Psychology was born from the human desire to understand that which is not easily captured: the soul, the breath, what escapes when we try to name it. From the ancient philosophers who spoke of the psyche as a vital principle, to the experimental laboratories of the 19th century, what has always been at stake was not just measuring behavior, but seeking a way to listen to the mystery of being human. Psychology is not only a science—it’s also the art of encounter, an exercise in attention, a call to care for the invisible.
It was in this call that, without knowing it, I began to approach Psychology. Before I became a psychologist, I was an English teacher. There, among books and chalkboards, what fascinated me most weren’t just the words I taught, but the silent gestures of the students facing the learning process. Their bodies spoke, their eyes expressed, their silence screamed. Life was handing me small clues that I was already listening, even without knowing.
Books came as signs that let themselves be found: mythology, body language, multiple intelligences. Each reading was like an open door into myself. But it took a car accident for me to actually decide to cross the threshold and enroll in Psychology school.
As with every journey, there were enchantments and disenchantments. At first, I sought a metric, an objectivity in Psychology: I wanted to understand intelligence in numbers, learning in formulas. I was enchanted by cognitive and behavioral theories, perhaps less for the theory itself and more for the professor who, with passion and rigor, showed me that learning is also an act of affection. It was then that I realized: no one learns without being touched by someone. Knowledge isn’t just transmitted, it’s contagious.
But then came Psychoanalysis, and it was, as the French say, coup de foudre [literally: lightning strike; what we would call love at first sight]. There I found not just concepts, but a mirror for my own concerns. I discovered that Psychology wasn’t just a measurement tool, but a dive into what moves beneath the surface. The clinic was calling me, and with each step, my studies became more attuned to this space of listening and silence.
After graduation, life, with its mysterious generosity, began to open doors. A professor offered me her office, then another professor helped me get my own space. Courses, continuing education, specialization, a master’s degree followed—but above all came the commitment to being there, sitting, in front of another person, listening.
And what do I listen to? More than stories, I listen to life in its bareness: love, fear, the desire to be loved, pains, traumas, dreams. I listen to the silence and to the unsaid. I listen to what, often, the person themselves doesn’t know how to say about themselves. And by listening, I learn that my job isn’t to rush to solve things, but to sustain the time needed for the puzzle to take shape, until together we can glimpse a clearer image of their existence.
Being a psychologist is walking a restless path, solitary at times, and demanding at all times. It requires constant study, supervision, personal analysis—but, above all, it requires openness to be affected by the experience of another. It demands the courage to not run from human suffering, to inhabit the space where pain and hope intertwine together with the patient.
Today, on Psychologist’s Day, I look at my journey and feel nothing but gratitude. Gratitude to the masters who illuminated the path, to the colleagues who share the weight and beauty of this profession with me, and especially to every patient who sits in front of me and entrusts me with their words. To each one, I owe the opportunity to continue learning, growing, and discovering that Psychology, before being a profession, is a way of being in the world.
Being a psychologist is, at its core, an exercise in humanity. It’s being there, in front of another person, and recognizing: “I am also made of frailties.” It’s learning that listening isn’t passivity, but an active gesture of care. It’s knowing that when someone dares to speak, they aren’t just speaking about themselves, but about the human condition that inhabits us all.
For me, Psychology is this: a way of saying yes to life, even when it arrives wounded. It is giving a home to one’s being and it is also, as Mia Couto reminds us, “listening to the silence of things that do not know how to say themselves.”
On Psychologist’s Day, I toast to the listening that has become my profession and my home. I toast to the courage of those who seek themselves, and to the generosity of every story entrusted to me. May Psychology continue to be that bridge between what we are and what we can be, this art of giving a voice to silence and welcoming life in its entirety. Happy Psychologist’s Day!
Note: In Brazil, Psychologist’s Day is celebrated on August 27th, a date that marks the promulgation of the law that regulated Psychology as a profession in the country. Meanwhile, on the international stage, April 14th is celebrated as World Psychologist Day, recognized by the UN, which aims to promote debates on Psychology and mental health at a global level, highlighting the importance of psychological care and emotional well-being in different cultures and contexts.
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