Why did I become a sex therapist?
Topics:
My Journey
Sex Positivity
Human Potential
Becoming a sex therapist was the last thing I imagined for myself as a child. Had someone told me during an elementary school career day that I’d one day listen to people share their most vulnerable sexual experiences and struggles, I might have collapsed in embarrassment or sheer panic. Back then, just learning what “sex” meant was enough to make me cringe—let alone imagine building a career around it. Yuck!
I began college as an art major, drawn to creativity and self-expression. But after two years of service in India and Nepal, I came home with a deepened desire to help people facing life’s real challenges. That calling led me to change my major to social work. It was there that I began to understand the profound impact of disconnection and intimacy avoidance in people’s lives.
I quickly noticed a recurring theme: compulsive pornography use often served as a way to avoid emotional closeness and honest communication. I was struck by the levels of fear, secrecy, impulsivity, and infidelity tied to sexuality. In the 1990s Utah, the prevailing language around this was “sex addiction”—a term widely used to describe sexual behavior used to escape emotions or to cope with internal pain. I became curious about this pattern and how it was being addressed.
But over time, I realized something important was missing. While we could help clients stop “bad behaviors,” that alone didn’t lead to sexual health—or to joy, connection, or wholeness. I saw in my own life how little education I’d received around sexuality, and how much cultural shame I carried. In my relationship, my partner and I discovered we had inherited stories, trauma, and scripts that didn’t serve us—and we had work to do to build a relationship that felt beautiful and thriving.
Through study and honest conversations, I came to a turning point: I had to take ownership of my sexuality. I could no longer blame my parents, culture, faith community, or even my partner. My sexuality was mine to understand, claim, and nurture.
I also began to see that the perceived conflict between sexuality and spirituality was a false dichotomy. While they can seem at odds, I found that when embraced with respect and insight, they complement and elevate each other. This realization fueled my interest in exploring cultural, spiritual, and religious traditions that view sexuality as a life-giving, meaningful force—not something shameful or dangerous.
As a therapist, I started shifting away from a problem-based lens. I let go of shame-based narratives and became more direct, grounded, and open in my work. I began helping individuals and couples move past fear and self-judgment, and instead explore the possibilities for intimacy and connection that lay beyond their roadblocks. I connected with local sex therapists, and with the encouragement of mentors, colleagues, and my partner, I pursued advanced training in sex therapy.
I stopped focusing on labels like “addict” and instead looked beneath the surface—at the unmet needs, the longings, the avoidances, and the relational patterns that shaped people’s experiences. I discovered that I loved this work. I felt passionate about helping people reconnect with their bodies, their desires, and their potential.
I believe our sexual energy and capacity for connection are far greater than we typically allow. Most of us live far below our potential—not out of failure, but from fear, misinformation, and cultural messaging. Helping people clear the blocks and move toward sexual health, fulfillment, and joy is not only deeply meaningful—it’s honestly just fun.
That’s why I’m a sex therapist.
