The Truth About Why I Became a Therapist

Therapy is hard. How do I know? Because I needed it.

Growing up, Sheila Wortham was terrified to raise me. You probably have two questions: "Who is Sheila Wortham?" and "Why was she afraid to raise you?" Sheila Wortham is my mom. At the age of 21, the single mother of two had seen firsthand the realities and dangers of raising a young Black man. Growing up in the hood, she didn't just see Black men get killed, harassed by police, or jailed — she lived it. At the age of 16 she lost her dad to tragedy.

A few years later, a still grieving Sheila made it her mission to find what she called: a positive, Black male role model for me — and to your surprise, I hated it.

She searched tirelessly — for therapists upon therapists, mentorship programs, and sought her damnedest to find the right person.

Every time I heard the phrase "a positive Black male role model," my stomach turned. I hated the phrase. I hated that my mom didn't think I was good on my own. I hated that she didn't believe in her ability to raise me.

Needless to say, Sheila was right about one thing: I needed someone.

LOST AND FOUND

I found myself in and out of trouble for years. So much so that it was a surprise to people — they couldn't wrap their minds around how this good kid who got good grades was constantly in the principal's office.

Life began to change when a couple of people believed in me and breathed hope into this young lost kid.

Life turned around as I skated through high school as the class clown and through college playing intramurals. But when it came time to graduate, reality hit.

I was a first-generation college student with hopes and dreams of law school. However, here I was in the final semester of my senior year of college, realizing that I had done absolutely nothing to prepare for it. No LSAT. No applications. Nothing.

Out of fear — fear of the unknown, fear of leaving the comfort of school, fear of having to go back home to southwest Florida — I decided to find another option. I enrolled in a Master's program in Higher Education Leadership at Valdosta State University, convincing myself that if I couldn't be a lawyer, at least I could help students navigate their own paths.

THE DOORS THAT OPENED

Fast forward a few years. That decision cracked open doors I never expected. That Master's program led to a job at LSU, which led me to another realization: I needed to do more. I needed to find a way to help people in a deeper, more meaningful way.

So I pursued a second Master's in Clinical Mental Health Counseling, knowing that one day I would open my own counseling practice — something I never could have imagined 20+ years earlier when I was that lost kid sitting in the principal's office.

TWO PHONE CALLS

Life finds a way of pressing the pause button every once in a while.

Just a couple of days ago, I got two phone calls. Both from mothers. Both saying nearly the same thing:

"I've been looking for a Black male counselor for my son."

I smiled.

Because I knew exactly why they were calling. I knew the fear in their voices. I knew the weight of their search. I knew exactly what it was like to be that boy.

And now? I get to be the person I once needed.