Last fall, I met a man in a tiny vegan restaurant in New York City. As we were chatting about our lives, he told me that he loves human beings and he hates people. He also told me that menopause was a social construct, but that’s beside the point. What really matters is his distinction between “human beings” and “people.” I’m still unsure of where the dividing line exists between the two groups, but at times I think back and wonder if a good therapist is just a human being. Any old human being that happens to hold a lot of love for other human beings as we make our ways through life.
Now, I have all the certificates and diplomas that certify I am a therapist. Or that I have the “necessary” knowledge to become a therapist. Last week, I even took the time to finally frame and hang my undergraduate diploma in my little home office. It now lurks behind me in all of my virtual calls and sessions (the thing is huge, thanks, UVA). As I sat with my head framed by this monumental piece of paper, I realized that figuratively or literally, I don’t think this is the thing that really “backs” my work as a therapist. Instead, I’d hang pictures of my loved ones, my dogs, funny looking bugs I stopped to photograph, good meals, and places I’ve traveled. I’d line up all of my favorite books and my favorite pieces of art, and use those to show others what kind of therapist (or person) I am.
When people sit with me in therapy, despite the enormous piece of paper behind me, they aren’t sitting with a title.
I’d sit down with people in our first session and I’d pull up the entire photo album I have of my dog and go through it picture by picture. I'd share my favorite recipes. I’d play all my favorite scenes from my favorite shows, and I'd laugh at each one. I’d tell them an awful joke I made about bananas that still makes me laugh when I think about it. I’d infodump. I’d ramble. I’d crack each knuckle on my hands. I would explain all of the inconsistencies in The Office from season 1 to season 9. I would do all of these things instead of showing that some organization (that cost me thousands of dollars) thinks I have what it takes.
In grad school, all of these pieces of information would be categorized under “self-disclosure,” the practice of intentionally sharing certain information when we think it has a “therapeutic” benefit for the people we work with. I assume it’s a roundabout way to remind us that the time we share is for supporting others, but at times I have truly believed that sharing my favorite TV show and making book recommendations, and talking about content creators we follow (shout out Anania and Gaydar), have been crucial to the type of therapy I offer. Sometimes, therapy isn’t about expert techniques or interventions; it’s about existing alongside another human being.
The therapy we know today, a distant and distorted descendant of different forms of Indigenous healing and knowledge, is a smaller branch of the larger medical system. In this system, there is an innate power imbalance between the “expert” and those receiving said “expertise.” Across the field, clinicians are slowly working to untangle our practice from the classism, racism, and ableism that have permeated psychology & social work since their creation (or appropriation). As a part of this journey, we are actively creating space for, and welcoming, lived experience in our practice. At times, that includes bringing our own lived experiences into the room. I’m deeply grateful for the work of Dr. Jennifer Mullan, author of Decolonizing Therapy, who explores how the practice of “self-disclosure” limits authentic connection. She challenges the idea that therapists should be distant, neutral professionals, arguing that rigid professional boundaries can actually reinforce power imbalances rather than create safety.
Why shouldn’t you know my age, my values, or the holidays I enjoy? Why can’t you ask who I voted for? What are we protecting by placing barriers around this information? Why can’t you know that I’m a human being too? Therapy doesn’t have to be a performance of neutrality. I’m not an all-knowing source of guidance, but someone who is here because they wanted to help others and felt called to this role. Growing up, I didn’t see many therapists that had a deep understanding of trans experiences, that could relate to my perspectives as an Autistic person, and who knew what the fuck Yom Kippur was.
So I’m here. I want to explore the complexity and fluidity of gender with you. I want to navigate self-compassion and accommodation as neurodivergent people in an ableist world. I want to see your Purim costume. If you decide to also show up to the therapy, I want you to know: you deserve to be seen as a full person, not just as a client.
If this approach to therapy resonates with you, you might be wondering how to find a therapist who shares these values. Here are a few questions you can ask during an initial consultation to explore how a therapist can prioritize lived experience and relational connection:
How do you view the role of lived experience in your work as a therapist?
A thoughtful answer might include recognizing the importance of both professional knowledge and personal perspective in creating a meaningful therapeutic relationship.
How do you approach self-disclosure in therapy?
A therapist who values authenticity may reflect on how they disclose when appropriate, not to center themselves, but to build trust and connection in a way that serves the client.
How do you work to challenge systemic barriers in therapy (such as racism, classism, ableism, and transphobia)?
This can help you gauge whether the therapist actively engages in anti-oppressive and affirming practices.
How do you balance professional expertise with showing up as a real person in the therapy room?
You’ll get a sense of whether they believe therapy is a collaborative, human-to-human process rather than a top-down “expert” model.
What does therapy with you feel like?
Some therapists are more formal, while others are conversational and deeply relational. Asking this lets you assess whether their style fits what you’re looking for.
Therapy works best when you feel safe, seen, and understood. If you’re seeking a therapist who prioritizes connection and lived experience, don’t be afraid to ask questions. The right therapist won’t just tolerate them. They’ll welcome them.
So, the secret is out. Yes, I have the diplomas and yes, I have the job title, but I’m a human being behind it all. I can be in community with you, hold space for you, process with you, and even challenge you sometimes. However, my theory is that, more often than not, I’m doing so as a human being, not necessarily as a therapist.
Maybe that’s what therapy really is, at its best.
Supervisee in social work
Providing individual therapy in Virginia
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