What the Last Five Months Have Taught Me | by Yesenia Delgado

Five months ago, I opened the doors to Authentic Growth Counseling. If you had asked me a year ago if I thought I'd be writing those words, I probably would've laughed.

Last year was one of the hardest years of my life. From the outside, it may not have looked that way. I was still seeing clients, showing up to work, and doing what I had always done, but internally, I felt like I had completely lost myself. There were a lot of mental breakdowns, a lot of destabilization, and a lot of moments where I questioned who I was outside of being a therapist, outside of taking care of everyone else, and outside of simply surviving.

Around that same time, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. I had been preparing to leave Miami again, but something shifted. I realized that if I was going to stay close to my family during this season of life, I also needed something that made me feel alive. I needed something creative, something that challenged me, and something that gave me a reason to keep growing.

That became Authentic Growth Counseling.

I've been a therapist for nearly ten years. I've worked in community mental health, private practice, supervision, and a variety of clinical settings. I know therapy. I know people. What I didn't know was entrepreneurship.

Running a business is an entirely different kind of vulnerability.

I remember thinking that maybe I wasn't cut out for it. I live with an autoimmune disease, ulcerative colitis, and there are days when I have so much energy that I feel unstoppable. Then there are other days where my body reminds me to slow down. I experience fatigue, and sometimes after giving everything I have, I need time to recover. I worried that owning a business would require a version of me that my body simply couldn't sustain.

What I've learned instead is that success doesn't come from ignoring your limits. It comes from understanding them.

For most of my life, I lived with a nervous system that believed everything was urgent. Growing up in a chaotic and dysregulated family system, navigating difficult relationships, and spending years operating in survival mode taught me that urgency meant safety. If I moved fast enough, anticipated everyone's needs, and stayed one step ahead, maybe everything would be okay.

That way of living followed me into adulthood.

Then it followed me into business.

Every consultation felt urgent. Every phone call mattered. Every missed email felt like the end of the world because every client matters to me. Every person who reaches out deserves access to quality care, and I wanted to make sure no one slipped through the cracks.

Slowly, though, something began to change.

For the first time in my life, my nervous system began spending more time within my window of tolerance instead of living in constant hyperarousal. I never imagined that calm would allow me to accomplish more than anxiety ever did.

I used to think I performed best under pressure.

Now I know I perform best from regulation.

Operating from urgency doesn't create excellence. Presence does.

Urgency steals clarity. It interrupts connection. It makes you react instead of lead. The calmer I've become, the more capable I've become, not because I'm working harder, but because I'm finally able to think clearly.

One of my very first lessons in business was one that most people would probably advise against.

I hired five clinicians before we had the client volume to support five clinicians.

Looking back, I laugh.

Most people will tell you to hire one person at a time, build your systems slowly, and create your infrastructure as you grow.

I did the exact opposite.

Was it messy? Absolutely.

Has it been overwhelming at times? Without question.

Would I trade it?

Not for a second.

Because somewhere in the middle of that chaos, I found something I never expected.

I found five brilliant women.

Women who genuinely care about their clients. Women who show up with integrity, compassion, responsibility, and heart. I don't spend my days worrying about whether they're going to care for the people who walk through our doors because I know they will.

As a therapist, we're taught not to work harder than our clients.As a supervisor, I believe we're responsible for helping clinicians grow while allowing them to find their own strengths. As a business owner, though, I constantly feel like I need to work harder than everyone else because ultimately the responsibility falls on me.

I'm learning to hold all three of those roles at once.

I'm also learning how much culture matters.

As we continue to grow, I know we'll eventually hire more therapists, and if I'm honest, that scares me more than anything. Skills can be taught. Experience grows with time. But protecting the culture we've created, one rooted in authenticity, compassion, accountability, and genuine care, feels incredibly important to me.

The last five months have also taught me a lot about people.

Some friends and family have shown up in ways I'll never forget. They've celebrated every milestone, shared our work, referred clients, checked in, and reminded me that I wasn't doing this alone.

Others haven't.

At first, that hurt.

Then I read something that changed my perspective.

There are people who will never support your business because it's you, and there are people who will always support your business because it's you.

That reminded me that support isn't something we can control.

What we can control is continuing to build something we're proud of.

Building a business is incredibly rewarding.

It's also incredibly lonely.

There are nights I'm answering emails at one midnight, editing our website at one in the morning, brainstorming new ideas at two, and making sure every therapist, every client, and every part of this practice feels cared for.

Not because I have to.

Because I genuinely care.

I care deeply about creating a practice that feels different.

A place where clients feel seen.

A place where therapists feel supported.

A place where people can heal without feeling rushed.

A place where authenticity isn't just part of our name.

It's something we live every day.

The biggest lesson these last five months have taught me isn't actually about business.

It's about myself.

I'm learning to be more than a therapist.

I'm learning to be a leader.

I'm learning to trust myself.

I'm learning to reach parts of my potential that I didn't know existed because for so long I was simply trying to survive.

Five months ago, I opened a practice.

What I didn't realize was that I was also rebuilding myself.

I have no idea what the next five months are going to bring. There will probably be mistakes, more lessons, more uncomfortable growth, and more moments where I question myself.

But there will also be new opportunities, new relationships, new therapists, new clients, and new versions of myself that I haven't met yet.

If these last five months have taught me anything, it's this:

Slowing down doesn't mean falling behind.

Operating from urgency may get you somewhere faster, but operating from clarity and connection gets you somewhere that lasts.

And if I can build this practice from that place, then I know we're building something truly meaningful.

Thank you to everyone who's been part of this journey so far. Whether you've trusted us with your care, referred someone you love, cheered us on from afar, or simply believed in this dream before I fully believed in it myself, thank you.

Here's to the next five months.

With gratitude,

Yesenia Delgado