Nobody would call what I do for a living labor, but it is hard work. Sometimes I leave the office feeling as beat as if I’d been on my feet all day swinging a pickaxe instead of sitting in a chair.

Friends, family, and even patients say they envy me. “You’re so lucky,” they tell me. “You don’t have projects hanging over your head. When you’re done for the day, you’re done.”

Seriously? I’m grateful to have a job I love. It’s stimulating and challenging. I get to work with interesting people, and I’m my own boss. There are many enviable aspects of my job, but being able to leave it at the office isn’t one of them.

Doing therapy isn’t as easy as the TV shows and movies make it seem. Or as tedious. (I know a lot of people who are devoted followers of In Treatment, but I couldn’t get through a single episode.) I spend a lot of time after hours thinking about my patients, reading up on treatment techniques, figuring out the best approach for a particular problem, and reviewing what worked and what didn’t. And when I realize I’ve made a blunder, I get really upset. After all, when you’re dealing with the human psyche, the stakes can be quite high.

In my business, mistakes aren’t nearly as clear-cut as, say, in surgery, when you know instantly and with dramatic effect that you’ve nicked an artery. As schooled as I am in reading people, I’m not clairvoyant. I may make a remark that is misinterpreted or push harder than someone is ready to be pushed. I may not discover a misstep until it’s brought up weeks later– or, worse, when a patient abruptly, with no explanation, stops coming to see me.

Sigmund Freud used to sit behind the couch where his patients reclined to pour out their deepest secrets. He claimed that this hidden vantage point, by eliminating the discomfort of eye contact, encouraged the flow of free associations. But, really, according to psychology lore, he liked not being seen in case he fell asleep.

Drifting off during a session is every therapist’s worst nightmare, the equivalent of suturing up a surgical incision with a sponge still inside. It might never get noticed or, if it does, might not have any serious consequences. But sometimes it can cause major, even irreparable, harm.

It happened to me once, to my knowledge. I was tired that day, having been awakened frequently during the night by my new puppy whining in his crate. I was with a patient I’d known for a while and liked very much. We had been doing good work together. His was the first appointment after lunch, and the combined soporific effects of the L-tryptophan in my turkey sandwich and the previous night’s sleep deprivation finally overwhelmed me. My eyelids decided to stage a mutiny, and I succumbed to the overpowering urge to shut them. I instantly jerked to attention, but the damage had been done.

Later that evening I got an email from the unfortunate person who had been at the receiving end of my narcoleptic lapse. To my horror, he told me he had seen my eyes close and informed me that, despite having benefitted a great deal from his treatment with me, he wouldn’t be returning.

Mortified, I sent him a note of profuse apology for my unprofessional behavior and urged him to come back at least once so we could talk. He did, and he was gracious enough to forgive me (much more quickly than I forgave myself, I might add). He decided, after all, to finish out his therapy with me, and my fade-out even became a running joke between us, though it took some time before I could laugh about it without feeling my cheeks redden.

I realize I’m taking a big risk by posting this story and laying bare a mistake that tarnishes my professionalism. That’s why I decided to do it. If I expect to have any credibility when I counsel others to accept their imperfections, I have to come to terms with my own.

In the words of martial artist and Eastern philosopher, Bruce Lee, “Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.” And, I would add, to make peace with them.

I’ve been doing an informal survey of workplace errors and will share some of them in my next post. Stay tuned.