When the Door Doesn't Open

I didn’t get onto the Level 4 counselling course.
And I’m honestly not sure why.

I did everything I could. I turned up to every session. I showed up with openness. I took on feedback. I worked hard. I gave myself to it. I even got asked for an interview, which made me think I was close. I felt a connection during that conversation, especially with one of the women interviewing me. And for a moment, it felt like something was opening.

But it didn’t.
And now it’s shut.

It hurts. Not just because I didn’t get the place, but because of everything I thought might grow around it—friendships, community, purpose, belonging. A sense of shared path. The girl I connected with? I’ll probably never see her again. And that’s its own little heartbreak.

I don’t know what went wrong. Maybe I was too tired on the day. Maybe I said the wrong thing. Maybe they saw something I didn’t. Or maybe it’s the bipolar diagnosis—something I’ve been open about, something I’ve lived with and managed with grace, but that still carries stigma in some spaces.

What I do know is: I’m disappointed. Really disappointed.
I thought this was going to be the next chapter.
And now I feel a bit directionless.

My instinct is to reach out to people who knew me back then—my old therapist, the tutors. But maybe that’s not where the answer lives. Maybe the work now is not to scramble for reasons, but to grieve. To let this be a real loss, and to trust that another path will open in time.

Because the truth is:
I gave it everything I had.
And that has to count for something, even if it didn’t earn me a place.

Maybe I’m being given space now to build the foundation I didn’t quite have. To live a little more. To soften. To reconnect with what I need. Maybe this next year won’t be a waiting room—it’ll be a workshop. A place where I shape the version of me that didn’t just survive but actually feels ready to thrive.

But right now, I’m just sad.
And that’s okay.