How Becoming a Mother Changed Me as a Therapist

Working as a Relational Psychologist

I’m a relational psychologist. I believe healing happens through connection. In therapy, the relationship itself becomes part of the work—we use it to understand the patterns my clients experience in their own lives.

Part of this means carefully navigating my own emotions. As a therapist, I hold space for my clients’ pain, joy, and uncertainty—and at the same time, I notice and manage the feelings that arise in me. It's a balancing act: offering deep empathy while keeping the focus where it belongs - on the client. 

Over time, I’ve learned when to set my feelings aside, when to revisit them, and when to bring them back into the room with intention. Sometimes that process happens hours later—while driving home, on the treadmill, or in the quiet of a shower—when I can untangle what belongs to my client and what belongs to me.

Becoming Pregnant

When I became pregnant for the first time, this process deepened. The lines between personal and professional blurred in ways I had never experienced. The way I found out I was pregnant with my first child is forever intertwined with my work as a therapist. In 2021, I went to the Red Cross to donate plasma, something I had done twice before after having COVID-19 and navigating my fears during my husband's hospitalization.

As I completed the paperwork, two things were on my mind: the timing of the donation (would I make it back for my client session?) and whether I would need to disclose the possibility of pregnancy.

I decided to text my client to let them know I might be late or need to reschedule. They responded that it was urgent we meet—they had an appointment at Planned Parenthood the following day after finding out about an unexpected pregnancy.

At my appointment, I mentioned that there was a possibility I could be pregnant. The staff member reassured me there was no explicit risk to donating but added, “If you were my daughter, I would tell you to go home.”

So I left. On the drive, I picked up a pregnancy test. It was immediately positive, at just 3 weeks and 3 days.

I told my husband and my mother, processed a flood of emotions—and then sealed it all away, logging into Zoom to counsel my client through the decision to terminate her pregnancy.

It sounds brutal. And sometimes, that's the job.

The Vulnerability of Sharing My Pregnancy as a Therapist

This countertransference was unlike anything I had experienced. My pregnancy became a constant presence in the therapy room. I sought supervision, knowing I would eventually have to tell my clients, especially because I was working primarily on Zoom and my growing belly wouldn’t be visible otherwise.

Telling my clients was almost always awkward and uncomfortable. As a therapist, you are trained to minimize self-disclosure. Sharing felt necessary—mainly because I would be taking three months of leave—but vulnerable too.

It felt as if I was saying: "I had sex with my husband, and now you are losing your therapist." So awkward!

My clients responded with a mix of excitement, fear, and sadness. I hated being a source of anxiety for my already anxious clients. And yet, the further along I got, the more I looked forward to my leave.

Showing Up For Others While Showing Up For Yourself

Reflecting back, being pregnant while holding space for others added a new layer of depth to my empathy. I lived in the paradox: giving fully to my clients while learning to hold space for my own transformation. That meant holding firmer boundaries; taking breaks when I needed them, and no longer scheduling outside my designated hours. I also transitioned into working exclusively in perinatal mental health, and became more intentional about when and how I took on clients navigating birth trauma or miscarriage. I wanted to be sure I could offer them everything they needed—while honoring what I needed, too.

Motherhood, like therapy, requires a constant dance between holding on and letting go—between showing up for others and showing up for yourself.

Sometimes, in those messy, human moments—when you are holding space for others while trying to hold space for yourself—you realize both can coexist. Growth happens not in the perfect balance, but in learning to move within the tension.

You can find this article featured in the August 2025 edition of Postpartum International’s