When people think of therapists, they often imagine a calm, unshakeable presence—a serene listener sitting in a comfy chair with a knowing nod and a bottomless well of wisdom. That’s not entirely wrong, but here’s the thing they don’t tell you: being a therapist doesn’t mean I stop being human. And balancing those two roles? That’s where the real work lies.

Let me be honest with you. There are days when I show up to my office feeling less than perfect. Days when my toddler didn’t sleep, my dog Lucy decided to chew something irreplaceable, or I’m running late because life has thrown me curveballs. I’ve had mornings where my own emotions are louder than I’d like, and my mindfulness practice feels like a distant memory. And yet, I open the door, greet my clients, and step into that sacred space where I hold their pain, their joy, and their healing.

It’s not about shutting off my humanity when I walk into the room—it’s about learning to hold both my humanity and theirs with grace and authenticity.

The Challenge of Authenticity

I’ve wrestled with the myth of the “perfect therapist.” Early in my career, I thought I had to have it all figured out, that showing vulnerability or uncertainty would somehow discredit me. But over time, I’ve realized that what clients need most isn’t a perfect therapist—it’s a real one. Someone who can model what it looks like to stumble, to course-correct, to be messy and still choose growth.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. Instead, I strive to show up fully present, leaning into the discomfort of not knowing, and trusting the process. Sometimes that means admitting when I’ve missed something or misstepped, both in my professional life and in my personal relationships.

Living the Skills I Teach

As a DBT therapist, I teach skills like mindfulness, emotion regulation, and distress tolerance every week. And let me tell you, those skills don’t just live on the whiteboard in my group room—they’re woven into the fabric of my life.

When I’m navigating a tough conversation with my partner, I rely on “DEAR MAN” to communicate effectively. When I’m overwhelmed, I turn to self-soothing or mindfulness to stay grounded. And when I feel like I’m failing—whether as a mom, a therapist, or just a person—I remind myself to practice radical acceptance: this moment is what it is, and I can meet it without judgment.

That said, there are moments when I forget my own tools. When I snap at my partner or feel like I’ve fallen short of the parent I want to be, I feel the sting of shame. But those moments remind me why this work matters. They humble me, anchor me, and deepen my empathy for the clients who sit across from me, grappling with their own imperfect humanity.

Holding the Boundaries

One of the hardest parts of this balance is knowing when to set boundaries—not just with clients, but with myself. There’s a fine line between being deeply connected to my clients’ experiences and carrying their pain home with me. I’ve had to learn, over time, how to honor the privilege of walking with people through their struggles while not absorbing their weight as my own.

I also hold boundaries around my time and energy. As much as I care for my clients, I know I can’t pour from an empty cup. That means carving out space for my family, for movement, for rest, and for those sacred moments where I can just be.

The Beauty of Imperfection

What I’ve come to cherish about being both human and a therapist is that the two roles inform each other in profound ways. My humanity makes me a better therapist, and my work as a therapist makes me a better human.

When I sit with clients, I’m reminded of the resilience and vulnerability that connects us all. When I stumble in my personal life, I’m reminded to practice the same self-compassion I encourage in others.

So, no—I’m not a perfect therapist, nor am I a perfect person. But I don’t think either of those things exist. What I strive for, instead, is to show up fully. To embrace the messiness of being human and the honor of holding space for others to do the same.

Because at the end of the day, that’s what healing is about: not becoming perfect, but becoming whole.

Laura