Why I Became a Therapist

I first went to therapy as a teenager. At the time, I had a lot of painful thoughts about myself and about where I fit—or didn't fit—in the world. I was going through a formative time in my life, and I was pretty certain that no one really cared to know me.

There was something so healing about being able to lay all of my cards on the table and take inventory of them. I could say the things I was thinking, look at the parts of myself I didn't understand very well, and slowly become curious about who I was rather than simply deciding there was something wrong with me.

Therapy helped me create a relationship with myself. Somewhere along the way, I realized that I actually liked myself, and that I wanted to participate in the person I was becoming.

That experience has stayed with me. It is a big part of why I became a therapist and why I still believe there is something powerful about having a place where you can bring all of yourself—the parts you understand, the parts you don't, and the parts you're not particularly proud of—and have someone be genuinely interested in knowing you.

How I Think About Therapy

I learned how to do this work with people who were going through some of the toughest moments of their lives. Early in my career, I worked in psychiatric hospitals and crisis settings with people experiencing trauma, loss, addiction, serious mental health challenges, and the aftermath of suicide attempts and overdoses.

There is no one stronger or more resilient than someone on the other side of a suicide attempt or overdose who is still trying to figure out a path toward tomorrow. I can't think of a more inspirational place to learn this work. In some of the darkest moments, I have found so much light and strength in people that it changed the way I understand resilience.

It also taught me that there is no need to be afraid of difficult things. An assault, a rape, the sudden death of someone you love, an accident, or another experience that turns your world upside down can leave you trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense. I have a lot of respect for how complicated that process can be, and I don't believe you need to have your story neatly organized before you bring it into therapy.

I've also learned to look beneath the behavior to understand what someone is trying to cope with. When a person is hurting badly enough that they are using self-harm, substances, avoidance, or other ways of coping that may ultimately make things harder, I want to understand what that behavior has been doing for them rather than reduce them to the behavior itself.

Understanding why something developed doesn't mean we have to stay there. Sometimes it is what allows us to consider what else might be possible.

We are pretty creative when it comes to avoiding discomfort. We distract ourselves, overthink, stay busy, try to control the outcome, convince ourselves we shouldn't feel what we're feeling, or simply keep moving and hope the difficult thing will eventually go away. I talk about this as going through instead of around.

Sometimes we have to slow down enough to notice what is actually happening and make room for something we would rather not feel. It isn't always comfortable, and it certainly isn't always neat. But there is something valuable in learning that we can experience difficult things without having to organize our lives around avoiding them.