The session with my supervisor Ann snowballed downhill.
“I’ve wasted three years working for my Masters,” I said to myself as I sobbed in her office.
I went on the think, “And that doesn’t count the thousands of dollars in tuition, books and child car. And the cost of time away from family.”
Ann handed me a tissue, and I tried to settle down.
She waited a while and then said, “You were one of our better counselors, but you don’t seem to realize this. We can’t let you graduate with such a low opinion of yourself.”
We were both silent as her words sank in.
She let her words sink in.
“Was I really a decent—even a good—beginning counselor?”
Then Ann said, “My one critical remark led you to tears. You need to be stronger.”
Looking back, I can see she hit the nail on the head. But then, I just wanted to get on with my internship.
“But what about my internship at the Larimer County Mental Health Clinic?” I asked Ann.
“Here’s what we’ll do. Get permission from your supervisor at the Mental Health Clinic to record your sessions. Then get the same permission from each client.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Once a week we’ll go over the tapes and evaluate them.”
Ann and I agreed to this plan.
In one week, I would start as an intern at Larimer County Mental Health Clinic.
I was both excited and scared.