The Therapist for Therapists: Why I Work With Healthcare Professionals

Who Is a Therapist's Therapist?

When I was still in training, not yet licensed, I sat in group supervision with therapists who were much further along in their careers than I was. One day, my supervisor wondered out loud about something that has stayed with me ever since. Who is a therapist's therapist? And who is their therapist? And who is theirs?

I'll admit, I've had a lot of fun with that question over the years. Sometimes I picture a family tree, with a grand-therapist, a great-grand-therapist, and branches stretching back through generations of helpers. Other times I wonder what it would look like if the chain looped back around into a circle, with everyone quietly holding space for everyone else.

What I never pictured, back then, was that I would one day choose to spend my career on that tree. Today, much of my therapeutic work is with healthcare professionals: therapists, nurses, physicians, and other clinicians who spend their days caring for others. This post is about why.

What I Learned in That Supervision Room

Every so often in that group, a seasoned therapist would honestly share how burned out they felt. Sometimes it came with tears. Other times it came with a completely numb expression, as if there was nothing left to feel.

What struck me most was how my supervisor responded. She didn't rush to fix it or hand out a list of self-care tips. Instead, she offered presence. Her message was simple: I'm here with you, and you are not alone in this.

I took in the lesson that all of us logically know we need to take care of ourselves. But knowing something and knowing something are two different experiences. It wasn't until I went through my own seasons of burnout over the years that the importance of that lesson truly sank in.

When Burnout Became Personal

I understand therapist burnout not only as a clinician, but as someone who has lived it. I won't pretend there was a single breakthrough moment that fixed everything. What helped me was a series of small, sometimes uncomfortable choices that added up over time, including, but not limited to:

• Slowly cutting down my work hours. Not all at once, but gradually, until my schedule felt sustainable instead of survivable.

• Becoming more physically active. Moving my body gave my nervous system somewhere to put the stress I was carrying from session to session.

• Prioritizing my own healthcare appointments. It's remarkable how often helpers postpone their own checkups while making sure everyone else keeps theirs.

• Setting boundaries with loved ones. That meant saying "no" even when I knew it would disappoint someone I cared about.

• Choosing things that feel joyful. For me, one of those is a CSA box. I love to cook, and each delivery feels like a little weekly present to myself.

None of these changes were dramatic. That's sort of the point. Recovery from burnout rarely looks like a grand gesture. More often, it looks like a quiet decision to treat yourself with the same care you offer everyone else.

What I've Witnessed in My Colleagues

Over the years, I've also watched colleagues I care about go through heartbreaking stretches where they felt stuck, or like they were drowning. Burnout in helpers doesn't always announce itself. Often, it shows up quietly:

• Fatigue that a weekend off doesn't touch

• Snappiness or irritability that feels out of character

• Blank stares and flat tones when discussing traumatic cases

• A sense of going through the motions in work that once felt meaningful

Some of those colleagues chose to cut back on their caseloads or scale down their practices to focus on their own care. Some stepped away from the field for a while. And a handful left and never came back.

Every one of those departures represents a person who was hurting, and a community of clients who lost a skilled, compassionate helper. That loss is a big part of why I do this work.

Why I Love Working With Healthcare Professionals

The simplest answer is that this is a population I know well, and one I genuinely love.

Healthcare professionals are some of the smartest, most hardworking, and most empathetic people I've ever met. They have the darkest of humor and the kindest of hearts. They can laugh about things that would make most people flinch, and five minutes later be moved to tears by a patient's story.

They are also people who have spent years, sometimes decades, putting their own needs at the bottom of the list. Being able to offer them a space where they finally get to be the one cared for is one of the most meaningful parts of my work.

"But Don't Helpers Struggle to Ask for Help?"

When I talk with colleagues and clients about my niche, this is one of the first questions I hear. It's a fair one. Many healthcare professionals are far more comfortable giving care than receiving it. Asking for support can feel like an admission of weakness, or like proof that you aren't as capable as everyone believes you to be.

That struggle is real. For now, I'll say this: the fact that asking is hard is exactly why it matters to have a therapist who understands what it costs you to reach out.

The Fear of Not Being Understood

One of the most common concerns healthcare providers share with me is a fear of not being understood in therapy.

I can't tell you how many therapists have told me about prior therapy experiences where their concerns were (unintentionally) brushed aside with some version of "Well, you already know this stuff." And yes, they may know the coping skills, the diagnostic criteria, and the research. But knowing the material doesn't make someone immune to pain. What they were missing was a space to simply be a human being, not a colleague to consult with or a clinician to impress.

For other healthcare providers, the concern is about the unique nature of their work. Three back-to-back hospital shifts would sound inhumane even by the harshest corporate standards, yet for many nurses and physicians, it's just another week. Moral injury, life-and-death decisions, understaffing, and the weight of patients you can't stop thinking about at 2 a.m. are not experiences everyone can easily relate to. Having a therapist who already understands that landscape means you can spend less time explaining your world and more time healing within it.

Self-Care Isn't Selfish. It's Practical.

Part of my role, as I see it, is to be the accountable reminder that taking care of yourself and protecting yourself from burnout is not selfish. It's downright practical.

You've probably heard the airplane safety instruction a hundred times: put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others. When I walk through this analogy with clients, most of them quickly see the logic. Sure, you could help the people around you first. You'd probably be breathing fine for a few minutes.

But then I ask: if you pass out because you never got to your own mask, what realistically happens next? Who helps the people you were trying to save? And how many more people might have been helped if you had done the "selfish" thing of first making sure you were okay?

Caring for yourself is not a betrayal of your patients or clients. It's what allows you to keep showing up for them, not just this week, but for the length of a career.

Why Small Changes Can Feel Like Rocking the Boat

Here's something I see again and again: even the smallest changes can feel enormous to a helper. Setting a boundary (gasp!) can feel like you're rocking the boat. Leaving a shift on time, declining an extra case, or telling a family member you can't host this year can stir up guilt, anxiety, or a fear of letting people down.

That reaction makes sense. Many healthcare professionals have built their identities, and sometimes their sense of safety, around being the dependable one. When you've spent years being the person everyone leans on, stepping back even an inch can feel like the whole structure might fall.

In therapy, we can slow that process down. Together, we can explore where those fears come from, gently test small changes, and notice what actually happens when you take up a little more space for yourself. More often than not, the boat stays afloat. And you get to breathe a bit easier in it.

"Ah! You're the Therapist for Therapists!"

Even today, I occasionally hear a client say this with a little spark of recognition. I always smile, because it brings me right back to that supervision room and the question of who a therapist's therapist might be.

I may never know exactly what shape that family tree takes, or whether it really does loop back into a circle. What I do know is that I'm honored to be one of its branches. Whether you're a therapist, nurse, physician, or another kind of healthcare professional, you deserve the same quality of care you work so hard to give others.

If you're feeling worn down, stuck, or like you're quietly drowning, you don't have to wait until you're running on empty to reach out. I offer telehealth therapy for healthcare professionals, with a focus on burnout, trauma, and EMDR. Book a free consultation and let's talk about what support could look like for you.

You've spent so much time putting on everyone else's oxygen mask. Let this be your turn.