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.