The final mile: reflecting on the marathon that is the Counselling Psychology Doctorate

Sometimes we are fortunate to hear from blog writers more than once. Ave previously reflected on the experiences of being a Counselling Psychologist in training. Today, she writes about the final little bit on her way to qualifying. Recently we had the London- and Manchester marathons in the news. Ave has been running a marathon of her own- the Counselling Psychology Doctorate, and she is just about to cross the finishing line. 

The Final Mile: Reflecting on the Marathon That Is the Counselling

Psychology Doctorate; 

by Ave Kotze

It’s hard to believe that I’m nearly at the end of my doctoral journey in Counselling Psychology. Just the viva remains. I find myself asking—where have the last four years gone? It feels like I’ve been on this course forever, and yet I can still recall my first day with crystal clarity.

I remember pulling into the car park, meeting a few equally confused and lost first-year counselling trainees. We wandered around, unsure of where to go, bonding in that strange mixture of anxiety and anticipation. That memory reminds me so vividly of another day in October 2018—standing in a different car park, just before the start of the Cardiff Half Marathon.

I arrived early to ensure I had time to find my bearings. Around me were countless others, all sharing the same look of nervous anticipation. We were all heading toward the starting line. Butterflies filled my stomach. Why am I here? I can’t do this! I had those same thoughts on my first day in the classroom, sitting anxiously in 0H11.

At the start of both journeys, there was a heady mix of excitement and nervousness. When the gun fired at the half marathon, I was launched into a sprint—not because I meant to, but because I couldn’t help myself. I found a rhythm, but it took time. I looked around, trying to gauge my pace, comparing myself to others, wondering if I could sustain this speed. It wasn’t long before the self-doubt crept in. What if I can’t do this? That feeling mirrored my first year in training—convinced I wasn’t smart enough, pushing extra hard to prove myself, afraid of falling behind.

As the months and modules passed, I settled into a kind of rhythm. The process of reading, writing, placement, and supervision became familiar, even automatic—much like how my legs carried me forward in the race without conscious thought. There’s beauty in that flow, but also a numbing effect. You try to stay present, to soak in the atmosphere, but often it’s all a blur. You keep moving forward, sometimes forgetting why.

And then, inevitably, you hit the wall.

Year three of my four study years. The exhaustion set in. I found myself wondering: Why did I sign up for this? Why didn’t anyone stop me? Impostor syndrome hit hard, and the weight of everything—the thesis, the clinical hours, the life I had put on hold—felt crushing. But turning back was never an option. I had come too far. I told myself, just keep going. Like in the race, where my legs felt heavy and distant, I had moments of feeling disconnected from myself, running on fumes. But I kept going.

And yet, even in those moments, there were flashes of encouragement. At the Cardiff Half, it was the beat of African drums or the cheers of strangers that lifted me.

On the Doctorate, it was the DCoP (Division of Counselling Psychology) Conference, peers who truly got it, supervisors who believed in me when I didn’t. The nourishment came in short bursts—like drink stations in a race—gone too quickly, but just enough to carry me forward.

Then, suddenly, the sign: 1 mile left.

How could it be? I was awake again. Everything hurt, but there was no turning back now, no stopping. I encouraged others along the way, as others did for me. And then, the final hill—the thesis. You know it’s coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier. You tighten your core and dig deep. Every part of you screams to stop. But you don’t. You fantasise about resting, about the moment it’s all over. You picture that sweet finish line.

And there it is. You can almost see it. The crowd—family, friends, colleagues—cheers louder. You keep going, holding back tears. You’re tired, but you’re proud. So proud. You don’t want to stumble now.

You dig deep for those last few steps.

As I write this, I haven’t yet crossed that line. But if the end of this doctorate journey feels anything like the end of that half marathon, I know it will be precious. The tears will come. Not just tears of joy, but of exhaustion, disbelief, and overwhelming relief. I will clutch my "medal";—my degree—in trembling hands, and I will cry. And then someone will ask, what’s next? But I won’t be ready to think about that just yet.

I’ll just want to stop. To breathe. To honour what I’ve done.

In the weeks that follow, I’ll try to explain the experience. But many won’t quite understand. To some, it will just be another thing Ave has done well. They won’t see the self-doubt, the cramping, the wall. But I’ll know. And so will my tribe—my fellow runners, my fellow trainees. We’ll sit in silence, smiles on our faces, tears in our eyes.

We did it.

Thank you Ave, truly inspiring to think of those steps, those miles, those walls, and how you mastered each one in turn. There is no doubt the finishing line will soon be within your grasp. Choosing a career in Psychology is never straight forward. There are often many twists and turns you couldn't plan for and it calls on determination and commitment to cross the finishing line. 

Maybe Ave's reflections have stirred a memory in you- a similar experience as you were completing your studies, or maybe you are about to embark on your first run- with all of its newness and uncertainty. We welcome all trainee- and qualified Practitioner Psychologists, Psychotherapists, Psychological Wellbeing Practitioners, and Counsellors to write for the blog. Each entry adds valuable ideas and reflections to inspire aspirant Psychologists out there. Please get in touch if you wanted to add your own entry.

Kind regards,

The Pathways team.