I had always expected to become a nurse, until right when I decided to attend a college that had recently closed its nursing program. Initially I declared sociology as a major, but immediately upon taking an intro to psychology class, I knew I would major in psychology—although I had no idea what I would do with it. I did not think I would go into actually helping people directly, even though I had a natural inclination to listen to and help others—which I believe came from both my father and my mother. Perfect strangers would often tell my mother their life stories.

After graduating and still having no idea about what came next, I did what people do—I went to graduate school. I was fortunate that I had chosen a really excellent program to get a master's degree in counseling psychology and I had a lot of hands-on training. Much to my surprise (for reasons too complicated to mention here) I stayed on to earn a PhD. Story of my life: I end up doing things I never planned to.

After graduate school, I took a position as a staff psychologist in a university counseling center in the South—where I never expected to live. After an adjustment period, this turned out to be a good fit. The work itself was very rewarding, and I liked being part of the staff. The students were interesting and motivated, and I enjoyed working with them in counseling as well as in teaching. I think of myself as a naturally supportive and positive person and I had just come from having been well-educated about how to actually help others, so all in all, it was good.

I had settled nicely into my new job and had every reason to believe I would keep doing it. But at the end of my first year—my very first year—the director of the counseling center called me into his office and said, "I'm going to make you the assistant director."

"No, thank you," I said, politely.

"You don't have a choice," he replied. "This is what I always had in mind when I hired you."

He had not disclosed that particular piece of information to me before and I was not very happy about it. Not only did I like what I was doing, but there were things an assistant director does that I had no interest in doing—going to a lot of meetings, analyzing usage data, writing the annual report, etc. Besides I'd only get one month off in the summer; as a counselor I had two. But, as he said, I didn't really have a choice if I was going to stay there. Surprisingly, being assistant director turned out alright. I still spent much of my time in direct counseling, learned a few new things, and it wasn't like I was responsible for the whole counseling center. I came to view meetings as really "breaks" from my "real" work.

On two occasions, I had to take the role of acting director but only for a year each time. The first time the director was going on sabbatical. I did my part for that year and happily went back to being a psychologist (and assistant director). The second occasion came a few years later when the director was promoted to assistant vice president. Naively, I thought I'd again be acting director for only a year and go back to what I had been doing. But I was offered the position on a permanent basis. I didn't really want it. I didn't want all that responsibility. I did not want to give up so much time working with students. Nor did I relish the idea of being a supervisor to my peers/friends on staff. I said I'd think it over.

At that very time, I had a chance conversation with a visitor, John Whitely, an expert on character development in college students (and a former cc director in California), and of all things, the original owner of my beloved golden retriever. He had been asked to give a program at the university and afterward I invited him to my house to see Collin, my dog. During our conversation I described what was going on and my reluctance about becoming the director. He said, "You know, I think that it would be good for somebody who isn't actually seeking that role to have it." That surprised me; he explained it a bit, and it was quite helpful at the time, although now I can't remember that much about what he said. There were a few reasons I eventually decided to take the role. My sense of responsibility and living up to expectations was one. Another was that it paid better, though not great. The VP was also very supportive and persuasive. And importantly, I (and my colleagues) didn't want a complete stranger coming in and bossing us around. That was the last thing any of us wanted. So, there it was.

That summer my VP sent me to a three-week College Management Seminar at Carnegie Mellon University. Another chance encounter there helped me adjust to my situation. A group of participants—assistant deans, deans, VPs, even a college president—were standing around waiting for a bus, and the program director casually asked us how we had gotten into our current positions. It turned out that no one had ever planned or aspired to what they were actually doing. Not a single one! I was so relieved: "Okay, I'm not abnormal. This could work."

To my surprise, being the permanent director turned out really well. It helped that I could continue to provide counseling. Fortunately, a lot of my time still involved working directly with students. I pretty much liked the director role except for the budget part. And I actually learned to do long-term planning and strategic planning (although I never came to like that very much, either). I did not, however, anticipate how rewarding it would be to work with the staff and, in particular, help them to grow and develop in their own roles. I learned to delegate appropriately, and was able to empower the staff, mentor them, and give them more responsibility. Over the years, to see so many of them blossom as professionals was truly a gift. Of course, it mattered quite a bit that they were some of the most wonderful and talented people you could ever imagine. I also learned so much from them. There were very, very few misfits in all those years. When people left for other opportunities, I was sad to see them go but really pleased for them.  And often, quite proud of them.

Of course, not everything about being director was a great fit. Technology, for example. I am not very tech-savvy or even very interested in it. (What an admission!) But that didn't keep me from adopting a well-recognized computer system for scheduling appointments and keeping case notes. That was a huge undertaking for every single person in the office and I am proud of myself for getting it done. It was a great program, but once it was operational, I faced another challenge. A few people balked at using the system because of their discomfort with computers; others procrastinated in keeping up with the daily tasks involved, so I had to come up with new and creative ways to bring them along—cajole and nag, without actually nagging.

My early and middle years as director were among the most enjoyable of my career, fun even. That was also true of my preceding years as a counselor That entire period was rewarding in a way that renewed my spirit. My colleagues were great, and by and large, the student problems were challenging but manageable. So was our caseload.

The landscape gradually changed in both positive and difficult ways. There came to be less stigma attached to seeing a counselor or a therapist, both in society as a whole and on campus. Medications improved and people who had not previously been able to attend college were able to do so. These were truly very good things. We certainly enjoyed more popularity on campus. Of course, our utilization numbers began steadily creeping up. The issues students brought to us hadn't changed that much yet—depression, anxiety, relationship concerns, family problems, sexuality, disordered eating, substance abuse, career choice, as well as the basic work of structuring one's life when first away from home—eating, sleeping, studying, exercising, time-management, going to class when you don't feel like it, etc. Our jobs as counselors weren't that different in kind; they were different in degree: our caseloads got heavier, and we could no longer provide unlimited services, requiring us to move to session limits and sometimes having to refer students off campus for longer term treatment. This was no one's preferred option. 

As time went on, the landscape continued to change, and issues did become more serious. College itself became more stressful. The pressure and expectations to perform well went up. Cultural changes and social media created more anxiety. More and more students worried about getting into graduate programs. Many students seemed to experience increased levels of distress and decreased emotional resilience. For some, getting a B was equivalent to doing poorly. Add to that the national trend of the escalating "party" culture and access to substances to provide escape, and there's a recipe for real concern. And most unfortunately, an issue that had been uncommon in my earlier years became increasingly common, suicidal thoughts. And suicide attempts. During my first ten years, I don't think there were any deaths by suicide, not on campus anyway. As that began to gradually change, it became the hardest part of the job. It was absolutely the most awful, saddest, worst part.

I recently said about a colleague at his retirement party, "He made lives better. And he saved lives." Many of us did the same thing. That meant getting very involved—even in the middle of the night. Not every life in jeopardy was saved, though most were, but losing young people in their prime, that was indescribably tough. It was awful. Sometimes students died for other reasons, illness, accidents, and every death was a loss deeply felt by the community. The opportunity to help and provide support at these times was priceless.

Things changed again after the Virginia Tech shooting. That tragedy had a huge effect on all college staff, throughout the country. In crisis situations, counseling centers have a big role to play but you also need an entire team working together, all the college functions that touch the lives of students: counseling, health services, residence life, campus ministry, university police, deans, faculty, legal experts. Like many universities across the country, we formalized our existing team structure. A strength of mine is building collaborative relationships, which are especially necessary in these situations. Many times, these connections blossomed into actual friendships. And in crisis situations those connections and cooperation really matter.

Not only did our CARE team gear up to handle crises, but potential crises as well. Threat assessment became an even more important aspect of our jobs. Anytime it came to the attention of the university (outside of the counseling center or health center) that someone might pose a threat to themselves or to others, that threat was assessed by the team, for both its severity and imminence. When the threat was either serious or imminent, the team sprang into action. Even if a threat was determined to be neither serious nor imminent, there was always some kind of action. It might be that a staff person in the student's residence hall would talk to or befriend the individual, or just keep an eye on him or her.  Or a faculty member or administrator might reach out to them. We had a deep bench on our campus, for which I am very grateful.

Something I really appreciated about our student population was that they looked out for one another and often came to us for guidance on how to get help for their friends. In every residence hall, students served as resident advisers (RAs), and received training on what to do if they became aware of a potentially serious problem. Often, RAs were the first to know. It could well be an RA who walked a troubled student to our doors. Or called after hours.  But faculty, staff, and other students did so as well.

I found great comfort and assistance throughout my career as director by belonging to a professional organization for directors of college counseling centers—the Association of University and College Counseling Center Directors (AUCCCD). At the annual conference, one could participate in wonderful programs and learn new ideas or see how others handled situations. The best part, though, was the chance to learn directly and get support and suggestions from one another, often informally. You could get a lot of good input, not just at the conference itself, but anytime through the dedicated listserve. It often happened that many of us were dealing with the very same kinds of concerns. What a relief that was! We could also compare notes on things particular to our line of work—confidentiality, for example. This is such a misunderstood concept in part because it varies somewhat in its definition among different professions. At the University Counseling Center, confidentiality was all-inclusive. We couldn't even confirm or deny, without the person's permission, whether they had even set foot in our office. Getting others on campus to understand that concept, especially before HIPAA, was sometimes a challenge. Being able talk these things through with professional colleagues at AUCCCD truly saved me. I think almost all the members felt the same.

As the years went by my role got harder due to cultural changes, social media influence, parental expectations, and increased mental health challenges, but it was made easier by the great colleagues I had, both within my office and in the university. They were the main reason I stayed in the same place as long as I did. I didn't just love the work of counseling, I also loved working with my colleagues. I knew I could count on a really wide net of caring and competent people. It also helped a great deal that the people above me supported our work. I can't imagine a better vice president for student life than the one I had, and I had him for 25 years! The same can be said of my dean, and the vice president for administration and planning.

Happily, support for our work also extended to academic deans and various faculty and administrative staff, who did not hesitate to call on the counseling center and me. I came to be recognized as one of the go-to people. I realized how important it was for people who weren't counselors or psychologists to be able to share their concerns about students and get some advice from someone who was. I did sometimes think that people gave me more credit than I deserved, but their gratitude sank in. It made me better appreciate that what I did was useful and that it was valued. It boosted my sense of self-efficacy and helped me become a more confident leader.

But still, over the later years, the job became increasingly burdensome. It wasn't just the caseload and the incidence of serious cases. Counseling center staff had to be available at all times. An on-call system had been in place for many years, but it became increasingly used on nights and weekends. "On-call" was rotated among the counselors but I, as director, was pretty much always on-call—for when things got really serious, or if a counselor needed back-up or to talk through a situation.

As the incidence of crisis calls increased, the responsibility weighed heavily on me, too heavily. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was tired. In the end, I felt it was too much stress. Not that I couldn't deal with it, but I no longer wanted to. Other things changed in the university, and I was just lucky that it all coincided with retirement age!

I loved the work of counseling center director and can hardly describe the great sense of meaning it created for me. It was important work and I'm very glad I did it. But I don't actually miss it. I stay in touch with the friends I made and have found other ways to be helpful and contribute. I really enjoy the life I have now.

My career in university counseling (I think of it as a calling) was never about career advancement. It was always about the work itself. I don't know what could be more rewarding or meaningful than sitting with someone during a most difficult time and providing an environment for healing or growth. There are many, many students that I will always remember with fondness. Being a counseling center director allowed me not only to be who I am, but to know myself better, and to continue to learn and improve my work. It reinforced many things I had known intuitively, like the value of listening and of being actively and fully present to someone. It also provided me with the opportunity to interact with a wide variety of ideas, experiences, and individuals, and to continue to learn and grow both in my profession and as a person. I was, and am, truly blessed.

A job I definitely did not want, something I never planned or dreamed of doing, was exactly what I was meant to do.