A Day in the Life of Me as a Therapist

People often ask me what it is like to be a therapist, what my days look like, how I take care of myself, and how I manage to hold space for others while still showing up fully. It is not always easy to describe because the work is so layered. Some days feel light and deeply rewarding. Other days are heavier and stretch my heart in ways I never expected. But through it all, what keeps me anchored are the small rituals that wrap each day in structure, comfort, and a sense of purpose.

This blog offers a quiet glimpse into what a typical day looks like for me, what I carry, what carries me, and the little routines which help me stay grounded in a field that asks a lot from the heart.

I am a night owl. Mornings are slow, quiet, and minimal. On days I have sessions, I try to keep things gentle and not overstimulating. I usually start the day with something quick, like a banana or granola bar. If I have more time, I treat myself to a sausage farmer’s wrap from Tim Hortons. Sometimes I will grab a peach quencher if I am craving something refreshing. If not, I bring my Owala water bottle (I got a pack of two from Costco and it is my favourite because it was a nice deal) and sip throughout the day. Little comforts like add joy to my morning.

When I arrive at the office, I wave to Roblynn, our lovely Client Care Specialist. She is always so sweet, thoughtful, and helpful. I also chatted throughout the day with Makie, our other Client Care Specialist. Both are such grounding presences in space. I walk into my office and flip the sign to “In Use,” which has become a small ritual that marks the start of my workday. I turn on my lamps and fairy lights. I like it when the lighting is soft and cozy. I refold the blanket and fluff the pillows—always giving them the clean karate chop line in the middle. I am particular about the space feeling calm and held, not just for my clients, but for me too.

Before my first session, I take time to review my notes and prep tools I might want to use—whether that is a worksheet, a grounding prompt, or simply a reminder to hold more silence. If it is a new client, I always reread their intake form, consent, and relevant details. As a newer therapist, I still get a little nervous sometimes. There is vulnerability in not knowing how a session will unfold. But there is also a beautiful kind of anticipation. I feel honoured to be invited into someone’s inner world.

Right now, I see about six to seven clients a day. Thursdays are my longest days, often including evening sessions, and I sometimes work two Saturdays a month for a half day. I love having most weekends free to rest, reflect, or do something fun like shopping or eating at a new restaurant. I find balance matters—a lot. The work I do is meaningful, but I also need time to just exist without being “on.”

Throughout the day, I might sneak in a quick chat with Roblynn or Makie, especially if I need support or grounding. I also try to attend group supervision regularly. These sessions have quickly become one of my favourite parts of working at this clinic. Hearing from more experienced therapists reminds me that I am not alone in navigating tough moments. I feel safe here. Supported. Encouraged to grow without the pressure to have everything figured out.

On slower days, if I have a midday break, I sometimes nap on the couch in my office. I dim the lights, grab a blanket, and set a timer. I also use that time to print off worksheets, browse through therapy books, or just take a quiet moment to breathe. Some of my books were passed down by my supervisor or colleagues I admire. I love flipping through pages that have been annotated or underlined. There is something comforting about learning from someone else’s thoughts—it makes the work feel shared. I also indulge myself in some screen time by watching a show on Netflix, responding to friends, and scrolling through social media.

At the end of the day, I tidy my space. I put away any materials I used, wipe down my desk, and re-fold the blanket. I fluffed the pillows one last time (of course karate chops in the middle) and turn off the lamps. If I am not the last one to leave, I flip the sign back to “Vacant.” These small gestures help me mark the end of the day and gently transition back into myself.

Being a therapist is soft and heavy all at once. I carry so many stories, and yet I also return to my own. The work is not just clinical, it is emotional, embodied, and often spiritual. There are moments in session when time slows down, when someone says something raw and honest, and I feel the weight of being trusted with that truth. There are also moments of shared laughter, quiet breakthroughs, and the steady rhythm of showing up, again.

What I love most is that it never feels like just a job. It is a rhythm—a way of being with people, and a way of being more fully with myself. The routines I follow, the pillows I fluff, the soft lights I turn on, they all help me stay connected—not just to the work, but to the why behind it.

And that, to me, is everything.