Why I Chose to Become a Therapist (And What I Didn’t Expect)

A Sensitive Kid with Big Feelings

I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a therapist.
But looking back, it feels inevitable.

I was a sensitive kid — quietly absorbing the world around me. I felt things deeply, even if I didn’t show it. I noticed tension before anyone named it, worried often, and carried emotions that felt bigger than I knew how to hold. Most of the time, I wasn’t sure what to do with all those feelings.

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In many ways, I felt misunderstood — not because people didn’t care, but because emotional sensitivity wasn’t something we talked about. My family loved me deeply and supported me in countless practical ways, and I am truly grateful for that.

Still, emotions didn’t always get a front-row seat. And for someone who felt everything, that could be confusing. I learned to wrestle with the sense that my feelings were “too much” or something to manage quietly on my own.

What I once saw as “too much” has become one of my greatest strengths.
It’s what led me here.

Those early experiences — feeling deeply in a world that didn’t always know what to do with depth — were quietly shaping me. They taught me how to attune, how to sit with pain, and how to offer the understanding I once longed for.

Becoming a therapist wasn’t just a career choice.
It was reclaiming the parts of me that were never the problem to begin with.

What Drew Me to This Work

When I started college, I didn’t have a clear vision for my future. Like many people in their early twenties, I felt unsure. But I was always fascinated by human behavior, drawn to the emotional layers of people’s stories. I was often told I was a good listener — someone who could hold space — and I carried a quiet empathy I couldn’t fully explain.

That curiosity led me to study psychology. It felt like a natural fit — finally, a space that put words to the things I had always intuitively understood.

Even after graduating, I still didn’t know exactly where I was headed. But I knew this: I wanted work that felt meaningful. Work that lit me up, not something I would simply “settle” into.

That’s when I found social work. I was drawn to its flexibility — the way it could take you into so many different settings: schools, hospitals, private practice. It felt expansive, and that openness gave me room to explore.

I applied to graduate school and began interning at a medical hospital in downtown Chicago. That experience was grounding, eye-opening, and deeply human. In those hallways, I witnessed raw moments of grief, hope, trauma, and resilience — unfolding in real time.

In the middle of it, I found my why.

During my internship, I noticed how much I wanted to go beyond the checklist. I wanted to understand the story — what led someone to drink so much they ended up in the ER, not just the medical facts, but the fears, the pain, the survival, and the hope that still lingered. But the questions I was trained to ask were often practical: How many steps are in your home? Have you ever been in a skilled nursing facility?

Those questions mattered, but they only skimmed the surface. I realized I didn’t just want to help people get discharged safely. I wanted to help them feel seen.

That’s when I knew — this work wasn’t just a career path.
It was a calling.

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What I Didn’t Expect

I thought becoming a therapist meant I had to have it all together.
(I don’t.)

What I didn’t expect was how human this work would feel — how much it would stretch me, humble me, and, in its own way, heal me.

I didn’t expect how deeply I’d care for my clients, how I’d find myself quietly cheering them on in the back of my mind long after our sessions ended.

I didn’t expect the weight of grief that comes from sitting with another person’s pain —
or the wave of hope that comes from witnessing their growth in real time.

This work keeps surprising me.
And I think that’s what keeps me here.

What Keeps Me Going

This work isn’t always easy.
But every time a client says, “I didn’t spiral like I usually do,” I remember why I’m here.

Every time someone invites me into their inner world with tentative trust, I feel the sacredness of this role.

And every time I walk my dog after a hard session, processing the stories I’ve held that day, I’m reminded:
we’re all just trying to make sense of our lives —
hopefully with a little more gentleness.

If you’ve ever considered therapy, or even becoming a therapist, I hope you know this:

You don’t need to be “fixed” to begin.
You don’t need to be fearless to help others.

You just need curiosity.
You just need compassion.
And you just need a willingness to show up —