I'm a therapist now.
Its been a long time coming. There's a lot of feelings and thoughts that go along with it. Joy. (I'm doing something that matters!) Pride. (I worked my ass off for this!) Relief. (Thank god I'm out of that paralegal job.) Fascination. (Trauma is so interesting).
But mostly I wonder if I'm up to the task.
How on earth can I be effective in another person's life?
Grad school supposedly taught me that, at least on paper, but we had an "unconventional" program and they really glossed over the clinical side of things. I spend so much time in my sessions wondering what the fuck I should say to my client. My client tells me she went swimming yesterday with her aunt. I focus intently on not yawning. My client tells me she gets panic attacks frequently, and starts having one in the room. I try not to have a response panic attack of my own and all I can do is tell her to breathe in and out. My client tells me in graphic detail how her father used to beat her. I try to make sure my mouth stays shut while in my mind there's a picture of myself gaping at her, open-mouthed, in shock and horror.
A hundred times a day, a thousand times a week, I wonder if my clients feel let down by my presence. Mental health can be a terrifyingly dark and lonely road. At the very least, a therapist should shine a flashlight on the path to healing. I spend nearly all my time banging the flashlight against my forehead.
Sometimes I want to go up to my supervisors and shake them. "What were you THINKING hiring me?" Is it not so painfully clear to everyone around me that I don't know what I'm doing?
And how long before someone notices my incompetence and exposes me for the total fraud that I am?
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