I didn’t sleep well before my first day of work.

It had been 16 years since I’d worked outside the home. As a 1950’s housewife, my life revolved around my husband, four daughters and neighborhood coffee klatches.

It was a world that I slipped into easily. I was married at 21. Four wonderful babies came along in the next nine years.

But now I was taking a new and scary leap.  In 1972 not many women with families chose to work outside the home. In my friendship and family circle, I had no role models.

And—what made it especially difficult—was that my Mom didn’t approve of my working as a psychotherapist. I think at some level we always want our Mom’s approval.

Fortunately, my husband Bill supported me in as I went forth on this venture.

On the eve before my internship, I laid out the clothes for my first day at the Larimer County Mental Health Clinic.  I wanted to make a good impression.

Oddly enough, I remember exactly what I wore for my first day as an intern psychotherapist.  I chose a glen plaid suit—not a pant suit—a navy blue blouse, navy high heels.

And—a little shaky in my heels—I was off to new territory.



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