Yes.
Race matters. My race matters. Your race matters. If our races are the same, it matters. If they are different, it matters. There is an important question to be answered here, but whether or not race matters is the wrong question to ask. The right question is “How does the race of my therapist matter?” That is the question I will always be seeking answer to.
What is My Race?
I’m white. I assume that’s obvious, but really, I’m really white. According to the little spit-in-a-tube-and-mail-it-away test, all of my DNA comes from England, Ireland and Germany. White. White. White. My family came to America early. Some of my family came really early and did some regrettable things. I am the descendant of actual colonizers. I am the descendant of actual enslavers. My experience in the post-modern United States has been directly and constantly influenced by my race. I have never experienced life as a black, brown, latin or first nation person. I have only ever been white. I am inescapably white. I don’t hate my whiteness. I don’t wish I were a different color. But I do recognize there are ways that I get to live in ignorant bliss because I’m never in danger for being white. I also recognize that I look like a lot of people who have been racist toward minorities. And while you can’t hide brown skin from racist people, racist people can hide their racism from you (and sometimes themselves). It is safer for you to assume I’m racist, than it is to assume I’m anti-racist. I (painfully) recognize that I can and have often been both.
How Does A Therapist’s Race Affect Therapy?
I wish it didn’t. I try to not let it. I read a lot, and I ask a lot of questions and I feel a lot of compassion and I believe you when you tell me your experiences. But no matter how much you explain, or how empathic I am, I will never truly understand what it’s like to be anything but white in America. I know what it’s like to be a minority. I know what it’s like to be discriminated against. I know what it’s like to fear a hate crime. I know what it’s like to feel different. But I do not, nor will I ever know what it’s like to be black, brown, latin or first person.
Just like every other can of worms we chose to open in this series, I deeply believe that I have the compassion, empathy and education to help a person of a different race become the fully actualized version of themselves they long to be. But I also know that my approaches, theories and philosophies are wrapped up with my whiteness in ways I’m just too white to even see. I also know with assurance, that if what you are wanting to work through is the complex and chronic trauma that is experienced by the inescapable threat to your safety that being a racial minority in America poses to you, seeing a therapist who looks like you will help you express that. If you’re trying to work something out in front of someone who might be offended by what you’re saying, you’re not going to say it the same way. You have to be safe to express yourself. That means safe from physical harm, but also from judgment, correction, control and from being misinterpreted or misunderstood. With me, there could always be a part of you who filters what you say because the majority is in the room. There is just nothing as soothing and healing as a solemn and genuine “Me too” uttered by someone you know has experienced life as you have. I can’t give you that. But I deeply respect your right to seek therapy from someone who can. And if all of those people are full and you can’t get in to see them, I’ll be here. I’ll do my best, I’ll keep reading books, and I’ll keep believing your experiences.
I know my face doesn’t look like home, but you are safe here.