He was the kind of client who liked to sneak in jokes to relieve his own anxiety. A deflector. The kind of client who is openly gay, but emotionally closed. In telehealth sessions he rarely looked at the camera, or even the screen. His thoughts were off in the distance. He had a lot to say, but it was going unsaid. Or, more accurately, he had a lot to share, but it wasn’t being verbalized.
Social camouflage can be a powerful survival mechanism. While it can lead to compartmentalizing social identities, it’s important to value a client’s need for safety. In fact, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my LGBTQ+ clients, it’s how multifaceted identities open up progressively through tiers of trust. Codeswitching is common, as is reserving whole aspects of personal identity for those who actually appreciate it. This can make it hard to trust anyone, especially a mental health professional.
Even amongst the LGBTQ+ community there is no guarantee of acceptance, requiring camouflage just as much within the rainbow as outside of it. Pansexuals and omnisexuals may tell people they’re bi because it’s more commonly understood and socially accepted, just as bisexuals may tell people they’re gay. Genderqueer, genderfluid, and agender people may generalize themselves as queer or nonbinary rather than get into the specifics of their actual identity. Likewise, there are many nuanced facets to being a transgender person, but there’s no chance of talking about that with someone who’s unfamiliar with even the most basic Trans 101 terms. Yes, a client may talk about their sexuality or gender identity with a therapist, but at what level is the conversation? Tier one? Tier two? Tier ten?
In the back of my mind, I found myself relating to his bemused smile and his coy silence. But how could I, as his counselor, create enough safety in a telehealth session for him to share more of his unspoken authenticity? Or, at the very least, another side of himself?
I’ll be the first to say that telehealth has more than a few problems, yet having a small window into the client’s home is a game changer. I’ve had some clients proudly take me on a video tour of their house, and others who actively hid their home environment. Getting to see someone’s sanctum of comfort, or playground of self-expression, is an honor that should not be taken lightly. Yet when a client doesn’t know how to talk about themselves, a little curiosity about their external environment can go a long way.
In the background of his bedroom was a sewing mannequin. When I asked if he sewed, he laughed and said he was better with a hot glue gun. Then, when I asked what he’d been working on, there was a second of hesitation. A second of hope, mottled with the fear of rejection. The natural prelude to authenticity.
No, he wasn’t a Drag Queen. He was a Drag Cosplayer, who spent a small fortune every year transforming himself into sci-fi and fantasy characters to attend massive conventions. And he walked a fine line, in heels no less. He didn’t fit in with Drag Ball Culture, and he was sure most Queens would call him a nerd. On the flip side, not every conventioneer appreciates a cross-dressing cosplayer. Here was courage and shame in the same costume. Here was cognitive dissonance. He kept all his social media accounts private but had hundreds of people take pictures with him at every event. He was an anonymous celebrity.
This disclosure segued into a conversation about his favorite anime characters and, most importantly, why they were his favorite. People are drawn to certain fandoms for key archetypal reasons, because they resonate with a specific character, or universe, or story arc. Fortunately, I happened to grow up in the height of America’s anime revival, so I recognized not only his characters, but also his attention to detail. After that, I was updated on the status of his latest costume for the next two months. It turned out he had a soft spot for manic female antiheroes who are vibrant, loud, and completely over the top.
It takes time to build rapport. As therapists, we are outsiders, approaching each tier of privacy like a gate. It’s not enough to say friend or foe. For this client, I had to not only know the password to be let in, but I also had to speak the language. It’s because of this that I encourage therapists to take an active interest in their client’s media. Dive into their music scene, or favorite book series, or television show, or movie fandom, or video game community, because there you will learn a hidden language.
So I asked him if, in our next telehealth session, he would be willing to show up in character, and he laughed, and cringed, and said he’d have to think about it.
My next session was with Haruko Haruhara, from the spastic anime masterpiece FLCL.
My next session was with my client’s shadow, imagination, and feminine inspiration, and this time, they looked right into the camera.
File under: The Art of Psychotherapy, Musings and Reflections
Social camouflage can be a powerful survival mechanism. While it can lead to compartmentalizing social identities, it’s important to value a client’s need for safety. In fact, if there’s anything I’ve learned from my LGBTQ+ clients, it’s how multifaceted identities open up progressively through tiers of trust. Codeswitching is common, as is reserving whole aspects of personal identity for those who actually appreciate it. This can make it hard to trust anyone, especially a mental health professional.
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Even amongst the LGBTQ+ community there is no guarantee of acceptance, requiring camouflage just as much within the rainbow as outside of it. Pansexuals and omnisexuals may tell people they’re bi because it’s more commonly understood and socially accepted, just as bisexuals may tell people they’re gay. Genderqueer, genderfluid, and agender people may generalize themselves as queer or nonbinary rather than get into the specifics of their actual identity. Likewise, there are many nuanced facets to being a transgender person, but there’s no chance of talking about that with someone who’s unfamiliar with even the most basic Trans 101 terms. Yes, a client may talk about their sexuality or gender identity with a therapist, but at what level is the conversation? Tier one? Tier two? Tier ten?
In the back of my mind, I found myself relating to his bemused smile and his coy silence. But how could I, as his counselor, create enough safety in a telehealth session for him to share more of his unspoken authenticity? Or, at the very least, another side of himself?
I’ll be the first to say that telehealth has more than a few problems, yet having a small window into the client’s home is a game changer. I’ve had some clients proudly take me on a video tour of their house, and others who actively hid their home environment. Getting to see someone’s sanctum of comfort, or playground of self-expression, is an honor that should not be taken lightly. Yet when a client doesn’t know how to talk about themselves, a little curiosity about their external environment can go a long way.
In the background of his bedroom was a sewing mannequin. When I asked if he sewed, he laughed and said he was better with a hot glue gun. Then, when I asked what he’d been working on, there was a second of hesitation. A second of hope, mottled with the fear of rejection. The natural prelude to authenticity.
No, he wasn’t a Drag Queen. He was a Drag Cosplayer, who spent a small fortune every year transforming himself into sci-fi and fantasy characters to attend massive conventions. And he walked a fine line, in heels no less. He didn’t fit in with Drag Ball Culture, and he was sure most Queens would call him a nerd. On the flip side, not every conventioneer appreciates a cross-dressing cosplayer. Here was courage and shame in the same costume. Here was cognitive dissonance. He kept all his social media accounts private but had hundreds of people take pictures with him at every event. He was an anonymous celebrity.
This disclosure segued into a conversation about his favorite anime characters and, most importantly, why they were his favorite. People are drawn to certain fandoms for key archetypal reasons, because they resonate with a specific character, or universe, or story arc. Fortunately, I happened to grow up in the height of America’s anime revival, so I recognized not only his characters, but also his attention to detail. After that, I was updated on the status of his latest costume for the next two months. It turned out he had a soft spot for manic female antiheroes who are vibrant, loud, and completely over the top.
It takes time to build rapport. As therapists, we are outsiders, approaching each tier of privacy like a gate. It’s not enough to say friend or foe. For this client, I had to not only know the password to be let in, but I also had to speak the language. It’s because of this that I encourage therapists to take an active interest in their client’s media. Dive into their music scene, or favorite book series, or television show, or movie fandom, or video game community, because there you will learn a hidden language.
So I asked him if, in our next telehealth session, he would be willing to show up in character, and he laughed, and cringed, and said he’d have to think about it.
My next session was with Haruko Haruhara, from the spastic anime masterpiece FLCL.
My next session was with my client’s shadow, imagination, and feminine inspiration, and this time, they looked right into the camera.
File under: The Art of Psychotherapy, Musings and Reflections