One of the most persistent myths about being a psychologist is that we are constantly “on,” that we spend every social gathering dissecting your childhood or labelling your nervous tics. People fear the “X-ray vision,” thinking I’m judging them behind a polite smile.

The truth? In my private life, I’ve learned to put that radar on mute. Because observation without a professional boundary isn’t therapy; it’s just exhausting.

The Architecture of the Session

When I am in my office, however, the process is entirely different. I am hyper-aware of every emotion. As you speak, my mind is organizing your story into “boxes,” creating a mental map that shifts and evolves with every sentence. But there is a vital rule in this room: my emotions do not belong in the same space as yours.

I am there as your mirror, but I am a human mirror. Sometimes, a client’s story might touch a nerve, what we call countertransference. If a spark of your trauma activates something in me, I don’t let it burn in the room. I have a sensor for that activation. I acknowledge it, I contain it, and then I take it outside to work on it myself. My job is to hold your weight, not to make you carry mine.

Trauma as Decoration, Not an Obstacle

It has been years since I’ve felt “shaken” by a session in a way that I couldn’t manage. This isn’t because I’m numb, but because I’ve done the work. My own traumas are no longer ghosts hiding in the dark; they are like small ornaments in the house I’ve built. I can look at them, appreciate their shape, and respect them for the lessons they taught me. They are part of why I can sit with you now, but they stay on the shelf while I hold the mirror for you.

I am not your saviour. I am not a mind-reader. I am a professional who has learned to stay present in the storm without letting my own weather interfere with yours.

A Final “Off-Duty” Confession: The irony is that while I can manage a complex emotional “activation” during a session, I am completely defenceless against a sappy cat video.

In my office, I am a master of emotional boxes. At a party? I’m the one who will accidentally spend 45 minutes listening to a stranger’s life story about their failed sourdough starter because I forgot how to find the “off” switch on my empathy. I’m not judging you; I’m probably just wondering if I left the stove on or if my cat, Puffy, is currently judging me for my choice of socks. Trust me, if I’m looking at you intensely at a dinner party, I’m not analysing your relationship with your mother, I’m most likely just trying to remember if I’ve already introduced myself or if I’ve been standing in the same spot for too long.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not just a ghost in the corner. I might be an introvert who burns through social energy like a high-performance engine, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to start a metaphorical fire.

In fact, I have a bit of a “Gremlin Mode.” I love to drop a single, disruptive question into a polite conversation and watch the sparks fly. There is nothing I adore more than seeing different minds clash over an idea. I’ll toss a match into the discussion, step back, and watch the flames of a good argument burn, only leaning in to add a little more “fuel” when the heat dies down. I’m fascinated by the kink of human thought, how people defend their logic and present their worldviews.

It gets even better (or worse) when the party is all full of psychologists, because psychologists tend to hunt in packs. When you get a room full of us together, it’s not a “party,” it’s a competitive stand-up comedy special where the currency is sarcasm and self-deprecation. The real “show” starts when the different schools of thought collide: watching the Psychoanalysts try to out-depth the CBT crowd, while the Gestaltists, Systemic therapists, and Integrative practitioners all throw their own specific brand of “fuel” on the fire. It’s an intellectual battlefield, it’s loud, it’s chaotic, and it’s absolutely delicious.

So, if you see me looking at you intensely at a dinner party, I’m probably not analysing your childhood. I’m most likely just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a comment that will turn a quiet evening into a glorious, multi-layered debate. After all, if I’m going to spend my social energy, I might as well enjoy the fireworks.