Your Therapist Isn't Always Right (You're Not Crazy)

Let me say something that might make a few people uncomfortable.

Your therapist can be wrong.

Your doctor can be dismissive. Your pastor can give bad advice. Your parent can be the one who needs correcting. And the person in charge doesn't always deserve the authority they carry just because they carry it.

I know. We were taught different.

The Setup

I started therapy again recently. I was matched with a new therapist, and I honestly went in open, ready to do the work. And ready to be honest about what I needed, which was space to process.

But from the first session, something felt off.

Several sessions down the line...She asked me questions and then cut me off before I could finish answering them. Not once. Repeatedly. I'd start to explain something, really get into it, and she'd "redirect" (her word) me mid sentence like she already knew where I was going with my response. Or like what I was saying wasn't the answer she was looking for.

I sat with it. Told myself maybe it was her style. Maybe she was trying to keep the session on track. Maybe I was reading into it.

But that last cut off!! That was the LAST cut off.

The Moment

I let it happen a few times before I said something. And when I did, I didn't yell. I didn't curse. I didn't flip the table over. I said, uncompromising, that I needed to be able to finish my thoughts. That being interrupted repeatedly made me feel like I wasn't being heard. And that if this was going to work, I needed the space to actually answer the questions she was asking me.

She apologized and it felt genuine. She acknowledged it, adjusted, and the rest of the session went differently.

And I gave grace. Because I believe in it. Because I know that therapists are human. Because I know that one bad pattern doesn't erase someone's training or their intentions. I'm still seeing her...for now.

But here's the part that stuck with me long after I left that session...I almost didn't say anything.

The Part We Don't Talk About

I almost sat there, uncomfortable, being cut off in a space that was supposed to be mine because she had the title.

Mental Health Professional. The one with the education, degree and notes on the clipboard. And somewhere in the back of my brain, there was a voice that said...she's the expert. Maybe I'm being difficult. Maybe I talk too much and take too long to get to the answer. Maybe I'm the problem.

That voice...I know exactly where it came from. Because most of us were raised with some version of the same lesson. Don't question the person in charge.

Don't talk back to the teacher. Don't question the pastor. Don't challenge the doctor. Don't make the authority figure uncomfortable, even if they're making you uncomfortable. Especially if you're a Black Woman. Especially if the room already feels like it wasn't designed for you.

We swallow it. We adjust. We shrink. And then we wonder why we feel unseen in the exact spaces that are supposed to be seeing us.

It's Bigger Than Therapy

This is about every room where someone's title made you second guess what you knew in your body.

The doctor who dismissed your pain because your vitals looked fine. The manager who talked over you in a meeting and called it leadership. The partner who used their age or experience as a reason you should listen and stop questioning. The parent who confused obedience with respect.

Titles don't make people safe. Titles don't make people right. Titles mean someone completed a requirement. They don't mean that person knows how to hold space for you. They don't mean they've done the personal work to show up without ego. And they definitely don't mean you owe them your silence.

What Speaking Up Actually Looks Like

I want to be honest about what it felt like in the moment. Because I think there's this idea that speaking up is always bold, always confident, always empowered version of yourself walking into the room in slow motion.

It wasn't like that.

My heart was beating fast. I was measuring my words. I was watching her face while I talked to make sure she wasn't shutting down. I was doing the thing we always do...managing her feelings while trying to express mine.

But I said it anyway. And the world didn't fall apart. She didn't dismiss me. She adjusted. And I came out of that session knowing that the next one would be better, not because she magically changed, but because I made it clear what I needed.

That's what self-advocacy actually looks like. Shaky voice and all.

Why I Almost Didn't Write This

After the session, I attempted to self-assess. I talked to a couple of friends about what happened, mostly to gut check myself. And what I heard back was the same, told in different ways.

None of them felt crazy. They just wondered if they were.

That's why I'm publishing this. Because the pattern is too consistent to be personal. And because talking about it out loud confirmed that I wasn't alone.

The SRS Connection

Everything we talk about in this spaces comes back to the same root: knowing your own voice and trusting it.

We talk about knowing what turns you on. We talk about saying what you need in the bedroom. We talk about not performing pleasure you don't feel. All of that requires the same muscle you need in a therapist's office, in a doctor's appointment, in a meeting, in a family dinner.

It's the muscle that says...I know what I'm feeling. I know what I need. And I'm not going to pretend I don't just because your title makes you uncomfortable to challenge.

Self-advocacy is sexual wellness. Self-advocacy is health. Self-advocacy is how you stop abandoning yourself to keep the room comfortable.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

This post is part of the Sweet • Raw • Sticky blog, a space dedicated to sexual health and wellness education for Black Women. SRS content is written by Velvet Lenae, Certified Sex Educator and founder of SRS.

If this resonated with you, share it. Screenshot it and send it to a friend.

SRS | Sweet • Raw • Sticky™

Sexual Health & Wellness Education and Advocacy for Black Women

0 Comments

Your Therapist Isn't Always Right (You're Not Crazy)

Let me say something that might make a few people uncomfortable.

Your therapist can be wrong.

Your doctor can be dismissive. Your pastor can give bad advice. Your parent can be the one who needs correcting. And the person in charge doesn't always deserve the authority they carry just because they carry it.

I know. We were taught different.

The Setup

I started therapy again recently. I was matched with a new therapist, and I honestly went in open, ready to do the work. And ready to be honest about what I needed, which was space to process.

But from the first session, something felt off.

I sat with it. Told myself maybe it was her style. Maybe she was trying to keep the session on track. Maybe I was reading into it.

But that last cut off!! That was the LAST cut off.

The Moment

She apologized and it felt genuine. She acknowledged it, adjusted, and the rest of the session went differently.

And I gave grace. Because I believe in it. Because I know that therapists are human. Because I know that one bad pattern doesn't erase someone's training or their intentions. I'm still seeing her...for now.

But here's the part that stuck with me long after I left that session...I almost didn't say anything.

The Part We Don't Talk About

I almost sat there, uncomfortable, being cut off in a space that was supposed to be mine because she had the title.

Mental Health Professional. The one with the education, degree and notes on the clipboard. And somewhere in the back of my brain, there was a voice that said...she's the expert. Maybe I'm being difficult. Maybe I talk too much and take too long to get to the answer. Maybe I'm the problem.

That voice...I know exactly where it came from. Because most of us were raised with some version of the same lesson. Don't question the person in charge.

Don't talk back to the teacher. Don't question the pastor. Don't challenge the doctor. Don't make the authority figure uncomfortable, even if they're making you uncomfortable. Especially if you're a Black Woman. Especially if the room already feels like it wasn't designed for you.

We swallow it. We adjust. We shrink. And then we wonder why we feel unseen in the exact spaces that are supposed to be seeing us.

It's Bigger Than Therapy

This is about every room where someone's title made you second guess what you knew in your body.

The doctor who dismissed your pain because your vitals looked fine. The manager who talked over you in a meeting and called it leadership. The partner who used their age or experience as a reason you should listen and stop questioning. The parent who confused obedience with respect.

Titles don't make people safe. Titles don't make people right. Titles mean someone completed a requirement. They don't mean that person knows how to hold space for you. They don't mean they've done the personal work to show up without ego. And they definitely don't mean you owe them your silence.

What Speaking Up Actually Looks Like

I want to be honest about what it felt like in the moment. Because I think there's this idea that speaking up is always bold, always confident, always empowered version of yourself walking into the room in slow motion.

It wasn't like that.

My heart was beating fast. I was measuring my words. I was watching her face while I talked to make sure she wasn't shutting down. I was doing the thing we always do...managing her feelings while trying to express mine.

But I said it anyway. And the world didn't fall apart. She didn't dismiss me. She adjusted. And I came out of that session knowing that the next one would be better, not because she magically changed, but because I made it clear what I needed.

That's what self-advocacy actually looks like. Shaky voice and all.

Why I Almost Didn't Write This

After the session, I attempted to self-assess. I talked to a couple of friends about what happened, mostly to gut check myself. And what I heard back was the same, told in different ways.

None of them felt crazy. They just wondered if they were.

That's why I'm publishing this. Because the pattern is too consistent to be personal. And because talking about it out loud confirmed that I wasn't alone.

The SRS Connection

Everything we talk about in this spaces comes back to the same root: knowing your own voice and trusting it.

We talk about knowing what turns you on. We talk about saying what you need in the bedroom. We talk about not performing pleasure you don't feel. All of that requires the same muscle you need in a therapist's office, in a doctor's appointment, in a meeting, in a family dinner.

It's the muscle that says...I know what I'm feeling. I know what I need. And I'm not going to pretend I don't just because your title makes you uncomfortable to challenge.

Self-advocacy is sexual wellness. Self-advocacy is health. Self-advocacy is how you stop abandoning yourself to keep the room comfortable.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

This post is part of the Sweet • Raw • Sticky blog, a space dedicated to sexual health and wellness education for Black Women. SRS content is written by Velvet Lenae, Certified Sex Educator and founder of SRS.

If this resonated with you, share it. Screenshot it and send it to a friend.

SRS | Sweet • Raw • Sticky™

Sexual Health & Wellness Education and Advocacy for Black Women

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