What I Wish I Knew in My First 10 Years as a Clinician
There’s a particular kind of burnout no one talks about in grad school. It’s not from too many clients or the emotional weight of holding others’ pain. It’s the burnout of always feeling like you’re not quite enough.
You read the latest techniques. You second-guess your sessions. You compare yourself to more seasoned therapists—and wonder if your clients would be better off with someone else.
And often, you're in therapy yourself, sitting across from a clinician who seems so steady. You might assume that what makes them effective is all those extra years of training and experience. But what you’re probably sensing isn't just knowledge. It’s the nervous system ease that comes from being in this work for long enough to release the need to prove yourself.
More and more, I sit with early-career clinicians who feel the same way I once did: unsure, over-efforting, and quietly anxious that they’re not enough.
It’s Not Just Doubt. It’s Survival.
From a nervous system perspective, this isn’t just self-doubt—it’s fight or flight. Not the overt kind that lashes out or runs away. It’s subtler. It lives in your jaw, your thoughts, your pacing, your perfectionism. A low-level hum of urgency. A quiet buzz that keeps you from fully landing in yourself.
When your system hasn’t yet felt the safety of being held—truly held—it tries to earn its way there. You over-prepare. You stay up late reading. You hope the right method will make you feel like you belong. But even when something’s working, your body might not register it as safe.
So... How Do We Settle?
I hear this question all the time: “But how do we actually create safety? What does that even mean?”
And I get it. When you're in a chronic state of vigilance, safety sounds abstract at best. But here’s what I’ve come to trust:
Safety doesn’t come from mastering the perfect intervention. It comes from small, repeated moments where your nervous system starts to recognize:
I’m not being pushed.
I’m not being judged.
I’m not being left.
And here’s the thing: your client’s nervous system is listening for the same cues.
When you allow yourself to feel these truths—when you settle into a felt sense of not being pressured, not being evaluated, not being alone—that’s what gets transmitted in the relational field. That’s what creates the conditions for trust.
That’s what co-regulation feels like. It’s subtle. It’s often invisible. But over time, it’s what makes healing possible—for your clients, and for you.
If You’re in This Right Now...
Here’s what I want you to know:
That voice asking “Is this working?” is a protective part. It’s trying to keep you safe in the only way it knows how.
You don’t have to perform your way into being a good therapist.
You are allowed to slow down.
And the most effective thing you can offer—truly—is your presence.
Not polished. Not perfect. Just real.
If you’re in a season where your nervous system is scanning for safety—where even being a client in therapy adds to the doubt as you compare yourself to your therapist, or where you question your own worth as a clinician—you’re not alone. This, too, is part of becoming.
A Few Gentle Next Steps
Check out some of my earlier posts on nervous system support and how to work with survival states.
If it feels supportive, place a hand on your chest or belly and let yourself feel: I don’t have to prove anything right now. Let that land for just a few breaths.
You might also try journaling from the part of you that feels like it’s not enough—and then responding with curiosity and kindness from a wiser, steadier place inside.
If you’re wanting more support in your own regulation or presence, I offer 1:1 sessions and somatic consultations for clinicians.
