Why Inclusive Therapy Matters: A Queer, Neurodivergent Reflection for Mental Health Awareness Month

By Helen Dempsey-Henofer, LCSW ADHD-CCSP

Growing Up Queer and Neurodivergent in Rural Virginia

I was a confused, socially awkward kid who didn’t see myself reflected anywhere in my rural Virginia community. Later on, I’d find the words Queer and Neurodivergent, and things would start to make sense. But in those early years, I just knew I felt different—and often, deeply alone.

I grew up in predominantly economically depressed Black neighborhoods in Virginia—in downtown Lynchburg and rural Nelson County. That shaped me in ways that don't always show when someone sees a white, college-educated therapist. The nuance gets lost. The complexity goes unseen. That invisibility has profoundly shaped my experience. This Mental Health Awareness Month, I want to share how it's influenced the kind of mental health practice I'm building at Divergent Path Wellness—hopefully connecting with your own experiences—while introducing a few of the incredible humans I’m lucky to work with.

Mental Health and the Cost of Intersectional Invisibility

I was recently talking with Thomas Harper LMSW—a therapist here at Divergent Path Wellness—about what it means to live between identities. Thomas has lived experience as a former member of a high-control religion and has navigated their own complex cultural dualities. We talked about how straddling multiple worlds can make it hard to feel fully accepted in any one of them. And how often, that particular kind of loneliness doesn’t get discussed.

That tension—of living between worlds—is deeply familiar to many, even if it goes unspoken. Research has shown that Black nonreligious folks often face marginalization from both statistically religious Black communities and broader secular, often white, spaces. The 2019 U.S. Secular Survey—which includes a special report on the experiences of Black Non-Religious Americans—named this "double stigma" as a critical barrier to mental health care. Queer Muslims have spoken about similar erasure—being told they don't exist, or worse, that they shouldn't. If you reflect on your identities, are there parts of your experience that you experience as being in conflict? Honestly, it feels strange to be saying this in 2025—but I’ve often felt that way about being bisexual in either hetero or queer community.

How Bias in Mental Health Spaces Leaves Us Misunderstood

In 2008, I had just finished grad school and was a new therapist in South Carolina with young kids. I struggled with my own mental health—but as a queer non-religious person in the Southern U.S. I didn’t feel like there was space to talk about it. The people around me didn’t seem to see me. Bias within the field meant that some identities got centered while others got sidelined. And when people saw me, they saw credentials and their own assumptions—not the grief I carried, or the ways I still flinched from being misunderstood.

Matthew Christensen MSW, another member of our team, gets how complicated it can be to be seen only in part. He works with folks who often don't see themselves represented in therapy at all—geeks and gamers with complex trauma histories, kink-involved people, and adult-realized bisexuals in hetero-presenting relationships. He creates space where clients don’t have to explain or justify their identities.

Invisibility can be exhausting. It wears people down. Research has shown that when people don’t feel safe to be fully themselves—especially in places where they’re supposed to be vulnerable—they're less likely to seek support, less likely to return, and more likely to internalize shame. That’s not just unfortunate. It’s a very real impact to our collective mental health.

Creating an Inclusive Mental Health Practice

That’s why I founded Divergent Path Wellness.

I wanted to create the kind of space I needed when I was struggling to find an inclusive therapist. A place where people could come as they are, not as they think a therapist wants them to be. A place where you don't have to code-switch or compartmentalize to be understood.

Hannah Dickey LMSW was the first therapist I hired in 2023. They were nervous in their interview—talking fast, visibly anxious. But it didn’t matter. I could tell right away that they were the kind of therapist my younger self would have trusted. Even if you didn’t share their same lived experience, you could feel that they weren't judging you. That's what I want for our clients.

That kind of safety—emotional, cultural, psychological—makes a difference. Research backs it up: people who feel authentically accepted are more likely to experience meaningful change in therapy. And the old-school "therapist as expert" model often gets it wrong. Therapy isn’t about fixing someone. It’s about being with them. Letting you lead. Knowing that your therapist's role is to hold space, not impose answers.

That’s something I explored in our blog on being imperfectly affirming: how sometimes the most healing thing we can do as therapists is to model what it means to show up human.

Ames Gersten MSW, another therapist on our team, embodies this beautifully. They're a nonbinary Jewish clinician deeply involved in community outreach. They and Matthew co-host free game nights for trans teens at the local queer center. Their work is rooted in relationship and visibility—not performative inclusion, but real, grounded care.

We all need that. We need connection. We need spaces where we don’t have to dilute ourselves to feel welcome. Especially those of us who grew up without that kind of safety.

Mental Health Awareness Month: What It Means

May is Mental Health Awareness Month in the U.S. — originally established in 1949 by Mental Health America. It’s widely recognized across organizations, schools, and media platforms to:

• Increase public understanding of mental health conditions

• Reduce stigma

• Encourage access to care

• Promote mental well-being and equity

These goals matter. But so does the how. Awareness shouldn’t flatten complexity or center only the most palatable stories. It should create room for grief, contradiction, cultural nuance, and the kind of visibility that brings connection—not more performance.

Psychological Safety, Belonging, and Inclusive Therapy

Sarah Lawson, an intern on our team from VCU, brings that kind of visibility into their work every day. Like the rest of the team, they are a queer clinician, sharing lived experiences with the people we serve. Sarah's focus is supporting people impacted by gender-based violence—a population for whom both physical and psychological safety are paramount.

Research shows that safety isn’t just about security cameras or HIPAA compliance. It’s about whether people feel seen. Whether they can name their pain without fearing judgment. Whether their intersectional truths are honored, not erased.

This month, we’re honoring all of that. Mental Health Awareness is personal—for me, for our team, and for the people we serve. It’s a reminder that healing happens in relationship. That being seen isn’t just a luxury. It’s a need.

We’re still becoming. Still building spaces that are welcoming, informed, accessible. That’s what Mental Health Awareness means to us. Not a hashtag. Not a campaign. A commitment—a commitment to you, and to all of us.

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Written by Helen Dempsey-Henofer, LCSW ADHD-CCSP, founder of Divergent Path Wellness.

Looking for a Virginia therapist who sees the whole you? Schedule a free 15-minute consultation with someone from our affirming team today.