Choosing a therapist? Consider their credentials, experience, and focus. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve had both amazing and terrible therapists. All of them, however, worked in places you’d never expect. Here’s where it gets sticky. They were all highly qualified, intelligent, and “knew their stuff.” I just happened to present quite a complicated one with layers and layers that a few couldn’t relate to. My last therapist didn’t work in that same environment, but she exclusively saw veterans. She looked like me, and during our first session, she conceptualized my experience as a black woman showing up to work and being misunderstood.

The first therapist was amazing. She was kind and questioned with her eyes. However, the one who stood out the most took the time to explain my symptoms and diagnosis. She was familiar with what happens to veterans, first responders, and law enforcement when they have been exposed to life-threatening situations. Repeatedly. She understood the complexity of my race and not only how it impacted how others treated me, but she also was familiar with my anger because she had been on the other side—the receiving end, not from me, but by others who looked like me. She shared books I still reference today or keep in my office.

In my private practice, informed consent has been something I’ve had to revamp, reword, rewrite, and tailor based on unfortunate experiences. More importantly, I share with all my clients what to expect in therapy. The good and the bad, but I also share with them that I may not be a good fit, and they have every right to fire me, and I will gladly and quickly provide three referrals for them. Sometimes, I immediately notice that I am not a good fit and kindly refer them. It works both ways. It is not only my ethical obligation, but I also don’t want to waste people’s time or money.

My therapists, the ones who couldn’t relate, felt like they couldn’t understand what it was like to be me in any capacity. Maybe they were misinformed about how women served in the military. Maybe they had preconceived notions about benefits and diagnosis, and although intelligent, emotional intelligence was not their strong suit, in my opinion, or they lacked empathy for marginalized groups. Or perhaps they were overwhelmed with the pressures of life, and my poor attempt to speak about what troubled me fell flat. Or my tendency to word vomit because carrying so much scared the shit out of them, and they didn’t know whether to believe me, help me, or request that a psychiatrist prescribe me a high dosage of psychotropic meds to shut me the hell up! Despite all that, I remember them as much as I remember my therapist, who finally helped me make sense of everything. Their nuances, gestures, alliances, and affiliations offer the same awareness: Please, Lord, let them be kind.

However, I’ll never waste my time again with a therapist who isn’t a good fit. Red flags are red flags. If I feel unheard, small, invisible, and notice you behaving in ways that correspond to my problem, in the words of number 45, you’re FIRED! I’ll share more about that in the coming chapters.

But, to be clear, it isn’t about me as a veteran and the services I received or didn’t receive. As a therapist, I’ve sat amongst colleagues who didn’t care about me as a human being, and that has had a deeper impact on me than anything else. Even though they did horrible things to me, I will protect their identities.