What Made The Difference

Embracing the light of self-discovery as the door to vulnerability gently opens.

I remember walking into a new therapist's office early in my career as a therapist myself. I carried with me a long string of experiences in which therapists had disappointed me — moments where I had a strong sense that someone couldn't hold what I needed them to, couldn't be with my authentic experience, or after I had shared myself, tried to fix me. There were other moments where I felt ashamed or invalidated. The feeling of having to consistently retreat inside myself and hide — in a setting where I was supposed to be exploring and growing — felt logically incompatible and emotionally unbearable.

Sure, my nervous system is sensitive. Sure, I notice things that not everyone does. But something in me refused to make this a me problem.

So when I walked into this new therapist's office, I told her plainly: most therapists I had worked with hadn't worked out for me. In so many ways, this was another test. A light outreach, made up of a small openness whispering can you meet me? — and the rest of it was skepticism. I was ready to turn away and not waste my time.

She responded gently: "I am absolutely going to do something wrong. And when I do, I want to know about it." And then: "I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea, and that's okay. I might not be yours."

Something shifted in me. I wasn't fully convinced yet — but the opening in my heart got a little bigger. Enough to try.

What Her Response Actually Did

Her words did a few things at once.

They gave me permission to not be stuck. They equalized us — we were collaborative, and we both had choice. I wasn't at the mercy of someone in an authority position, like a child with a teacher or a parent. She wasn't positioning herself above me, and she wasn't afraid of her own mistakes, her own blind spots, or the possibility that something between us might bring up uncomfortable material for both of us.

She wasn't afraid of that. And that changed everything.

I ended up working with her for four years, until she retired. She wasn't trained in a long list of fancy modalities. She wasn't a big name. She was in private practice, taking insurance. I have since worked with specialists who have invested heavily in their own training, and I have found her particular quality to be rare — even among them.

What set her apart was that she was willing to be relational. She was willing to see herself as a human being in the room with another human being. Her ego did not need to hold authority over me. She was willing to explore impact when missteps happened, and to focus on perspective rather than on who was right and who was wrong.

I learned so much from her. I am still integrating it.

Why Rupture and Repair Actually Matter

Every therapist works differently — and I want to be clear about that. But I believe that for real healing to happen, transference has to be allowed into the room.

Transference is when a client projects onto, or is genuinely impacted by, the therapist. It is not a problem to be managed. It is some of the most important material in the room. Because after a lifetime of relational ruptures in one-down positions — where someone with more power didn't see you, dismissed you, or made you feel wrong for how you showed up — one of the most powerful remedies is being in a similar dynamic and having something different happen. Having someone meet you with respect. With curiosity. Without shame.

This is why, in my own work, I hold a foundation of mutual respect — and I actively invite rupture and repair. I celebrate transference, because when something new happens in a moment that once felt familiar and threatening, that is where real change lives.

What I Hope You Look For

If you are looking for a therapist, here is what I hope for you.

Look for someone who can hold the tension with you — not someone who is looking to fix you, and not someone who will pull you into the trap of right and wrong. Look for someone who will sit with you in the humanness of your experience. Someone who honors the history that your present moment carries. Someone who is honest about their own stuff and consciously mindful about how it shows up in the room. Someone who is willing to be human with you — not just apologize, but actually listen. And who, in turn, helps you listen more deeply to yourself.

Some people worry: if I'm not being challenged, how will I change? There is a phrase from DBT that I return to often: acceptance is the prerequisite to change. I would add to that — the shame and pain that come when we feel wrong keep us from changing. When we feel genuine acceptance first, real compassion, something begins to move. We can breathe more deeply. We can negotiate with ourselves from a place of consent rather than resistance. We can have the missing experiences that led to the behaviors we struggle with in the first place. Real transformation becomes possible.

You don't have to show up to therapy ready to share everything. With someone new, you probably shouldn't. But finding someone who is willing to accept you — to hold what feels messy — might be exactly what makes the difference.

Because the possibility of being whole, of showing up however you authentically are on any given day, is what really matters.