Finding Your Therapist: A Journey Worth Taking

Trust your ability to discern the right therapist for you.

Photo by Nik Shuliahin 💛💙 on Unsplash

I was in a car accident last week. I’m okay — mostly — but it meant no newsletter, no post, just me and a hospital bed and a lot of waiting.

While I was recovering, I kept thinking about Keith Bumgarner’s piece that I’d been saving for the right moment. This felt like it.

Keith writes about trauma, survival, and what it finally took — nine therapists and seven decades of living — to find real healing. His story is not easy to read. It’s also not easy to look away from. He writes with the kind of honesty that makes you braver about your own story.

Please support Keith by liking, restacking, and writing a supportive comment.

I’ll be back soon. For now, I’m grateful to hand you over to Keith.

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From being scalded with boiling water to being imprisoned for hours at a time in a wooden box, my father’s severe torture shattered my sense of safety, boundaries, and self-worth—especially when coupled with my mother’s failure to protect me.

Now at 71, I appreciate the strength and resilience these experiences forged, which enable me to share my story. Sexual abuse by adult women began when I was 10 and continued throughout adolescence, igniting a destructive sexual obsession that dominated my early life. Healing began at 67, when I finally found a trustworthy, competent therapist whose guidance helped me understand the impact of my trauma and reclaim my life. This recovery journey gives me both hope and the courage to tell my story.

I sat across from nine different therapists before I found the one who could actually help me—Kim Asher*, MS, LPC, CCH.

Nine.

If you’ve ever “started over” with a new therapist, you know what that number really costs. It’s nine rounds of hope. Nine waiting rooms. Nine intake forms that ask you to turn your life into tidy categories. Nine first sessions where you try to sound coherent while your nervous system does cartwheels.

I’m in my seventies now. I’ve carried complex trauma for decades—and the familiar fallout that so many of us learn to treat as personal defects: depression that doesn’t politely resolve, chronic anxiety, compulsive over-control, attention that misfires under stress, and a body that sometimes acts as if the danger is still happening.

So when I say “nine,” I don’t mean I was being picky. I mean I was trying to survive my own history with help that was actually safe—until my first session with Kim, when I felt something small but unmistakable: a quiet internal exhale.

The myth that keeps us stuck

We’re taught to believe that if someone is licensed and we’re willing, therapy should work. You bring the pain; they bring the expertise; healing ensues.

But therapy isn’t a rational transaction. It’s a relationship. For trauma survivors, the relationship isn’t a bonus feature—it’s the engine. That’s what nobody tells you at the beginning: finding a therapist can feel like dating, in the least romantic sense of the word. Not because you’re looking for perfect, but because your nervous system is deciding who is safe enough to tell the truth to.

And if you were trained early in life to override your instincts—to stay polite, stay quiet, stay “reasonable,” no matter what your body is screaming—then you’re especially vulnerable to staying with the wrong fit far too long.

I did.

What nine wrong fits taught me

Looking back, those nine attempts weren’t failures. They were reconnaissance missions into what my healing could not tolerate.

One therapist was undeniably brilliant—quick, polished, impressive. But when I started talking about adolescent abuse, her attention slid toward the wrong thing. Not my fear. Not the betrayal. Details. There’s a kind of curiosity that isn’t clinical; it’s invasive even when it’s disguised as “assessment.” My body knew that before my brain could explain it.

Another therapist revealed his worldview early: he believed women caused men’s problems. Then he launched into stories about his divorce like I’d paid admission to his wounds. It became clear his pain was driving the therapy, not mine.

And then there was the therapist who brought a faith lens. I wasn’t so sure about this, but I tried, because many people I respect find real comfort there. In session three, she reframed my adolescent abuse, and she suggested it wasn’t really abuse.

If you’ve never had a professional minimize your harm, let me translate the effect: it doesn’t just hurt your feelings. It teaches your nervous system that help is dangerous. That is the opposite of healing.

Each bad fit clarified the same lesson: credentials matter, but integrity and self-awareness matter more.

The three non-negotiables I finally learned to honor

After more therapy than I care to count (and more life than I ever expected to survive), here’s what I believe truly matters.

1) Trust your body.

Your nervous system is not being dramatic. It’s reporting. When I walked into Kim’s office the first time, something in me loosened—not a miracle, not “fixed,” just enough to tell the truth. If you find yourself tensing up before sessions, manufacturing enthusiasm you don’t feel, or editing your truth to avoid disappointing your therapist, your body is telling you something. Listen.

2) Expertise matters, but it’s not everything.

If you’re dealing with complex trauma, find someone trained in trauma work. If addiction, grief, or OCD is part of your story, seek that specialization. But technical knowledge without relational skill is like a scalpel in the wrong hands—precise yet dangerous. I needed someone who understood trauma and could sit with me in the mess of it without flinching, moralizing, minimizing, or making it about themselves.

3) Style is substance.

Some therapists are active and directive. Others are reflective and quiet. Neither is “better.” They’re different. You need to know yourself well enough to recognize which approach serves you. I’ve always been good at intellectual analysis; I can think circles around my own pain. I needed someone who wouldn’t let me stay in my head—someone who would gently, persistently call me back to what I was feeling in my body.

The cost of waiting is real

Here’s the hard truth: staying with a therapist who isn’t helping you means continuing to suffer. It means paying money to stay stuck. I wasted months—years, if I’m honest—with therapists I knew weren’t right because I felt guilty about leaving, worried I was being too demanding, or convinced myself the problem was me.

The problem was never me.

And if you’re reading this, wondering whether your doubts are valid, the problem isn’t you either.

Permission to leave

You don’t owe your therapist your suffering. You don’t owe them another chance if your gut tells you this isn’t working. You don’t owe them an elaborate explanation for why you’re moving on.

The therapeutic relationship is built on trust, yes. But it’s not a friendship or a family bond. It’s a professional relationship designed to support your healing. When it stops serving that purpose—or when you suspect it never did—you’re allowed to leave.

Gratitude for past help shouldn’t trap you in present ineffectiveness. You can honor what someone gave you and still recognize that you need something different now.

What finding Kim taught me

Working with Kim, the difference wasn’t mystical. It was structural.

She had the expertise I needed—a deep understanding of complex trauma, especially the kind inflicted by trusted caregivers. But more than that, she had a way of being present that made truth-telling possible.

She doesn’t let me hide, but she never shames me for trying. She sees through my defenses without making me feel exposed. She can sit with the worst of what I’ve experienced without looking away, yet she never gets lost in it with me. She holds hope for me when I can’t keep it for myself.

This is what a proper fit feels like: not comfort exactly, but a steady sense that you’re working with someone who knows how to guide your brokenness toward a path of healing.

Trust the journey

If you’re searching for the right therapist or wondering whether the one you have is actually helping, trust your experience. Trust your doubts. Trust that you deserve care that genuinely enables you to heal.

Nine therapists taught me what I didn’t need. Kim is teaching me how to handle what happened.

Your journey will be different from mine. Keep searching until you find someone who helps your body believe you’re safe again.

*Kim Asher is a licensed professional counselor and a member of ACA.

Education: The Ohio State University—1991, B.A. Psychology

Georgia State University—1995, M.S. Counseling Psychology

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Thanks, Keith, for sharing your struggle finding the right therapist and for normalizing the discernment process. I’m so glad you found Kim.

Since I came across Keith here on Substack, I was impressed with his candor about the sexual abuse he experienced at the hands of older women. This topic is rarely discussed, especially publicly, and I admire his bravery and determination to come out from under by telling his story.

In the words of Gisèle Pelicot, “Shame must change sides.”

Here are some other of Keith’s pieces I urge you to read.

The Note (part 1)

The Space Between Words

Eleven Days and Two Blocks Too Far

Nightmare at the Biltmore

You can subscribe to Keith’s publication here.