How I Became a Therapist by Accident

This is not a story I tell very often. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever told this story. But it’s true. It’s the story about how I ended up as a therapist.

I have written before about how when I was a kid, I had a dream of being a pastor. The dream was quenched by conservative Christians who told me women weren’t allowed to be pastors. This message was confirmed by my conservative Christian college, where, even if it wasn’t a written policy (at least, not that I’m aware of) there were only men in the ministry program. There were a couple of women in the worship ministry and children’s ministry programs, but the pastoral ministry program was all male. 

It was also confirmed by the conservative Christian churches I attended. I don’t think I even heard a woman speak from the pulpit until my twenties - and even then it was only the pastor's wife. Maybe I met my first ordained female pastor in my thirties. 

Anyway, I joined the Peace Corps after college, and when I returned, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I had no career path in mind, no future goals, nothing except for a vague desire to make a difference in the world and to help people. 

When I was in Peru, I had worked a lot with youth. A fellow volunteer and I led a girl's group and assisted with a youth leadership class. We focused on self-esteem, confidence building, and leadership skills – for both the boys and the girls.

Coming back from the Peace Corps, I thought maybe I could do that. Maybe I could work with some kind of youth center or  help kids who had a rough start in life.

I had a personal goal of getting my Masters Degree, but I didn't know in what. I found a graduate program that had a concentration in youth services and decided to do it, kind of on a whim. It was in the area of the country where I wanted to live. It was a good school. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I knew it was a Masters of Counseling Psychology program. I did not know what that fully meant. Largely, because "counseling" is something of a foreign concept within my Christian world bubble. 

Counseling was at best something the pastor would offer. And even then, usually circumstantial, like before getting married or after a death. Seeing a secular therapist or psychiatrist was out of the question. All that psychology stuff was too "woo-woo". Maybe even witchcraft. Meditation might connect you to the devil, for goodness' sake. 

I have been to many conservative churches that practically deny mental illness is a thing. Or, maybe it's only real in extreme cases. I have heard many Christians - even pastors from the pulpit - say that Christians who are depressed need only to read their Bible more or pray more or be a better Christian. Which is a complete denial of the struggle millions of people around the country - a large percentage of which are Christian - deal with on a daily basis.

Trauma doesn't discriminate and neither does mental illness. Just as Christians can get COVID and cancer and diabetes, Christians can suffer from depression and anxiety and PTSD. No matter how devoted one is.

Anyway, I was a full semester into the Masters program before I realized the type of program I had joined. It wasn't merely a program to learn more about psychology and understanding people better and helping them. It was very specifically a counseling program training people to be therapists. Marriage and family therapists, to be more specific.

I suppose when I realized the program wasn't what I thought, I could have dropped out, but quitting is not my style. Also, funny thing was, I found I was good at it. I’ve always been a naturally good listener. Active, reflective listening, being present with people, even managing moments of crisis, come pretty easily to me. 

For someone who had no idea what to do with her life, it felt as though the career path I had stumbled onto by accident was maybe a good fit. I mean, if I was good at it, it had to be the correct path, right?

I continued through the three-year program. I did a practicum my final year and received a lot of praise from my advisor on how well I was doing and the skills I had as a therapist. After graduation, I got into a highly competitive post-graduate internship. I had an amazing experience there with a caseload of about forty as well as groups and parenting classes I helped lead. It felt natural. I thought, maybe this is what I am supposed to do - be a therapist.

For about seven years, that's what I did. I provided therapy to mostly children, some youth, and adults. I worked towards my Marriage and Family Therapist License and got close to getting it, a few times, but never achieved it due to moving states repeatedly for my husband's medical training. I completed advanced trainings and certifications in trauma therapy.

Over the time I spent as a therapist, though, there were many things that frustrated me. Insurance, for one. Even working with Medicaid was a headache. Insurance required a diagnosis. You couldn’t just say, this is a parent child issue, or a grief and loss issue, or someone who is lonely and needs support. There had to be an actual DSM-IV (V now) diagnosis.

I didn’t enjoy diagnosing people. It felt like putting labels on them… labels that would stick with them their whole lives.

Another frustration was the fact that the families I worked with dealt with problems much bigger than the depressive issues or panic attacks or behavioral problems they came in with. The neighborhood I worked in was very poor and had high rates of violence. Children walked by drug dealers on the way to school and frequently heard gun shots at night. They knew where the prostitutes hung out and which parks to avoid as they were popular gang hangouts. There were a lot of single parent and grandparent homes, a lot of undocumented families in fear of deportation, and a lot of incarcerated family members.

Sure, I could teach them coping skills and help them deal with the stressors of their life, but it didn't feel like I could do anything about those stressors. I couldn't help them out of poverty or address the gang and violence issues or the drug problems. It felt... like putting band aids on gaping wounds.

It was emotionally, physically, and spiritually draining.

After having my own kids, I knew I didn't have enough in me to keep doing therapy.

I wanted instead to work on the bigger picture issues. The gaping wounds. 

Social justice issues.

I ended up working at a church for a while in the outreach program. Trying to get church people involved in making a difference in their community and in the world around us. Trying to get church people involved in social justice issues.

I met some truly, awe-inspiring, amazing people there. Passionate people.

But... I also beat my head against a wall more than once.

Why was it so difficult to get church people excited about making a difference in the world around us?

I get people are busy. I'm busy. I'm a working mom with two young kids and a workaholic husband. I get it. But... 

I wonder sometimes. I don't think God calls us to Him merely to live comfy lives of convenience and privilege.

I think we were called for more.

Called to sacrifice.

Called to serve.

Called to bring His kingdom to Earth.

Called to seek justice.

Called to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Called to heal gaping wounds.

I don't do direct practice therapy anymore. I do use a lot of what I learned back then in the work I do now. I teach people about trauma and preventing child abuse and strengthening families. It's rewarding work, for sure. Work that hopefully makes a difference - even if it's a difference I can't always see.

But there's still a part of me wondering... Am I too comfortable? Should I be doing something more? Should I be sacrificing more?

My husband's known his career path since he was eleven years old.

I've never had one.

I still don't have a direction, per say. 

I don't want to accidentally end up somewhere again. I want my steps to be purposeful.

Still figuring out though what that purpose is.