How I Accidentally Became The Office Therapist By Default
I never wanted to be the office therapist, but it happened so gradually that I did not even notice the shift until it was too late. My desk is situated in the most high-traffic area of our entire building, right at the intersection of the marketing wing and the accounting department. Because I am an administrative assistant, I thought keeping my office door wide open was a professional signal. It was my way of showing that I was approachable, organized, and ready to help with anything from jammed printers to supply orders. At first, it worked perfectly. People would pop their heads in to ask about file access, printer paper, or the schedule for upcoming meetings. It was efficient and made me feel like an essential part of the team. But then, the nature of the visits changed. It started with Brenda from Accounting. She walked in on a day, clutching a stack of invoices, but she did not look at the papers. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. She sat down in the chair across from me, and before I could even ask how I could help, she started sobbing. Her cat was sick, and the vet bill was astronomical. I felt frozen. I am an admin assistant, not a licensed counselor, but I could not just kick a crying woman out of my office. I listened for twenty minutes, nodding, offering tissues, and murmuring that it sounded incredibly tough. When she finally left, she looked lighter, and she thanked me profusely. That was the moment the door cracked open for everyone else. Word spread like wildfire that my office was a safe space. Soon, the visits became a regular occurrence. Mark from Marketing started swinging by to complain about his girlfriend. He would pace around my small rug, recounting fights they had over text messages, his voice echoing off my walls. People started pouring out their life stories—family fights, sudden breakups, health scares, and messy office drama that had nothing to do with me. I felt like I was holding the emotional weight of the entire company on my shoulders. I did not know what to say in these situations, so I just defaulted to my go-to response: nodding, maintaining eye contact, and saying, 'That sounds so tough, I am sorry you are going through that.' It seemed to be enough for them. They kept coming back, and eventually, the nickname started. I became the office therapist. It was meant to be a compliment, I think, but it felt more like a prison sentence. The drain on my energy was physical. I would start my day with a clear to-do list, feeling productive and focused, but by 10:00 AM, my desk was buried under unfinished paperwork. I felt like I had to listen to everyone, even when I was swamped. I felt this crushing sense of guilt because I am naturally a kind person. I wanted to be supportive, but my work was piling up so high that I could barely see over the stacks of reports. I began to resent the very desk I sat at. I tried everything to stop it. I started wearing large, noise-canceling headphones to signal that I was deep in focus mode, but people would just walk right up to my desk and tap me on the shoulder until I was forced to slide them off. I tried pretending to be on long, complicated phone calls with 'clients,' but they would just stand in my doorway, waiting patiently or leaning against my doorframe until I finished. They would watch me, sometimes for ten minutes, until I hung up, and then they would immediately launch into their stories. It was infuriating, but I felt too guilty to be firm and tell them to leave. Then came the incident with David from IT. It was a rainy day, and I was already behind on the quarterly budget files. David walked in, his shoulders slumped, and sat down without even greeting me. He started crying because his wife had just left him. He told me everything—the arguments, the silence, the house feeling empty. I spent two hours listening to him. I did not get a single thing done. My phone was ringing off the hook, emails were piling up in my inbox, and the pile of files on my desk remained untouched. While David talked, I looked at the clock on the wall, watching the minutes tick away, feeling my stress levels soar. I realized in that moment that I could not keep doing this. I was drowning. I am not a professional, and I was failing at the job I was actually paid to do. I realized that my kindness had become a liability. My open door had effectively become a trap that swallowed my time and energy every single day. I cared about these people, but I was burning out to the point of exhaustion. I knew then that I had to change things immediately. I could not be the office therapist anymore. I had to learn how to set boundaries, even if it meant being a little less approachable. It was the only way to save my sanity and keep my job, and honestly, it was the only way to be a good employee again.