Imposter Syndrome, Empathy, and My First Real Session: The Moment Presence Got Real

The First Session: When My Brain Started Sprinting

There are moments in life that don’t just happen… they shape you.

My first real session felt like one of those moments.

I knew the process on paper. I had read about rapport, micro-skills, reflections, body language, pacing. I knew the basics of how to open, how to orient someone to the space, how to listen.

But the second I stepped into the room, my brain didn’t feel like a therapist brain.

It felt like a human brain trying to survive a spotlight.

My head started racing:

Should I get up and shadow my supervisor? Should I follow them to the door? Am I sitting right? Am I too stiff? Too relaxed? Is my presence making them uncomfortable? Do I look confident? Do I look nervous?

And the funny part is… I wasn’t thinking any of this because I didn’t care.

I was thinking it because I cared so much I wanted to do everything perfectly.

That’s the sneaky thing about imposter syndrome. It doesn’t always show up like arrogance. Sometimes it shows up like over-preparing, over-correcting, and over-reading yourself until you’re not even present anymore.

Imposter Syndrome Doesn’t Always Say “You’re Bad”

Sometimes it says:

• “Don’t mess this up.”
• “Say the right thing.”
• “Be impressive.”
• “Be calm.”
• “Be something you think a therapist is supposed to be.”

And suddenly therapy becomes a performance.

Not because you want attention.

But because your nervous system is begging for safety.

The Moment Empathy Became Real

Then the client started sharing.

And something small happened that shifted everything.

I noticed they were mirroring my body language.

If I leaned in, they leaned in. If I shifted, they shifted. If I looked tense, they looked tense.

It hit me: my presence wasn’t just “my presence.” It was the temperature of the room.

So I reminded myself: Stay present. Regulate first.

As they talked, my mind kept trying to drift—holidays, family, responsibilities, everything waiting outside the room. I had to keep bringing myself back:

Right now, I’m here.

And then, in one moment, I looked down at their shoes.

And I had this thought: Step into their world.

Not in a fake way. Not like “I know exactly what you’ve lived.”

But in a real way:

Their reality is real—even if it’s different from mine.

That’s when things got real.

I stopped trying to “say the perfect thing.” I stopped trying to be an expert with a cape.

And I remembered something simple:

We don’t always need the answers.

Sometimes someone needs to be heard. Sometimes someone needs a safe space. Sometimes someone needs to talk long enough to finally hear themselves.

That was the moment I began to understand empathy—not as a technique, but as a practice.

Empathy Isn’t “Me Too”

A lot of us were taught empathy like this:

“Put yourself in their shoes.”

And that’s not wrong… but it’s incomplete.

Because if I “put myself in their shoes” and all I do is search my life for a matching story, I can accidentally make the moment about me.

Real empathy is not:

• forcing sameness
• rushing to relate
• trying to fix
• trying to prove you understand

Real empathy is:

Respecting someone’s inner reality without arguing with it.

It’s saying, without saying:

“I’m here with you. You don’t have to carry this alone right now.”

After the Session: The Work Followed Me Home

At the end of the session, I took a breath.

But I learned quickly that the day doesn’t always end when the session ends.

Sometimes you have another session right after. Sometimes you’re writing notes. Sometimes you’re trying to transition—fast.

And then I drove home…

thinking about the client…

replaying the moment…

wondering if I did enough…

missed my exit…

took a U-turn…

and realized something nobody really tells you at the start:

The work can follow you home if you don’t learn how to set it down.

I’ve had my fair share of anxiety, pain, overthinking, and pressure too.

And it made me realize something I want to say clearly:

I’m not here to fix anyone.

I’m here to help you help yourself—to find the version of you that can hold what you’re carrying with more compassion, more clarity, and more support.

The Driveway Moment: Social Media, Assumptions, and Real Life

When my car pulled into the driveway, I could already feel that familiar energy—those little jokes people make when they don’t know what to do with growth.

“Oh, you probably got it all figured out.”

And it hit me how easily we assume that about each other.

Neighbors. Friends. People online.

We live in a world where social media is everyone’s highlight reel—where we post wins and hide losses behind the curtain. People suffer in silence and celebrate a little too loud… and we scroll past it all like it’s normal.

But for the first time, I felt something different:

Acceptance.

Not the kind that says, “I’ve mastered life.”

The kind that says:

“I’m human… and I’m willing to keep learning.”

Then I walked inside and heard my wife like:

“Yo—take the dog out. There’s still stuff to do.”

And just like that… I was back in reality.

Because that’s the truth:

The work doesn’t only happen in the therapy room.

It happens at home. In traffic. In relationships. When you’re tired. When life doesn’t go your way. When your anxiety shows up uninvited and acts like it pays rent.

And all we can do is keep practicing—one moment at a time.

Vulnerability: The Word I Didn’t Understand Until I Did

As the days passed and I started seeing more clients, I noticed something shifting inside me. It felt like the work was shaping me into who I’m meant to become.

When I first decided to become a therapist, one recommendation I kept hearing—from the program, from clinicians, and from my wife—was the importance of seeing therapy from both angles:

Not only as the helper… but as the client too.

So you can feel what it’s like on the other side.

A while back, someone told me something that stuck with me more in my chest than my mind:

“You’ve got to open yourself up to vulnerability.”

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant.

But then I noticed my self-care slipping.

Not dramatically. Just subtly.

A little less sleep. A little more tension. A little more mental noise.

And sitting with people—seeing how similar we all are beneath the details—opened something in me too.

It made me more tender.

More honest.

More aware of parts of myself I still have to work on and accept.

And it brought me back to something simple:

Awareness is the first door.

In therapy, and in life, change starts when we can notice what’s happening inside us—without immediately judging it or running from it.

A Tool I Actually Use: The 5-4-3-2-1 Grounding Exercise

The other night I tried to practice what I’m always talking about.

I took a walk even though it was cold, and I did the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding exercise.

I looked for five things I could see:

• snow drifting from the sky
• cars passing by
• my dog off-leash locked onto a squirrel
• my fluffy jacket
• the half-lit moon hanging low

I listened for four things I could hear:

• the hiss of brakes
• my dog’s paws tapping the ground
• my own breath coming in
• the quiet hum of the neighborhood

I noticed three things I could feel:

• cold air on my face
• the leash pulling against my fingers
• my shoulders slowly dropping as my body started to settle

And just like that, I felt a little peace return.

Not because life became perfect.

But because I returned to the moment.

That’s what grounding really is.

Not escaping reality.

Coming back to yourself inside reality.

Three Reminders I’m Living By Now

This is what I’m learning—whether I’m in session or just trying to be a decent human after a long day.

1) Presence over performance

When I feel like I need to be perfect, I remind myself: people don’t heal because you’re impressive—people heal because they feel safe.

My job isn’t to be flawless. My job is to be here.

2) Feelings don’t always need fixing first

Sometimes people don’t need solutions. They need space.

They need someone to slow down with them long enough to name what’s true. Because a lot of suffering gets worse when it stays unnamed.

3) Care needs boundaries

If I don’t learn how to set the work down, it follows me home.

And care without boundaries turns into carrying.

So I practice transitions: a breath, a note, a short walk, a grounding exercise, even a simple “I did what I could today.”

(And yes, sometimes the transition is literally: taking the dog out before my brain starts spiraling again.)

If You’re Reading This and You Feel Like an Imposter

Let me tell you something that might help:

Feeling like an imposter doesn’t automatically mean you’re not good at what you do.

Sometimes it means you’re growing. Sometimes it means you care. Sometimes it means you’re carrying pressure alone.

Awareness is the first step.

Not awareness like “overthinking everything.”

Awareness like:

• noticing the anxious voice
• noticing your body
• noticing the urge to perform
• noticing the need to be perfect

And then choosing, gently:

presence.

So no matter what path you’re walking—whether you’re a therapist, a student, a parent, a partner, or just a human trying to figure it out—

I want to remind you:

We’re often more similar than we think.

And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop, notice, and come back to yourself—one breath at a time.

FAQ

Is imposter syndrome normal in the beginning?

Very normal. It often shows up when you care deeply and you’re stepping into responsibility. The goal isn’t to eliminate it overnight—it’s to learn how to stay present while it’s there.

What if I don’t know what to say when someone shares something heavy?

You don’t need perfect words. You need presence. A grounded, genuine response (“That sounds really hard,” “I’m glad you told me,” “Let’s slow down”) often helps more than a big speech.

How do I ground myself when my mind is racing?

Try the 5-4-3-2-1 exercise, slow your breath, feel your feet on the floor, and name one emotion you’re noticing. The goal is not to force calm—it’s to return to the moment.

This blog is for educational and reflective purposes and isn’t a substitute for therapy, diagnosis, or medical advice. If you’re in crisis or may harm yourself or others, call 988 in the U.S. or your local emergency services.

About the Author

Amar Banga is a Counseling Intern at EPP Advisory Group, specializing in anxiety, depression, and culturally-responsive therapy for the South Asian community. He provides services in English, Hindi, Punjabi, and Urdu.

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