Why counselor authenticity is so dang hard

And why you should still try

I will never forget the first good therapist I had. I started seeing her while I was in an extended drug treatment program (and continued for a few years once she opened a private practice). She ran kick-ass groups and saw us once a week for individual therapy. She made jokes, apologized if she messed up (which she usually didn't), disclosed her own struggles with addiction, and overall felt human. She was the first therapist to whom I truly felt comfortable baring my soul.

Seven years and a few therapists later, I get to create an authentic space for my own clients. But it hasn't always been easy.

The ever-expanding background for my telehealth clients. Who said I can't have a limited edition poster of Thanos's Infinity Glove and a portrait of my cat as an old-timey military general in my office?

Be yourself but not really

You see, becoming a counselor is weird. Very weird. We're told to be ourselves, and at the same time, are often expected to conform to certain, ahem, standards. You know, the ones rooted in patriarchy and white supremacy?

In the beginning, I was told I fidgeted too much, that I shouldn't curse, shouldn't use fidget toys, should be this way and not that way.

So, for a while, I started to play the part. I smiled and said all the right things. I stopped getting feedback on how the way I tilted my head was distracting (yes, I actually received this comment *eyeroll*). But I also stopped getting feedback in general. Every roleplay was the same: put on my therapist mask, do the scene, and receive perfect marks from professors and students.

Despite the encouragement, I knew something was wrong. I left every role-play feeling like a fraud. In working with a lovely therapist, I realized I was sacrificing my authenticity in order to be the "perfect" therapist.

Over time, I've come to realize

that it's better to make mistakes while being

myself than being perfect.

Be yourself even if some people don't get it

I'm still figuring out how to show up as myself while maintaining boundaries with my clients, and I imagine this will be a lifelong process. But for now, I use fidget toys, I curse, I make jokes, I wear funky earrings, I talk with my hands, I tilt my head.

Don't get me wrong. I value the feedback I get from others, but I find that the people who care about my flamboyant wrist movements often don't have a lot else to add to the conversation.

At the end of the day, I think back to the best therapists I've had, like the one I mentioned before. It was their humanness that enabled me to open up, to trust that they were more than an expert in a chair. And who am I to rob my clients of that experience?

For now, when I enter the therapy room, I don't have to wear a mask. I am myself and that is enough.