Quitting My Solo Practice (But Not the Vision)

Change rarely announces itself politely. It comes as a subtle knowing that something once was fitting has outgrown its form. That’s how it felt with Videri Counseling for me. I didn’t plan to close my solo practice, but the truth kept nudging me: it was time. Time to listen differently, to loosen what I’d built, and to trust that the work could continue in a new way.

I didn’t quit because it wasn’t working.
I quit because it was.

Okay—maybe it was a little bit of both.

I named and shaped Videri Counseling very intentionally. It was a container I built from scratch—a reflection of my values, my clinical vision, and my hope that therapy could be more than symptom management. In Latin, videri means “to be seen”—a fitting name for a practice rooted in presence and depth. And for a while, it fit.

Solo practice gave me freedom. It let me craft a rhythm that aligned with who I was becoming as a therapist. I learned how to lead myself. I made mistakes. I grew. I met parts of myself I might never have found in the safety of a group or institution. But eventually, I started to feel the edges of the container—and they felt too small.

That surprised me.

I had built what many therapists dream of: autonomy, flexibility, purpose. But the further I walked into that dream, the more I realized—I don’t want to do this alone. Not entirely. What I want now is collaboration. Community. Creative cross-pollination. Something alive and interdependent. Something that doesn’t just serve clients, but also supports clinicians as whole people.

Quitting solo practice didn’t mean walking away from my passion. It meant being honest about the shape it wants to take next.

What Videri Taught Me

Running Videri Counseling solo meant wearing every hat: therapist, scheduler, marketer, accountant, supervisor of one. The pressure was real—but it was clarifying. It forced me to reckon with how I lead, how I relate to structure, how I define success.

It also showed me what kind of space I don’t want to lead.
I don’t want to hustle for credibility.
I don’t want to carry the illusion of infinite capacity.
And I definitely don’t want to build anything that requires me to abandon myself to sustain it.

What I do want is to co-create something more human.

Solo practice allowed me to refine my voice and stretch into the outer edge of what therapy can be—especially for clients recovering from religious trauma. Videri gave me room to explore, to deconstruct, and to imagine. And now that voice wants to move differently: toward others, toward shared space, toward models that allow therapists to thrive while clients heal.

Remembering to Release

Letting go doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It means it did, and now it’s time to evolve.

Videri was a faithful container for a season of deep work. And now I’m listening for the next iteration of the vision. I’m not leaving the field. If anything, I’m more rooted than ever. But the form is shifting. I want to build something sustainable—not just for clients, but for myself and other clinicians, too.

If you’re sitting in your own moment of re-evaluation, I see you. It’s disorienting to walk away from something that looks “successful.” But growth doesn’t always mean scaling up. Sometimes it means releasing what no longer fits.

Sometimes it means saying: I’m grateful for this. And I’m done.

Questions I’m Sitting With:

• What kind of work structure supports me as much as it supports clients?

• What does it look like to practice therapy with others, not just near them?

• How do we design work lives that nourish creativity, embodiment, and care—for everyone involved?

The chapter of Videri is closing, but the vision is still alive—and expanding.