Scary Stories from Supervision (and What They Teach Us)
It’s October, which means pumpkins on porches, cobweb decorations in the office, and scary stories told around the fire. But at Clinician’s Incubator, we know the scariest stories don’t involve haunted houses or headless horsemen. They come from supervision.
Every clinician-in-training has their share of “oh no” moments — the ones that make your stomach drop, your face flush, and your inner critic scream. The good news? They’re rarely the end of the world, and they almost always teach you something that makes you a stronger clinician.
In the spirit of Halloween, here are a few of the “scary stories” we’ve heard in supervision — with the lessons that come with them.
The Case of the Empty Exam Room
One candidate told us about showing up for their CNS exam bright and early. Too early. They walked toward the testing center, ready to go, adrenaline pumping… only to find the building completely locked. No proctor, no receptionist, no other test takers. Just silence. Cue the horror-movie soundtrack.
For 20 minutes, they wandered around the front of the building, convinced they’d gotten the date wrong, missed an email, or somehow ruined everything they’d worked for. Finally, the staff strolled by — cheerful, coffee in hand, unlocking doors and logging into computers. The candidate hadn’t made a mistake; they were simply that early.
The lesson for those test takers: nerves can make us overprepare, and that’s okay. Build in time for error, but don’t let the panic convince you you’ve already failed. It’s gonna be okay!
The Magnesium Mishap
Another story comes from clinic: a candidate recommended magnesium citrate for constipation, but forgot one key detail — specifying the dose clearly. Their client, eager to feel better, guessed. And guessed wrong. Let’s just say the next session included the words “disaster pants.”
As funny as it is in hindsight, in the moment it was mortifying. The candidate had visions of angry calls, negative reviews, and the end of their professional credibility. Instead, the client laughed it off — but the clinician never forgot the importance of precise, unambiguous communication.
The lesson: clients don’t live inside your brain. What feels obvious to you may not be obvious to them. Spell it out: the product name, the form, the amount, the timing, the duration. Avoid jargon. When in doubt, imagine you’re explaining it to your future self on a stressful day. Clarity saves everyone discomfort (sometimes literally).
The Neighbor’s Supplement Stash
One CNS candidate shared the story of a 41-year-old male client whose neighbor had recently moved and decided to “donate” their entire supplement collection. Instead of questioning whether this was a good idea, the client simply started taking one of each — at random, every day. To make matters even scarier? He worked in the medical field.
The lesson: never assume that people’s professional background translates into supplement savvy. Clients often think “more must be better” or that supplements are harmless. As clinicians, we have to ask the question directly: what are you actually taking, and why? A careful supplement history can reveal surprising — sometimes alarming — practices that need to be addressed before adding anything new.
A Gallon of Tea a Day
Another CNS candidate told us about a client with ulcerative colitis who couldn’t figure out why they had unrelenting diarrhea. Their diet seemed mostly balanced, their meds were consistent, and nothing stood out — until a detail popped up almost casually: they were drinking a gallon of iced tea every day. Every. Single. Day.
Between the caffeine, the tannins, and the sheer volume of liquid, their digestive system never stood a chance. Once the tea habit was addressed, the “mystery” symptoms became a lot less mysterious.
The lesson: don’t underestimate beverages. They can be hidden culprits in digestive symptoms, sometimes even more than food. Always ask not just what clients are eating, but also what and how much they’re drinking.
Final Thoughts
So this October, as you sip your pumpkin spice latte or pass out candy, remember: supervision is full of “boo” moments, but they’re never the whole story. Every mistake is a chance to grow, every misstep a chance to clarify, and every mortifying moment a chance to laugh later.
The real horror isn’t making mistakes — it’s letting them paralyze you. Instead, see them for what they are: part of your training, part of your story, part of what makes you human.
Because in the end, the scariest stories from supervision aren’t really scary at all. They’re the ones that remind us we’re learning, we’re growing, and we’re not in this haunted house of clinical practice alone.