Therapist for hire

Today, at 9 a.m., I earned my first dollar as a mental health therapist.

I started as a part-time outpatient clinician, working three days a week, at the mental health clinic where I have been interning since September. I've still got another couple months on my internship and am told that I might be able to increase my hours at the clinic after I graduate in June.

Considering the tight job market and the fact that I really like my internship site, I feel fortunate to have my foot solidly wedged into a professional door. The pay is decent enough for starting wages, and if I pick up additional hours in a couple of months, the benefits are better than I've had at a job in more than a decade. So I'd be happy to work more hours after school wraps up in May.

My first few for-pay clients, all new, were no more and no less remarkable than the colorful members of humanity who have already come into my office in the past few months. They are interesting, challenging and so touchingly human. In working with them, I could discern no difference in the services I provided today for pay versus those I have been providing for free.

But it is, to me, a momentous day nevertheless. I'm getting paid to do something fun! It's been a long, long time since that was the case.

What's more, I've been working toward this career change for three years of graduate school and, before that, several years of personal contemplation and searching for an intriguing new line of work.

So ... yea for me!

I think it could have only been nicer if I'd had someone with whom to share my accomplishment upon returning home tonight, maybe with a little toast over a glass of wine. The closest I came was popping my head in to see The Florist for a few minutes at the end of the day and announcing myself as a "therapist for hire." She shook my hand in congratulations, and I accepted it happily.