A Sandwich, a Conversation, and a Lesson in Clinical Wisdom

It started, as many profound things do, with a sandwich.

There I was, sitting at the kitchen table in our private practice—half-eaten sandwich in one hand, phone in the other, pretending to be very engrossed in an email I had no intention of replying to. It was one of those days where your brain feels like it’s been tumble-dried on high for eight hours straight.

In walks my colleague—fellow psychologist, friend, and fellow survivor of the Tuesday afternoon slump. She sits down across from me, unwraps her lunch, and says, “Can I ask you something weird?”

Which, let’s be honest, is exactly the kind of question that makes any psychologist’s ears perk up mid-bite.

What followed was a ten-minute conversation about a client dynamic that had been niggling at her—something subtle, something sticky. We unpacked it together, both throwing out ideas, checking our own assumptions, and making a few half-jokes to keep ourselves from spiralling into existential dread (as is tradition).

By the end of it, we were both leaning forward, animated, buzzing with insight like we’d just returned from a masterclass. My sandwich was dry. Her lunch was untouched. Neither of us cared.

That’s when it hit me—this was supervision. Or maybe peer consultation. Or collaborative reflection. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what you call it. What mattered was the shared curiosity. The moment of connection. The space where we could say: “Here’s something that’s bothering me,” and not feel like we had to have it all figured out.

We didn’t sit down intending to have a deep professional development moment. We were just two psychologists trying to eat lunch. But somehow, between bites of sourdough and sips of lukewarm tea, we found our way into something meaningful.

It reminded me that learning doesn’t always happen in formal settings. Sometimes it happens over leftovers and offhand comments. Sometimes it shows up when we give ourselves permission to be real with each other—to say, “This is hard,”or “What do you make of this?” and trust that the other person will meet us with curiosity rather than critique.

So now, I hold a bit more reverence for the sandwich break. Because every so often, it becomes something more—a shared moment of insight, connection, and the kind of growth that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

And if you ask me, those are the best kinds!