How in the hell do you find the right therapist? 

As a cisgender, bi-sexual, queer woman, who’s a recovering perfectionist, and grew up Catholic, I’ve spent a bit of time on your side of the screen.  When I decided to go to therapy, I needed an anxiety specialist who would listen to me, understand, and really help me. 

My therapist checklist looked something like this: 

• LGBTQ + inclusive  (especially the “B” in LGBTQ)
• Knows what it’s like to feel like an imposter
• Recognizes the effects of religious guilt, shame and saying “I’m sorry”
• Can deal with anxiety, panic attacks, and depression
• Understands bisexuality, bi-erasure, invisibility, and the bisexual closet
• Will talk about polyamory – maybe even know something about it
• Works with overfunctioning, burnt out women who want to say “no”
• Help with the stress of opening a relationship
• Is okay talking kink, kink curiosity, kink boundaries, and sex in general
• Won’t be freaked out by anything I might say
• Would not give a damn if I curse

 

Other than that, finding the right therapist was a breeze.  By the time I had the courage to start therapy, I was back to disordered eating (it had been a long time) and had pushed myself to the point of anxiety overload.  I was trying to be the perfect everything, for everyone – except myself.  Most people saw a driven, over achiever who seemed to have it together. 

What they didn’t see was me.  Married to a man, with no girlfriend at the time, I felt uncomfortable and unwanted in LGBTQ+ spaces.  In my previous relationship, I’d pretty much flunked out as a lesbian.  Years of “she’s just trying it out,” or “you can’t give her what she needs,” was too hard for both of us.  On the other hand, most straight people fetishize my sexuality, and want to talk about threesomes.  I wasn’t even sure if I was “queer enough,” and had no clue where I belonged.  I became exhausted of coming out over and over, and over again. 

As a femme, I pass as straight, and without a sign, who could tell I was queer?  I was invisible.   

Needless to say, my inner critic was having an anxiety freaking field day:

“Why are you so quiet?”  “Did that sound too needy?”  “You don’t belong here.”  “OMG Stop Whining!” 

Anxiety led to anger, followed by depression, shame, and regret.  I was frozen with fear.  That’s when I knew I needed to make some serious changes, and started looking for a therapist.  

So began a life-long journey of self-discovery.  I changed my career path, (no law school for me) and here I am years later a therapist.  A queer therapist.  The therapist I was looking for way back then.  A therapist who listens, doesn’t judge, understands the push to overachieve, and what it’s like to feel like an imposter.

I specialize in anxiety, bi-sexuality, polyamory, relationships, gender exploration ~ and most importantly ~ connection. 

It IS possible to rekindle those small moments of wonder and awe.

Let’s do it.