A Day in the Life of an Online Therapist (And What You Don’t See on Camera)

Lianne Perry, MA, MSc., RCC

Morning light, warm coffee, and quiet moments before the first session begins.

The calm you see and the chaos you don’t

From the outside, online therapy can look pretty serene. A softly lit office, a tidy background, maybe a plant or two. What you don’t see on camera is the dog stationed just out of view, the tea that went cold three sessions ago, and the quiet shuffle between holding space for deep emotions and remembering to drink water.

Therapists are real people too, humans with grocery lists, laundry piles, and the occasional existential stare into the fridge. But when the camera light goes on, the focus shifts completely. It’s no longer about me. It’s about creating a calm, safe space for someone else to land.

Mornings start quietly (most days)

I like to start my day slowly, before the first session begins. A walk with Joey, a coffee (or three), a few deep breaths before logging on. Some days, that routine feels grounding. Other days, it’s more like a frantic game of “where did I leave my headset?”

When I open my computer, it’s not just about checking the schedule. It’s a moment to set the tone, to mentally shift from the noise of the world into presence. Online therapy requires a kind of focus that’s both intimate and wide-lensed. You’re tracking tone, pauses, and body language, all through pixels and Wi-Fi.

The quiet choreography of therapy

During a session, a lot happens that clients never see. While someone is sharing their story, I’m listening for patterns, body cues, and the subtle ways trauma shows up...maybe a change in breathing, or a slight pull back when a topic feels too close.

Sometimes, Joey shifts in his bed right at that moment, as if he feels it too. There’s something grounding about his calm presence, a steady reminder of connection and safety. Clients often tell me they find comfort knowing he’s there. I get it. I do too.

And then there are the tech realities: an IOS thumbs up icon suddenly popping up mid-tears, a brief Wi-Fi glitch that freezes my face mid-nod, or the classic “can you hear me now?” moment. Those are the little behind-the-scenes humblings that keep it real.

Between sessions

Therapists joke that our “breaks” often involve staring blankly at the wall in silence, and that’s not entirely wrong. Between sessions, there’s note-taking, water refills, busy-busy breaks for Joey, stretching, maybe a snack, and often a quiet exhale.

Holding space is beautiful work, but it’s also energy-intensive. We don’t just listen to words; we listen to what’s underneath them. That takes presence. So, those small pauses between sessions? They’re how we re-centre. How we come back to the moment, ready to be fully there again.

The invisible parts of the job

Online therapy looks simple, just you, a screen, and another person. But there’s an entire world of quiet preparation behind it.

• Making sure lighting feels soft, not harsh.

• Creating an environment where even through a screen, someone feels safe to be real.

• Adjusting posture to stay open and receptive.

• Remembering to blink (seriously, screen fatigue is real).

  
  

And there’s the emotional behind-the-scenes too: the reflection after a powerful session, the moments of gratitude, the deep respect for each person’s courage.

People sometimes assume therapy is heavy all the time, but it’s not. There’s laughter, relief, connection, and even joy. Healing isn’t always serious. Sometimes it’s shared humour that helps people breathe again.

When the day winds down

When the last session ends, I often sit for a few minutes in silence. The room is quiet again, the light softer. Joey usually stretches, yawns, and reminds me it’s time to go downstairs and have dinner.

That’s the rhythm of this work, holding space for others, then grounding back into my own. The transition matters. It’s how I stay steady enough to show up again tomorrow.

Some evenings, I take a walk by the ocean, letting the sound of the waves wash off the day.

That’s my version of closing tabs. I think about the courage I witnessed, the shifts that happened, and the people who showed up for themselves in ways that mattered.

What you don’t see on camera

You don’t see the tears that come from empathy, the laughter that releases tension, or the small internal cheers when someone takes a brave step.

You don’t see the moments I sit back after a session and whisper, “that was big,” or the times Joey walks over mid-session as if to say, “you’re doing great, human.”

Behind every online session is a real person, one who’s endlessly honoured to witness your healing, one video link at a time.

Joey’s Take 🐾

Joey, doing his very important clinical duties, which today involve napping on the job.

My human looks calm on camera, but trust me, there’s a lot going on back here. I’ve got to keep an eye on potential deliveries, make sure she stands up once in a while, and alert her if someone dares walk down the driveway. When I was a puppy, I thought therapy was mostly about snacks and naps. Now I know it’s about helping people find their calm. I still vote for more snacks though.

About Lianne

I’m Lianne Perry, a Registered Clinical Counsellor in BC who works online with clients across Canada. I specialize in trauma, anxiety, and life transitions, and I’m certified in EMDR, a powerful approach that helps people heal without having to relive every detail of the past. My sessions are grounded, collaborative, and often a mix of talk therapy and practical tools. When I’m not in session, you’ll probably find me hiking with my Aussie, Joey, or sitting by the ocean, my favourite co-therapist.