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 often a moment in session when I’m about to introduce an intervention and a thought crosses my mind:

What if they’ve done this exercise before?

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 often the strong ones in their families.

Many have been the truth-tellers.

The peacemakers.

The scapegoats.

The ones who noticed what others ignored.

They come because so few people ask 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 also wonderfully imperfect, just like everyone else.

They are often:

• Fiercely protective of their clients

• Harder on themselves than anyone else could be

• Carrying secondary trauma quietly

• Holding stories they cannot share outside the room

• Wondering whether they could have done more

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 is 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.

The Conversations Behind the Conversations

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—the grief of losing a client.

Clinicians are a special breed.

Behind the clinical eye and the quirky glasses (which may, in fact, be part of our mandatory dress code) is a human being with a heart of gold.

The kind of person who loses sleep over someone else’s suffering.

Who replays a session on the drive home.

Who wonders if there was something they missed.

You can’t teach that kind of care.

The Humility and Humanity of It All

Working with therapists has softened and humbled 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 a therapist-client will 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, supervise associates, or complete mandated reports.

Thank you for letting me witness your doubt, your tenderness, your grief, and your humanity.

As Irvin Yalom famously reminds us, we are all fellow travelers—walking alongside one another through the same human condition.

I didn’t set out to work with therapists.

But I am deeply honored that I do.

There is something profoundly meaningful about helping the helpers.

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

Well.

Apparently, it’s a pretty good trick. 💛

Holding space for the space-holders,

Mandy