Therapy Is Expensive

Many of my clients – queer and trans folks and people on the autism spectrum, with ADHD or other forms of neurodivergence – are already navigating structural barriers. These are communities that are more likely to experience both structural economic marginalization and interpersonal harm. Income disparities, underemployment, workplace discrimination, and holes in support systems all shape mental health outcomes.

And, at least for the moment, therapy usually requires a level of financial stability that so many people just don’t have.

Ongoing care can mean hundreds of dollars a month. For folks who are already dealing with economic structural barriers, plus the impacts of discrimination, harassment, or violence, that cost can be straight-up prohibitive.

There’s this cycle that I see repeat itself: financial strain contributes to distress, distress impacts capability (at school, university, work, and in relationships) and that reduced capacity makes financial stability even harder to access. So when therapy (as it usually is) is a private, ongoing expense, access disappears very quickly.

There is a need for mental health support, and the conditions required to meet that need are not evenly distributed.

Then there’s another layer: the groups of clients I listed above as already navigating economic structural barriers are also statistically more likely to be targeted for bullying and harassment. When those things happen, they don’t stay wrapped up in a neat little box, separate from the rest of the experience. They shape how safe people feel in their bodies and environments, increase anxiety and hypervigilance, erode trust in other people and institutions, and can lead to burnout, depression, isolation, and chronic stress or fatigue.

So, in addition to feeling “different” and being regularly reminded of this fact, trying to navigate systems that weren’t built with you in mind as you work or educate yourself, dealing with the personal mental health struggles that have resulted from how you’ve been treated based on your identity, you also have to pay X (big number) amount a month just to get to a baseline level of stability and support.

This year, I started working in partnership with Brock University, providing subsidized therapy through their Human Rights and Equity office for students, staff, and faculty who have experienced harassment, bullying, ableism, racism, or other forms of discrimination.

The Brock Program isn’t open to all members of the Brock community. It’s a specific program, with a specific scope. It’s designed for those who have experienced harm (violence, discrimination, harassment), but the specificity of it has an importance. It recognizes that these experiences of violence and harassment and discrimination don’t happen in isolation, and that their impact requires ongoing support and care. This program then functions as a practical way for people to access that care without having to calculate, week by week, whether they can afford to continue.

This obviously isn’t a total solution to the broader issue of access. But it is one small way of redistributing access, even partially, and of making it more likely that some of the people who most need consistent support can receive it.

For me, that’s more than enough of a reason to proudly be a part of it.