Training Counsellors—or Training Consumers?

I’ve been reflecting on something that’s been quietly bothering me for a while now.

It seems like the counselling course I once hoped to be part of is expanding—possibly adding another day to accommodate more students. On paper, that might sound like a positive development. More opportunities. More accessibility.

But underneath it, something feels off.

Because the decision doesn’t seem to be coming from care or vision. It feels like it’s about money.
How many more students can they fit in?
How many more sessions can they run?
How quickly can they get more tutors—regardless of whether those tutors are emotionally grounded or even fully qualified?

And here’s the part that really gets me:

Despite this expansion, I wasn’t offered a place. Not even a conversation. Just… left out.
Which tells me this isn’t about quality. Or fairness. Or potential.
It’s about profit. Preference. And preservation of a system that no longer reflects the values it claims to uphold.

And that’s the deeper wound.

Because counselling, at its core, is meant to be about presence. Reflection. Relationship.
It’s meant to model integrity, not just teach it.
But when you scale too fast, when you scramble to staff, when your main concern becomes how many you can fit rather than how deeply you can train—something essential is lost.

And I’ve felt that loss.

I’ve watched tutors project instead of reflect. I’ve experienced silence where dialogue should have been. I’ve seen decisions made with no room for response—just top-down verdicts passed with emotional detachment.

And now I’m watching the same system expand. Faster. Wider. With less grounding.
And I can’t help but wonder:

Are we training counsellors?
Or are we just training consumers?

Are we creating spaces for real relational learning?
Or are we offering a product that looks like care but lacks the soul of it?

It’s not bitterness that drives me to ask these questions.
It’s grief.
Because I wanted this to be something it clearly isn’t.

And maybe that clarity—painful as it is—is its own kind of freedom.

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