Grow Slow: What I’ve Learned in My First Year of Private Practice

One Year In: What I’ve Learned From Launching My Therapy Practice — The Good, the Messy, and the Sacred Growth Between

A Grounded Reflection

A year ago, I filed the final paperwork and officially opened the doors to Balanced Roots Counseling. I remember sitting at my desk, a candle flickering next to my laptop, heart racing with equal parts exhilaration and fear. I had a name, a vision, and a decent website—which I can proudly say I created all by myself. Starting my own practice felt like a big, messy tangle of paperwork, self-doubt, and 3 a.m. Google searches. And I had clients willing to ride this tidal wave with me, as I learned how to handle insurance and manage all the things in between on my own.

This anniversary feels like a quiet exhale. As I reflect on all the wins (and some losses), it feels good to say: “I made it. I’m still here. And I’ve learned so damn much.”

Launching a practice isn’t just a business decision. It’s an identity shift. It’s becoming the container and the structure, the therapist and the entrepreneur. It’s every inner part you carry showing up at the table: the inner critic, the perfectionist, the visionary, the real imposter syndrome that creeps in at the most inopportune times. They all followed me into this first year—sometimes making a mess, other days keeping me afloat.

What Worked (and What I’m Proud Of)

Let’s start with the good stuff. I built something real. Something that is mine. I watched clients come in, eyes wary and shoulders tight, and over time soften into themselves. I witnessed tiny wins turn into giant breakthroughs. I got to be part of people’s healing, and that still brings tears to my eyes. Yes, I am that therapist—the one who might shed tears with you at times.

I figured out the paperwork. I streamlined systems. And let me tell you, that was a learning curve! I learned to say no and found my own boundaries for self-care. I also learned that two-hour lunches are essential for my own nourishment and grounding, and Fridays should be left for all the admin-ing duties (sometimes done in pajamas and puppy snuggles).

I curated a space that feels nourishing for both me and the people who come into this space with me. I trusted my intuition and stayed in alignment with my values, even when it meant walking away from things that looked good on paper. I’ve narrowed down my specialties into what resonates most with me, and dove into the three-year trek of Somatic Experiencing training.

And most importantly? I gave myself permission to grow slow.

In therapy, we often talk about integrating progress—letting the nervous system register not just the trauma, but the healing. This is me doing that. This is me saying out loud: I did some beautiful things this year. And I’m proud.

What Didn't Go as Planned (and What It Taught Me)

Oh, the lessons. Where do I begin?

There were moments of pure chaos: insurance paneling that took months, scheduling snafus, intake forms that didn’t save, and that moment where I learned how to pivot for my Texas folks. There were times I doubted everything. There were many times when I overbooked myself (eight clients in one day is simply ridiculous). I skipped lunch too often. I said yes when I should’ve set a boundary. I cried over claim denials—like that one time when an insurance company accidentally dropped me from their network, which took a month to fix and even longer to recover funds owed. Talk about sleepless nights.

I had to learn, again and again, that I can’t pour from an empty cup. That saying no is not a betrayal. That being a therapist does not mean I have to be endlessly available.

Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s the compost. The fertile ground where clarity and resilience take root. In both therapy and in business, we learn by doing, by trying, by messing up and trying again. Fortunately, there were no complete disasters… only ruptures I got to repair.

Identity Shifts and Growing Pains

This year changed me in ways I could never have imagined.

I’m not the same therapist I was twelve months ago. I’m softer in some ways, sharper in others. I hold better boundaries. I trust my intuition more. I’ve learned to listen to the quieter parts of myself—the parts that don’t always speak in full sentences but know exactly what they need.

I’ve also grieved the loss of the old roles: the employee, the supervisee (if you know, you know), the helper who stayed small to stay safe. I pulled back on applying for full licensure in Texas and added licensure in Colorado instead. Going solo allowed me to own my authority in a new way. I took a two-week vacation and, for the first time, didn’t need to ask permission.

I come into the therapeutic space fully grounded in who I am, and my clients benefit more from it. I no longer dim or mask who I am in the room. I encourage my clients every day to risk being seen, to hold space for complexity, to find safety inside themselves.

As therapists, we have to do that too—again and again—learning to be seen even when it feels vulnerable.

What I Know Now (That I Didn’t Then)

Healing work deserves a healing container.
Systems are a love language.
Therapists need their own therapy, community, and rest.
Clients feel the difference when you’re well-fed and grounded.
Boundaries protect your sanity.
Your nervous system is your best business consultant.
You can grow at the pace of your own breath.

For the Therapist Dreaming of Going Solo

If you’re reading this with a dream in your belly and fear in your throat, know this: you don’t have to do it all at once. You don’t need to know everything. You’re allowed to start messy.

Build slowly. Stay curious. Listen to what feels alive. Let your practice be an extension of your healing, not a performance of your perfection. Trust that what you have to offer is enough.

This isn’t about doing everything perfectly. It’s about taking grounded, meaningful steps toward a practice that reflects you—your values, your voice, and your vision.

And when the self-doubt creeps in (because it will), come back to the reason you started: your work matters, your presence heals, and somewhere out there, a client is waiting for a space like the one you’re building.

A Closing Reflection

So here I am, one year in. Grateful. A little tired, but more rooted than ever.

Would I do it again, even knowing all the hardships I endured along the way? Yup. I have proved to myself, time and time again, that I can do the hard things.

If you’re a client, thank you for trusting me. Some of you have ridden out a few of these waves with me—from platform changes to complete shifts in care. I am humbled by how much trust you put in me.

If you’re a colleague, a friend, a family member—thank you for cheering me on through all the things.

To my partner—who I swear is the most patient human I have ever known—thank you for making the coffee in those moments when I couldn’t peel myself away from a project. Thank you for feeling my energy and knowing I just needed silence and a long hug at the end of a hard day. Thank you for helping me see my full potential.

I have an amazing support system. That means everything to me.

And thank you to me, too—for finding the courage to be brave and step out of my comfort zone.

As I move into year two, I carry the lessons, the love, and the wild hope that healing will always find a way. Even through the paperwork.

What’s next for Balanced Roots? Oh, don’t worry… there will be more sleepless nights to come when I’m ready for that next chapter. But for now, I’m going to just sit in this moment of success.

What roots are you tending in this season of your life?

What are you ready to compost?
What are you proud of, even if no one else sees it yet?

Here’s to the next chapter.