This is just what we see, at least in the first session. As sessions go on, the room begins to reveal more of itself. We notice there’s also a bundle of notes kept somewhere in the room and objects placed intentionally to help ground and stabilize during moments of distress. And slowly, you realise that the therapist holds many more expressions than a gentle smile and often far fewer words than you might expect.

More than a year ago when I started my therapy journey and I had very little idea of what I was stepping into. This former part of the above section is what I was mostly aware of and the latter was something I gradually became aware of as my journey progressed as a therapist. As a child, I used to wonder what all might go behind the closed doors of a therapy room, assuming naughty kids are sent there to improve their behavior. Little did I know much quiet courage, uncertainty, and emotional weight those rooms would hold. The therapy room seems like a quiet place, but a lot happens here, within the client as well as the therapist. I remember taking my initial therapy sessions, theory had given me language and structure and a framework/model to understand concerns, to conceptualise them and to begin forming a therapeutic relationship. It offered support, especially in those early sessions where everything felt new and slightly intimidating.

But the therapy room asked for something more. It asked me to be another human being sitting across from someone else’s vulnerability. Empathy and the ability to sit with discomfort did not come from textbooks alone. These were skills that were learnt gradually through real conversations, silences, mistakes and moments of genuine human understanding and connection. Working one-on-one with clients taught me how much of therapy happens not only in what is said, but also in how it is held. 

As and when I started to see more clients, I began to notice my own responses more. There was the urge to fix, the discomfort of not knowing the right response, and the realisation of how certain situations felt from within. There were moments where simply staying present felt more supportive than offering an intervention. These experiences quietly shaped my understanding of what it means to be a therapist.

I also began to realise how important it was to look inward. There were moments where certain sessions stayed with me longer than expected or stirred feelings that clearly did not belong only to the client. These moments made me pause and reflect about myself, my experiences and how they show up in the room.

As these experiences increased, I realised how essential it was to have spaces outside the therapy room to reflect on the work. That’s where Supervision supported me. Supervision became a space where I could pause, reflect, and make sense of what exactly happened in the therapy session, for me (as a Therapist and as an individual) as well as for my client. Alongside this, continued learning with the help of trainings offered opportunities to deepen skills, expand perspectives with respect to usage of different techniques and work on my own issues.Together, these spaces supported not just my ability to provide efficient support to the client, but my capacity to stay present and grounded in the room. 

This space helped me be present to a plethora of things that shape the therapy room. I also understood that showing up for clients also meant being willing to work on my own stuff. 

It is only with these realisations that engaging in reflection, supervision and my own therapeutic work became an important part of my practice. Not only to bring myself into the session, but also to ensure that I was showing up with more awareness. Realising how much the therapist’s inner work shapes the space they offer has been one of the most essential learnings for me so far. 

Over time, it has become clear that learning does not stop once we step out of the classroom. The therapy room becomes a teacher itself, inviting reflections and growth with each session. 

Perhaps this is what beginning a career as a psychologist truly looks like, standing on a strong theoretical foundation, seeking support through supervisions and trainings, while remaining open to being shaped by every human interaction. It is a process of learning, unlearning and continuously returning to presence. 

As I reflect on this journey so far from studying theory, to sitting and working with human beings, it feels clear that becoming a psychologist is not a linear process. It is shaped not only by what we know, but by how we listen, reflect and how willing we are to keep learning from the work that we do.

In many ways, all these learnings come together in this one phrase, one that continues to stay with me and quietly guides my work in the therapy room: