When The Client is also a Therapist

There’s something poetic — and slightly terrifying — about hearing a new client say:

“I’m a therapist too.” I’ll be honest. Working with therapists was never my niche. I didn’t set out thinking, Yes, I’d love to have someone in the room who knows exactly what I’m doing at all times.  And yet… here we are.

Over the years, somehow, my caseload quietly filled up with clinicians. Therapists. Healers. EMDR-trained, IFS-trained, attachment-savvy, trauma-informed, CEU-presenting humans.  And I am deeply, unexpectedly grateful.

The Intimidation Is Real. There is a moment during my session when I am about to execute an exercise, and I wonder —What if they’ve done this intervention? 

Cue internal spiral:

• Am I about to sound like a one-trick pony?

• Is this going to feel corny?

• Are they silently grading my delivery?

• Is my tone therapeutic enough or accidentally trite?

There’s a vulnerability in working with someone who knows the scaffolding behind the room. They see the technique. They recognize the timing. They may even anticipate the intervention before I say it. And yet… They keep coming back. Which has taught me something important. 

Therapists Don’t Come for Techniques. They come for presence. They come because holding everyone else’s nervous systems is exhausting.

Because they are the strong ones in their families.

The truth-tellers.

The scapegoats.

The calm ones in crisis.

 They come because no one asks them,“But how are you really?”

The Wounded Healers. Some of the most compassionate, emotionally attuned, deeply ethical humans I have ever met are therapists who sit on my couch.

They are often:

• Fiercely protective of their clients

• Harder on themselves than anyone else ever could be

• Carrying secondary trauma quietly

• Questioning if they missed something

• Wondering if they did enough

• Holding stories they cannot share outside the room

  
  

They are, in many ways, wounded healers.

Not broken.Not impaired.But human.

And deeply feeling.

There is a particular energy in the therapy room when a therapist becomes the client. The defenses are sophisticated — but so is the insight. The vulnerability can be terrifying — but when it drops, it drops beautifully. There’s a shared understanding: We both know what it means to sit in the fire with someone.

There’s less need to explain the weight of holding suicidality. Less need to translate the exhaustion of back-to-back trauma sessions. Less need to justify why compassion fatigue sneaks in.

It feels sacred.Like tending to the tenders. Letting the steady ones rest. 

And Yes… We talk about clients — carefully, ethically, and with deep respect for confidentiality. Sometimes we process difficult cases.Sometimes we untangle countertransference. Sometimes we sit with the unimaginable grief of losing a client. 

Clinicians are a special breed. Behind the clinical eye and the quirky glasses*, which are part of our mandatory dress code, is a human with a heart of gold. 

The way they lose sleep over someone’s suffering.The way they replay sessions, wondering if they missed something.

You can’t teach that kind of care.

The Humility and Humanity of It All Working with therapists has softened me.

It reminds me:

• We are all susceptible to burnout.

• We all have attachment patterns.

• We all have blind spots.

• We all need someone to hold the container for us.

And perhaps most importantly, we don’t need new tricks. We need to feel seen.

The Beautiful Irony. Sometimes they’ll smile mid-session and say,“I know what you’re doing there.”

And I’ll smile back and say,“Yep.”

And then we keep going.

Because it’s not about novelty.

It’s about resonance.

A Quiet Gratitude. To the therapists who trust me with their inner worlds:

Thank you.

Thank you for letting me see the parts of you that don’t lead groups, write notes, or write mandated reports. Thank you for letting me witness your doubt, your tenderness, your grief. In the words of Irvin Yalom, we are all fellow travelers — sitting beside one another in the same human condition. 

I didn’t set out to work with therapists. But I am deeply honored to do so. There is something profoundly sacred about helping the helpers.

And if I occasionally feel like a one-trick pony?

Well.

Apparently, it’s a good trick. 💛

Holding space for the space-holders,

Mandy