A Day in the Life of a Therapist: The Good, The Hard, and The Hilariously Awkward
Being a mental health therapist/licensed clinical social worker (LCSW) is a bit like being a detective, a life coach, a cheerleader, and sometimes, a human tissue dispenser - all rolled into one. It’s deeply rewarding, incredibly challenging, but occasionally it’s filled with moments that would make a fantastic sitcom episode. So, I’ll give you a little a peek behind the curtain and walk you through a day in the life of a therapist - the heartfelt, the humorous, and the downright unpredictable.
The Start of the Day: Coffee and Contemplation
Before we therapists step into our role as emotional Sherpas, we need a moment to mentally prepare. This often involves coffee. Lots of coffee. And a brief existential crisis about whether we have our own lives together (spoiler: we’re human, so the answer is usually “kind of”).
Next, we dive into the morning chaos. Opening the office, making sure everything is in place, and preparing for the day’s sessions is just the beginning. We check emails, follow up on any overnight crises (because mental health emergencies don’t abide by a 9-to-5 schedule), and tackle the never-ending pile of legal paperwork and insurance documentation. There’s also the not-so-small matter of responding to new client inquiries, calling back people who’ve bravely reached out for help, and juggling the logistics of scheduling. Some days, it feels like we’re part therapist, part administrative wizard, and part crisis response team - all before our first official session even starts.
Next, we review client notes, ensuring we remember important details like, “Don’t mention cats: client still mourning Fluffy” or “Client finally set boundaries with mother - do NOT cheer too loudly.” Then, with a deep breath (and another sip of coffee), we step into our first session, ready to hold space for others while secretly hoping we don’t forget our client’s sister’s husband’s friend’s name from that one story they told us three weeks ago.
The Sessions: Where Magic (and Sometimes Awkwardness) Happens
In addition to working with clients, I also supervise future therapists, which is equal parts mentoring and resisting the urge to say, "Welcome to the circus!" Helping them navigate the complex, beautiful world of mental health is both rewarding and a reminder that we were all once wide-eyed students thinking we had all the answers.
Collaboration with peers is another vital part of my work - I consult on cases, provide referrals, and engage in professional discussions, which sometimes feel like detective work. ("So you're telling me the stress started right when their in-laws moved in? Interesting.") We share insights, support one another, and confirm that, yes, we are all just making it through the day one deep breath at a time.
Therapy isn’t just sitting there nodding thoughtfully and asking, “How does that make you feel?”. It’s deep engagement, strategic questioning, and using every ounce of our emotional intelligence to guide clients toward self-discovery. But let’s be real: sometimes, it’s also trying to keep a neutral face when a client shares a life revelation that sounds like the plot of a soap opera.
And then, there are the moments of unexpected humor. Ever had a client accidentally call you “Mom” and then immediately try to leave the session out of sheer embarrassment? Or spent an entire session untangling a metaphor that started with "My life feels like a hamster on a wheel" but somehow ended with a discussion on whether said hamster was plotting an escape? Yeah, me too. Dark humor also finds its way into the room - sometimes clients joke about their trauma in a way that is both deeply heartbreaking and wildly relatable. There’s a certain beauty in watching someone reclaim their story with laughter, even if it’s the kind of joke that would make a non-therapist gasp in horror. We get it. And sometimes, laughing in the face of pain is the bravest thing a person can do.
The Challenges: Holding Space Without Losing Ourselves
Being a therapist means holding some heavy stuff. People trust us with their most painful experiences, and while we’re trained to handle it, we’re not immune to the emotional weight. That’s why self-care isn’t optional: it’s a survival skill. Whether it’s going to therapy ourselves, taking a bubble bath the size of a small ocean, making that appointment with our dentist, or stress-baking an absurd amount of cookies, we find ways to recharge. And yes, even therapists struggle with managing their own self-care.
And let’s not forget the deep, unavoidable therapist struggle: writing progress notes. For every soul-stirring breakthrough in session, there’s a therapist staring at a blank screen thinking, “How do I sum this up in two paragraphs without sounding like a robot?” or "How do I convince an insurance company that this human’s suffering is ‘medically necessary’ to treat without sounding like I copied and pasted from a textbook?" It’s an art form, really… Trying to translate an hour of intense emotional work into clinical jargon that satisfies a system built for efficiency rather than humanity. “Client engaged in introspective processing regarding core relational wounds” is code for “They cried for 30 minutes about their childhood, made a dark joke about their coping mechanisms, and then we fist-bumped over their progress.” If we’re lucky, we don’t have to jump through hoops to justify continued care. If we’re not, we’re left drafting an argument that could rival a Supreme Court case just to ensure our clients keep getting the help they need.
The Joys: Lightbulb Moments and Life-Changing Wins
Despite the challenges, there’s nothing quite like watching a client have a breakthrough - when they realize they’re worthy of love, when they set that boundary, or when they finally start believing in themselves. These moments are the fuel that keeps us going. And then comes the moment of "graduation," as I like to call it with my own clients. Backstory: when someone comes to their first session, after we’ve covered all the boring policies and procedures, usually I discuss the process of “graduation, previously known as termination” with them. I tell them, "My goal for you is to help you ‘graduate’ from therapy… Even though we will likely both be sad when the time to say goodbye comes, my hope for you is that you feel strong and confident enough to move forward without me. So in the most heartfelt way possible, I’ll be thrilled if I never have to see you in my office again. However, you’re always welcome to keep me updated on all the good things in your life!"
Because at the end of the day, the goal of therapy isn’t to keep clients forever - it’s to help them build a life where they don’t need me anymore. And at the end of my day, I’m ready to go home and not be needed too; not because I don’t love what I do, but because just like my clients, I also need space to rest, reset, and be a person outside of the therapy room. After all, we can’t pour from an empty cup, and some days, my cup looks suspiciously like a giant glass of wine and a dog snuggled on my lap.
The End of the Day: Reset and Recharge
When I’m not in sessions or supervising new therapists, I’m often planning retreats - creating spaces where people can step away from their daily routines and truly focus on healing and growth. These retreats bring together my love for therapy, connection, and orchestrating peaceful environments where people can unwind (or, let’s be honest, ugly cry in a safe place). And because this is in addition to the regular hours I keep for my therapy practice, it means squeezing retreat-planning sessions into late nights, making early morning phone calls to different providers (and my retreat manager, Nicole), and any free moment in between… Because apparently, I thrive on controlled chaos and a color-coded calendar.
Once I’ve shut my computer for the night, it’s time to switch from “therapist mode” to “regular human mode”. Usually that means I’m chasing after our daughter, who’s favorite game is "RUN”, and attempting to get dinner made… But it also looks like binge-watching Crime TV, talking to the dogs about my day (they’re excellent listeners who never interrupt), or eating ice cream straight from the container like it’s a reward for making it through another emotionally-packed day. Really, it just looks like a human being trying to be decent and stay afloat in the chaos.
Because at the end of the day, therapists are people too: flawed, hilarious, tired, but endlessly committed to helping others heal, one awkward, heartfelt session at a time.
Until next time,