The music blasted through the speakers, filling the studio with pulsing beats that guided our every move. Arms punched the air, feet stomped to the rhythm, and the mirrored walls captured our movements. I was breathless but absorbed in the class.
And then, silence.
The music cut out mid-song. For a split second, the energy dipped, like a balloon losing air. But without missing a beat, the instructor clapped and called out the next steps. “Step right! Step left! Arms up!” She smiled, her eyes scanning the room. We kept dancing, our movements a little uncertain at first, but then more confident as her steady cues grounded us.
Our instructor knew the moves well enough to keep us moving without the support of the soundtrack we had expected. More than that, she kept us connected. As she wove through the room, she locked eyes with participants, nodded, and smiled when someone nailed a tricky step. Despite the unexpected, she held the group together, and somehow, we made it to the end of the routine.
On my way home, I thought about that moment and how much it reminded me of the therapist I hope to become.
As my winter quarter ends and I prepare to begin a new one in just two weeks, I am aware of how much I have learned this year: techniques, theories, and strategies that will shape my future work as a counselor. But no amount of preparation will fully predict what my clients will bring into the room. Some may arrive guarded, uncertain about how to voice their pain. Others may appear fine for months before revealing a painful secret they have never shared with anyone. Just like my Zumba instructor couldn’t predict the sound system failure, I won’t always see those moments coming.
That is when I will need to rely on what I have practiced. The skills I have developed. The ability to stay grounded, even when the session doesn’t go as planned. Like my Zumba instructor, I hope to stay steady and flexible, adjusting my “steps” as needed to meet clients where they are.
What stood out most about my instructor wasn’t just her ability to keep us moving, but how seen and supported she made me feel. She didn’t shout instructions from the front. She moved among us, connecting with people individually. She knew when someone needed an encouraging smile or a nod of reassurance.
That is what I hope to bring to my clients: a sense that no matter what they reveal, no matter how chaotic things may feel, I am right there with them. I want to be the therapist who knows the “dance” well enough to improvise when needed, while also making each person feel seen, heard, and supported.
As I gear up for the next quarter, I will carry that Zumba lesson with me. Whether the music is blasting or the speakers go silent, I will keep showing up, grounded in what I know and committed to staying connected. Because sometimes, the most powerful moments, in dance and in therapy, happen when things don’t go as planned.
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I will see you next week.
Roque Neto 