Walking Beside: The Diary of a Counsellor – Reflections 

There’s a quiet privilege in teaching Level 3 counselling students. It’s the point where theory begins to meet identity, and where learners are no longer simply acquiring knowledge—they’re beginning to shape who they are as practitioners.

Level 2 is foundational. It’s where students often first encounter the basic conditions, learn the contours of empathy, and begin to explore the idea of self-awareness. But Level 3 is different. At this stage, students have enough grounding to question deeply, to reflect meaningfully, and to begin the challenging work of aligning personal growth with professional development.

For me, teaching at this level is less about instructing and more about accompanying. It’s a process of walking besides them while they wrestle with big questions :

What kind of counsellor do I want to be?

What do I bring into the room with me?

Can I truly hold someone else’s pain? 

The classroom becomes a crucible—equal parts nurturing and confrontational. Students bring more of themselves to the table: their histories, their shadows, their longing to help. And with that comes a natural vulnerability. I see their eyes widen when we discuss transference for the first time, or when they realize the weight of ethical responsibility. There’s a deepening seriousness, but also a quiet awe.

One of the most powerful elements of teaching Level 3 is witnessing the moment when theory clicks into lived experience. When a student says, “That’s what I felt when I was listening to my friend last week,” or when a journal entry reveals a shift in perception—those are the moments that remind me why I do this.

But it’s not all graceful transformation. There are rough patches. Some students hit resistance, especially as they confront parts of themselves they’ve avoided. Sometimes, the work brings up pain they hadn’t anticipated. As a trainer, I hold space for that—allowing it, honouring it, and gently guiding them toward integrating it into their self-awareness.

Supervision, boundaries, diversity, trauma-informed care—these aren’t just academic units; they’re portals to the real work of being with another human being in their rawest form. My role is to create an environment where students feel safe enough to stretch and brave enough to fail. That safety isn’t built on avoidance—it’s built on challenge, reflection, and mutual respect.

One of the greatest lessons I try to impart is this: You cannot take someone somewhere you haven’t been willing to go yourself. That means I must continue doing my own work—sitting with my discomforts, updating my thinking, acknowledging my limits. Teaching counselling is never about arriving; it’s about journeying, and inviting others along the way.

By the time Level 3 students complete their training, they are often changed—not just in what they know, but in how they know it. They listen more deeply, they speak more intentionally, and they carry a clearer sense of who they are becoming.

And me? I remain in awe. Every year, every group, every student adds to the tapestry of my own learning. Teaching them is a gift. And witnessing their unfolding is one of the most humanising experiences of my life.

Self-awareness, Self-care and just self-love!

The Mirror I Hold: A Therapist’s Reflection on Self-Awareness, Self-Care, and Self-Love

People often assume that being a psychotherapist means I have it all figured out—that I sit in a chair each day dispensing wisdom like a calm, all-knowing oracle. The truth is far messier, far more human. Sitting across from my clients, I am constantly reminded of the deep work that we all must do, including myself.

Self-awareness is the first cornerstone. It is both my compass and my burden. I listen for subtle shifts in tone, hidden grief beneath smiles, and the anxious tap of a foot. Yet when I go home, I must learn to turn that same attentiveness inward. Some days, I catch myself dissociating from my own body, neglecting to ask, “How are you really feeling?” I’ve learned that being good at reading others doesn’t mean I’m immune to my own blind spots. Therapy has taught me not only to see others more clearly, but to recognize the shadows I cast on my own internal walls.

But awareness without self-care becomes a cruel kind of clarity. There have been times I’ve heard my clients speak of burnout, of exhaustion from tending to others, and felt a deep, aching resonance. I used to believe that caring more meant doing more. I now know that boundaries are a form of care—not just for my clients, but for myself. Turning off the phone, saying no, crying when I need to cry, taking days off without guilt—these acts aren’t indulgences; they’re oxygen.

Then there is self-love, the hardest and most sacred task of all. It’s easy to fall into the trap of defining my worth by how much I help, how insightful I am, or how appreciated I feel. But real self-love isn’t earned. It’s a steady, tender regard for myself even when I feel empty, flawed, or uncertain. I’ve learned to speak to myself in the voice I use with my most vulnerable clients—patient, warm, and nonjudgmental. On my best days, I can say, “You are enough, just as you are,” and actually believe it.

Being a psychotherapist is a paradox: I help others find themselves, all while continuously rediscovering who I am. My work demands that I stay present with pain, but also that I hold hope, for others and for myself. It’s not a profession that allows for much pretending. And honestly, that’s the gift. The more I grow in self-awareness, tend to my needs with care, and cultivate love for myself, the more I can show up fully—for my clients, and for the quiet, complex human I am when no one is watching.

Therapistly Admin- Anon