"So...Do You Have Kids?"
What we share in therapy, why it matters, and when it’s okay to talk about your cats.
I have decided to award myself with the “Most Professional Therapist” gold star today because although I did share pictures of my cats with a client yesterday in session, I did limit myself to sharing only two pictures (one of each cat, obviously).
I am quite sure that some folks might roll their eyes about this kind of self-disclosure, but I promise it was therapeutic and absolutely relevant to the coping strategies we were identifying. Pinky promise.
Am I annoyed that I couldn’t find their absolute cutest picture in the two seconds I took to scroll through my photos? For sure. (Did I also circle back and “favorite” a better photo for future reference after my client left? Yes, I did, and I will share it with you here.)
ANYWAYS.
In Therapy World, we talk a lot about the idea of self-disclosure. Self-disclosure can include any amount of personal information shared with clients, ranging from emotional reactions to what the client is saying to sharing facts about our personal lives.
The motivation behind awareness around self-disclosure is the fact that when we share things about ourselves, we automatically “take up more space” in the room. That can impact how the client thinks about us and how comfortable they feel sharing certain things.
For example, if you knew that your therapist hated Taylor Swift with a burning passion, you probably wouldn’t feel free to use your therapy session to describe the intricate ways that your symptoms of depression feel resonant with the emotions described “The Tortured Poets Department” and note that watching the Eras Tour concert movie is one of your main coping strategies. (And this would be sad, obviously, because this is really relevant info about your theoretical emotional world!)
If I polled all of my colleagues, professors, and supervisors for their thoughts on self-disclosure, they would each have a different perspective. Some folks keep everything pretty close to the chest and don’t provide much (if any) personal information to clients. Maybe they don’t naturally share a lot about themselves with others. Or maybe they came to this decision because they really want to prioritize keeping the therapy space as neutral as possible in order for the client to bring them full selves into the room and not fear any bias or reaction from the counselor.
Other clinicians are a little more loosey-goosey with their self-disclosure and feel comfortable sharing openly about themselves with clients. Maybe they cite authenticity as a main reason, or they feel especially friendly and open with clients.
In graduate school, we were wisely counseled to err on the side of not sharing a lot with clients, especially as we were getting our bearings as brand-new therapists, which I think was solid advice. I’ve also determined that I’m not a “blank slate” therapist, fiercely guarding all emotional reactions and personal facts at all costs.
I personally fall somewhere in the middle of these two extremes–I think that intentional, balanced self-disclosure can provide a depth of authenticity and relatability in session and can add a layer of “humanness” to the therapeutic relationship.
I also think that oversharing with clients can be damaging to the therapeutic relationship, and depending on the self-disclosure, can be unprofessional or even unethical. Therapy is about the client, not the therapist, so when self-disclosure makes therapy about the clinician, it can have a negative impact.
At the same time, we’re not robots, and the therapeutic relationship, weird as it is, is still a human relationship.
Also, I’m honestly not a super private person in real life—I am way more of an oversharer than I am mysterious—so bringing mindfulness to what I share with clients can feel like I’m wearing jeans that don’t quite fit.
Sometimes I wrestle with the topic of self-disclosure when clients ask me questions about myself, and I try to keep an eye on the potential motivation behind the question.
If an 11-year old client asks if I have kids, they’re probably trying to just figure me out. How much older is she than I am? Is she super different from me? Kids are weird, having kids is weird, and I wonder if this weird lady has kids. No big deal.
Meanwhile, if a client struggling with infertility and reproductive loss asks me if I have kids, there’s probably a lot more going on in that question. This question could come from a place of safety-checking (“Will Ginny really understand what I’m going through if she hasn’t gone through it herself?”) or it may be a question about my maturity and life experiences.
I’m going to navigate this question about kids depending on the person and the context, because I want to pay attention to when a client feels vulnerable in the room. I don’t mind sharing that I’m “just a cat mom!” but I want to have a good awareness of what might be behind that question first.
Meanwhile, I will straight up dodge questions if I don’t feel great about answering them. Sometimes older clients have asked how old I am, and it felt a little like they were trying to determine whether I was trustworthy and knowledgeable based on my age. This didn’t feel awesome and put me a little on the defensive internally, if I’m being honest.1
When asked a question that I don’t totally feel comfortable answering, I’ll usually gently ask the client how this information helps them or impacts their experience of therapy, and we’re usually able to change topics and move on. Or I’ll just tell them that I don’t feel comfortable sharing, and now we’re modeling boundaries, which is cool.
I try to bring curiosity and tenderness to the table when clients ask me questions about myself, and I try to navigate questions with kindness so that I don’t prompt any embarrassment in the client.
Have I had moments when I’ve walked away from a session wishing I had shared another answer or handled a self-disclosure moment differently? ABSOLUTELY. We’re just out here learning and growing and doing our best.
Meanwhile, sometimes self-disclosure can add magic to the therapy room.
I will never forget the first time a therapist cried with me in a session. Knowing that my therapist was emotionally impacted by my story with me made me feel deeply seen and validated, and the way that they responded didn’t remotely make me feel bad or concerned about them. It prompted me to think, “Oh, maybe my pain really is valid,” rather than feeling like I needed to play the Suffering Olympics and dismiss my experiences or judge myself. It was incredible.
At the end of the day, I think that the therapeutic relationship is kind of magic, and I want to do everything I can to honor it and make sure that the client takes center stage in our work together. I also want my client to know that I am authentically invested in them and their story.
I am also here for every opportunity to talk about cats and how emotionally devastated we are by Ms. Taylor Alison Swift, all while keeping an eye on that treatment plan and the very good therapeutic work that we get to do together.
Disclaimer: This essay is intended for educational and informational purposes only. Reading or engaging with this content does not constitute therapy, nor should it be considered professional advice or a substitute for therapy. Everyone’s experiences are unique, so what’s shared here may or may not resonate with you. For more details, please review the full disclaimer on my About page before reading. To learn more about my clinical work, please click here.
For the record, kids ask all kinds of bananas questions, bless them. They can be earnest and lovely and genuinely curious, and they can be nosy little stinkers. I’ve had kiddos ask if I’ve used certain drugs or gotten up to certain shenanigans and I’m obviously not going to share stuff like that. I’ve also had teens ask if I think their boyfriends are hot and I just don’t even want to answer that question about a minor. God bless.
I feel free to disclose that yes—Frasier and Niles are, in fact, the best Boysies in the land. 🐈⬛🐈