I’ve been a mental health therapist for over 15 years now. Early in my career, I imagined therapy as a world of wisdom passed down from those with titles and credentials. I saw seasoned therapists as something close to all-knowing, their expertise a kind of magic I had yet to unlock. I believed that with enough time and experience, I would reach that mastery level.
Fast forward years later—I was sitting in my wing-backed white velvet chair in my second-story office in downtown Sumner, Washington. I had made it. My own practice, office space, and, on some days, back-to-back sessions with ten clients in a row. I had long moved past imposter syndrome and the growing pains that once made me question everything. I knew my capabilities, my limits, and my expertise. I expected I’d just cozy into a rinse-and-repeat rhythm of uncovering blind spots and guiding clients toward clarity.
But something unexpected happened. Others had placed me on a pedestal. The people sitting across from me often held expectations of omniscience—as if I had all the answers and as if I were more than human. The weight of those expectations, instead of feeling like confidence in my abilities, felt like a straitjacket. The more I tried to bring my full self into the work, the more I felt constrained by the role I was expected to play.
As a relational therapist, I value more than just professionalism. I don’t want to stand on the shore shouting instructions; I want to jump into the cold water too. Because often, I’m right where clients are. I don’t see counseling as an us versus them, but rather just us—working together, digging in, and weathering storms.
A common misconception is that therapists can take the storms away. We can’t. I once believed therapists had all the answers, but over time, I saw them make mistakes, say things that didn’t quite fit, and sometimes let me down. At first, that realization disappointed me. But in time, it gave me something far more valuable: the understanding that we’re all human. And maybe that’s the most important thing of all.
And maybe that’s the real work of therapy—not fixing, not saving, but walking alongside one another, reminding ourselves that we’re not alone.
Thank you so much for being here. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 