My anxious, shallow breath caught in my throat. I walked into my dimly lit office eagerly awaiting my very first client. I carefully screened my office to ensure that I had enough tissue, that my chair was positioned directly across from the clock on my desk and from the chair where my client would later sit. I was interrupted by the over head page announcing my name, hurried down the hall and turned the corner to introduce myself to a tall middle-aged man, with striking blue eyes, which were slowly tearing up as we walked back to my office. I remember feeling slightly arrogant and walking with a confidence in my stride. I was sure that I had the skills to heal this man. After all, I did ace my first Basic Clinical Skills exam where I conquered the techniques of open-ended questions, close-ended questions, transference, and crisis intervention. Clearly, I was defending against how powerless and fearful I truly felt. I made it through our initial session with no battle wounds other than my bruised ego from realizing that I was just beginning with my first client and that I did not have all the answers. My next client came and went, and the next, and the next my schedule for the next seven months of my internship.