Am I Gay Enough for Gay Couples Therapy? by Haley Jakobson

When I started seeing a queer couples therapist, I was sure I was going to fail at gay therapy. I’d seen a lot of therapists over the years; all amazing, all straight. I’d long been embarrassed about the latter, especially being such a publicly facing queer person. It felt important to have an identity-aligned couples therapist, but that didn’t stop me from being scared.

Surely I’d been led astray by Dr. J, my brilliant but normie therapist, despite making leaps and bounds in my mental health journey, stepping into my queerness, and self-actualizing. In gay couples therapy there would probably be gay tests to see if I was doing gay correctly. My partner (who is a trans therapist) would quote queer literature and philosophy with our therapist and I’d only be able to recall advice from Judy Blume. My leftover straight-girl tendencies would be interrogated and my shaved armpits would be inspected and points would be deducted. I prepared myself for the worst.

Low and behold, our first couple's therapist was a terrible match for me. While I wasn’t assigned any tests and my armpits were never inspected, I did feel like a failure. Not only in my queerness, but as a whole person. I assumed it was because couples therapy was meant to be humbling. I thought that I was showing a side of myself I’d hid from my individual therapists over the years and I was finally being confronted with the worst parts of myself. I felt too basic, unevolved, grossly defensive and hardened. I sometimes felt too straight. Mostly I felt judged and that she had little interest in me as a person.

I pushed myself to continue on. I told myself I did not have to be liked by a therapist to learn and better myself for my relationship. But when I relayed what was happening to Dr. J (still straight, still brilliant) I started to see troubling aspects of this dynamic that maybe – just maybe – did not have to do with my shortcomings.

Like how she would look only at my partner when I was talking. Showed little interest in the light and breezy parts of our partnership and insisted we stay in the dark and the stormy. Most fascinating were the small moments of disclosure; learning that she too had a transmasculine partner, moments where she likened my experience to her own, other times stating similarities between my partner and hers. I appreciate disclosure when relevant in a therapeutic relationship and, although I don’t feel that she spoke out of turn or was inappropriate, each time she shared I had this nagging sense that perhaps the things she saw in me were things she did not like about herself.

For many months I brushed all that aside, told myself I was looking for any way out, but then there was Dr. J in my ear, nudging me to trust myself, reminding me that I didn’t have to feel sick to my stomach in every session to become a better partner.

I advocated for myself in that room time and time again. Told our couples therapist that her lack of eye-contact hurt my feelings, explained the ways my OCD was often at the root of my defensiveness, did solo sessions trying to form a better connection. At every turn, however, the dynamic just sucked. Eventually Dr. J and I came to the conclusion that these sessions were hurting far more than they were helping. As difficult as it was for me to consider that I wasn’t the problem in the situation and just running away from the Hard Stuff, I finally found myself emboldened enough to tell my partner I was at my breaking point. I vowed to take on the labor in finding us a better match, and he was gracious and understanding.

As I began my search, I started reflecting on why my relationship with Dr. J was so successful. How had I found such a soulful and intellectual match, one that made me feel unequivocally known, even though she was straight?

I think, more than anything, it comes down to a willingness to learn. In the six years I've worked with Dr. J I have never once felt like I needed to educate her on my queerness. This is, in part, because I told her I wouldn’t. During my initial search finding an individual therapist, I asked the same two questions on every consult call. The first: What does being a queer affirming therapist mean to you? The second: Do you have the capacity and interest to educate yourself outside of our sessions?

I remember how honest Dr. J was on our call, her admission that there were things that she may not know but that she was dedicated to learning about. Another layer of our relationship is that Dr. J is an OCD therapist, and an area my OCD attacks is my sexuality. The first time she brought up lesbian bed-death to me as part of exposure therapy, my brain glitched. That girl had done her research. As commodified and rainbow capitalism-pilled the term allyship has become, I do believe Dr. J embodies what it really means to be an ally. I have never felt more affirmed in all aspects of my identity as I have with her.

A few months after my breakups with our first couples therapist, I found Gina. A queer couples therapist with OCD who had an undeniable lightness about her. In our consultation, I told her we were looking for a therapeutic relationship infused with humor, curiosity, and a dedicated interest in the celebration of our relationship.

Nearly a year later, I have experienced a transformation in myself – and my relationship – I never thought possible. The room is bright and sunny just like Gina is, we laugh in every session, and that is all alongside showing her the ugliest parts of myself. At the end of each session, she tells us how proud she is, how big of a fan she is of our love, and even if I leave that room angry or sniffling or humbled (because, unfortunately, couples therapy continues to be the most humbling thing i’ve ever done), I can’t wait to see her again next week.

Over the course of our time with Gina, I have experienced how incredible it is to work with a queer therapist. Gina also has a transmasc partner, and that feels good to know but it doesn’t come up very often. It’s not really about the talking about queerness as much as it is the feeling; a tremendous ease and an unspoken understanding and a shorthand I've not yet had with a therapist. What’s more, it is a therapeutic relationship where I am not only witnessed, but mirrored.

Finding the best therapist for you is not about having the same identity, it’s about your identity being embraced. To me the best therapists are comfortable admitting that they don’t inherently understand you, but are steadfast in their commitment to learning all that they can.