What 10 Years in the Field Has Taught Me About Showing Up for Clients

Reflections on growth, purpose, and the ongoing process of becoming in this work

As I sit down to write the first entry of this blog, I find myself drawn to reflection.

The other day, it occurred to me that it’s been nearly ten years since I entered the field of social work. Most days, I still feel greener than ever—so it’s a little surreal to realize that, in truth, a full decade has passed since I first entered this field.

I didn’t always know I wanted to be a therapist.

In fact, like many of my college-aged clients, I struggled to find my direction. I felt pulled in many directions—unsure what to choose, and quietly afraid that choosing one path would mean the relinquishment of another.

There was also, if I’m honest, a certain resistance within me.

A discomfort with convention. A reluctance to subscribe too quickly to a version of life that felt, at times, predefined. The expectation to define a path before I had meaningfully experienced the world felt less like freedom and more like the acceptance a system that did not always feel equitable—one that seemed to favor those who began already holding the “right” cards.

Looking back now, I can see that this may have been one of my first steps toward social work… even if I didn’t recognize it at the time.

What I did know was this:
I wanted to do something meaningful.

There was a steady, almost instinctual pull toward purpose.
A desire to contribute something of value beyond myself.

At the core of that pull was a belief I continue to hold: that life is not defined by what we have, but by what we give. And perhaps paradoxically, it is often in the act of giving that we find ourselves most deeply fulfilled.

So, with a desire to do good—and a subtle undercurrent of defiance—I found my way to social work.

It became a space where I could expand my understanding of what it truly means to give, to advocate, to support, and to hold space for others—
a space where I could channel my anger toward injustice, my curiosity about the human experience, and my deep reverence for the beauty and complexity of being human.

In the years since completing my formal training, my understanding of this work has deepened in ways I could not have anticipated. Much of what I have learned has come not from textbooks or theory, but from the individuals who have entrusted me with their stories—my clients, who remain my most profound teachers.

Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of sitting with teens, young adults, and individuals navigating the transition into parenthood—each stage bringing its own complexity, growth, and uncertainty.

Therapy, I have come to understand, is less a set of techniques and more an evolving art form.
It is the delicate balance of holding hope while also bearing witness to profound pain.
It is the willingness to move toward what is uncomfortable when every instinct might say to turn away.
It is sitting within the uncertainty of a storm, without knowing exactly when it will pass, and still choosing to believe—quietly, steadily—that the light will return.

As therapists, we ask a great deal of those we work with.
To be entrusted with someone’s inner world—their fears, their longings, their most vulnerable truths—is not something I take for granted. It is a responsibility, yes, but more than that, it is a privilege—one that continues to humble me.

To those I’ve had the privilege of sitting with in this work—your trust is something I hold with deep care.

I cannot promise perfection, or that I will always have the answers. But I can promise to show up—fully present, engaged, and committed to meeting you with care, curiosity, and respect.

At ten years in, I find myself not at a destination, but somewhere in the middle of an unfolding.
Still learning.
Still becoming.
Still trusting the quiet, steady work of growth—both in myself and in the lives of those I have the privilege to walk beside.