time, but I was lucky to have a supervisor who supported and guided me, sometimes challenging me in the best ways. Therapist friends offered me a safe space, teaching me not only about the work but also about myself. It was during this time that I realized I wanted to focus on perinatal mental health, to help moms adjust to the new worlds they found themselves in. Those 4,000 hours were my sweet and sour period of supervision—dedicated, transformative, and the final steps in a decade-long journey to get to where I am today.

When I passed my licensing boards, I officially became a licensed therapist. It was surreal. Sitting in my chair felt… weird. I started my private practice thinking I was on top of the world, but in reality, I was just beginning to dive into perinatal mental health. My boundaries were stretched again. Seeing my first mom post-stillbirth, working with families struggling with fertility, or sitting with mothers who had lost themselves in the conditioning of modern womanhood—it was, and still is, life-changing. Growth, even as a therapist, is painful. But I am forever grateful to the clients who allowed me to hold space for them. They taught me, they guided me, and they brought me closer to accepting myself fully—not as the therapist I thought I should be, but as the one I truly am.

Just as I thought I had it all figured out, life threw me more curveballs. I got divorced, became a single mom, remarried, and moved cities in the midst of a pandemic. Once again, I found myself feeling unsettled and uncomfortable in my chair.

Through it all, I kept investing in myself—continuing education in perinatal mental health, human sexuality, and relationships. But more importantly, I continued doing the deep personal work of managing my own emotions, processing my own pain and shame. It was this inner work that ultimately reshaped me, both personally and professionally. Sitting on the client’s couch changed my perspective as a therapist. Handling my own issues allowed me to bring more authenticity into my therapy chair.

Being a therapist isn’t just about education and consultation (although those are important). It’s about doing your own work, facing your own challenges, and growing from them. That’s what impacts our work the most—the human experience we bring into the chair.

We are always evolving. Our bodies, our minds, our perspectives—they all change as we grow and transition through life. This transformation happens in the therapy chair too. So, I have to ask: how do you feel in your chair?