Many of my clients share something in common with me: assigned female at birth, East Asian family background, overseas living experience, high sensitivity, high functioning, queer and/or neurodivergent identity, or personal history with nontraditional relationships and loss.
This raises a question I often hear: Should you look for a therapist who’s “like you”?
To answer it, I need to trace the path of how I’ve come to understand my place in this work.
🌱 Phase One: Admiring the “System Insiders”
When I first moved to the Netherlands, I looked up—almost with awe—to therapists working in the GGZ, the Dutch public mental health system.
They had six to ten years of training, followed strict ethical codes, worked within standardized procedures, and could have their sessions reimbursed by national health insurance. To me, that was the gold seal of legitimacy—proof they were “inside the system.”
They seemed scientific, elite, and unquestionably professional. And because their training was entirely in Dutch, it was almost impossible for international students to follow the same path. That triggered my East Asian meritocratic mindset1: “The harder it is, the more it proves excellence—so I should push myself to achieve the ‘impossible.’”
But over time, the shine began to fade.
🌬️ Phase Two: When Authority Isn’t What’s Needed
I started to notice that not all clients resonated with GGZ therapists. Some described them as too rational, too boundaried—ethically impeccable, yet emotionally distant.
“She’s very professional, but I feel she only understands me in her head. She doesn’t feel me.”
“We’ve always stuck to the problem at hand. I never thought the relationship itself could be healing.”
In a system centered on diagnoses, symptoms, and standardized protocols, clients can end up feeling like “a case to be treated” rather than “a person to be known.”
Even the insurance coverage I once equated with prestige revealed its drawbacks: endless paperwork, rigid rules.
And then there’s a story many in diaspora communities know well: a white therapist who simply can’t connect with the lived experience of an East Asian client. For some people, sharing language and cultural context isn’t a bonus—it’s non-negotiable.
That’s when I began to see my own strengths more clearly: cultural sensitivity, awareness of power structures, understanding of diverse relationships, a humanistic approach that centers the person, not just the problem (and yes—even the shared frustration of struggling to find housing).
For women, migrants, queer folks, people of color, and neurodivergent individuals, sometimes “You get me” matters more than “You’re the authority.”
🌊 Phase Three: The Double-Edged Nature of Empathy
Having a therapist who’s “like you” can be both a gift and a risk.
My supervisors and peers often remind me: empathy must never turn into “slipping my own baggage into the session.” I have to be careful not to project my experiences, feelings, or values onto my clients.
Protecting the client means staying deeply self-aware, maintaining boundaries that are clear yet flexible, and committing to my own therapy.
“We’re alike” can open the door to trust.
“I see you as you, not as a reflection of me” is what allows real healing.
🪶 So—Should You Look for Someone Like You?
There’s no one right answer.
At certain points in life, working with someone who shares your identity or experience can offer courage, validation, and hope. At other times, someone very different from you can open up entirely new ways of seeing yourself and the world.
May you meet the therapist who, at the right moment and in the right way, truly gets you.
See Ding, seeding 