An Interview with Amar on Queer-Affirming, Neurodiversity-Informed Counselling

In this conversation, Amar invites us into the heart of their counselling work and the values that guide it. They speak openly about their journey into counselling, what it means to create a space where queer and gender-diverse clients can truly relax and be themselves, and why understanding neurodiversity as difference, not deficit, matters so deeply. Along the way, Amar shares thoughtful reflections on relationships, self-worth, and the quiet power of feeling genuinely seen and supported. This is a warm, grounded glimpse into a counselling style that is human, affirming, and deeply respectful of each person’s lived experience.

Can you tell us a little about your journey into counselling and what led you to this work?

I didn’t arrive in counselling through a single moment so much as a series of experiences that gradually pointed me in this direction. I’ve always been drawn to understanding people, what shapes them, what hurts them, and what helps them heal. Along the way, both personal and professional experiences deepened my appreciation for how profoundly our relationships, environments, and early experiences can affect our wellbeing. Studying counselling felt like a natural home for those interests. What has kept me here is witnessing, again and again, how meaningful change can happen when people feel truly seen, believed, and supported.

What does it mean to you to create a truly safe and affirming space for queer and gender-diverse clients?

For me, safety goes far beyond simply being “welcoming.” It means creating a space where clients don’t have to translate themselves, defend their identities, or monitor how they speak. Practically, that looks like using affirming language, being curious rather than assumptive, and being open about my commitment to inclusivity. Emotionally, it means cultivating an atmosphere where clients can bring all parts of themselves including vulnerability, grief, joy, and anger without fear of judgement or misunderstanding.

Many LGBTIQA+ clients have had mixed or negative experiences accessing support. What do you think is most important for therapists to understand when working with queer clients?

I think it’s crucial for therapists to understand the impact of minority stress and the cumulative weight of invalidation, discrimination, or invisibility that many queer clients carry. It’s not just about what happens in the therapy room; it’s about the broader social context they live in. Therapists need to be both trauma-informed and culturally humble. They need to be willing to listen, learn, and be corrected. Most importantly, therapists should recognise that being queer is not a “problem to be fixed,” but an identity to be respected, supported, and celebrated.

When we talk about neurodiversity, what do you wish more people understood?

I wish more people understood that neurodiversity isn’t about deficits, it’s about difference. Brains simply work in varied ways, and those differences come with both strengths and challenges. Too often, neurodivergent people are judged against neurotypical norms that weren’t designed for them in the first place. Greater understanding would mean more compassion, flexibility, and appreciation for different ways of thinking, communicating, and experiencing the world.

What are some common challenges neurodivergent clients bring into therapy — especially around relationships, self-esteem, or feeling “different”?

Many neurodivergent clients come in carrying a heavy load of self-criticism, often stemming from years of feeling misunderstood or “out of sync” with others. In relationships, they may struggle with communication differences, sensory overwhelm, or navigating unspoken social rules. Around self-esteem, there can be a deep sense of “I’m too much” or “I don’t fit.” A big part of therapy is helping clients make sense of these experiences, build self-compassion, and develop strategies that actually work for their brains.

When working with couples or individuals navigating relationships, what patterns do you see most often?

One common pattern is a cycle of miscommunication where both people feel unheard, even when they care deeply about each other. I also see a lot of fear of vulnerability; people wanting connection but being afraid to risk getting hurt. Another recurring theme is unspoken expectations, where partners assume the other “should just know.” Therapy often involves slowing things down, clarifying needs, and helping people communicate more openly and authentically.

How would you describe your counselling style to someone considering their first session with you?

I’d describe my style as warm, collaborative, and thoughtful. I take your concerns seriously, but I also aim to make the space feel human rather than clinical. I’m not there to tell you what to do; I’m there to think with you, ask meaningful questions, and help you make sense of your experiences. You can expect empathy, curiosity, and a pace that respects your comfort level.

What’s something you wish more people knew about therapy?

I wish more people knew that therapy isn’t just for crisis moments, it’s also a space for reflection, growth, and understanding yourself more deeply. You don’t have to be “falling apart” to benefit from support. Therapy can be a place to explore patterns, clarify values, strengthen relationships, and build a more compassionate relationship with yourself.

The Hidden Cost of Affairs

Affairs don’t just break trust - they come with a price tag. And it’s higher than most people imagine.

• A study in the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships found that infidelity is one of the top predictors of divorce — and divorce itself costs Australians, on average, $14,000–$20,000 in legal fees alone (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2022).

• Emotional costs are harder to measure, but they’re immense. Infidelity is linked to higher rates of depression, anxiety, and PTSD symptoms in the betrayed partner (American Psychological Association, 2018).

• Families feel it too: research shows children exposed to high-conflict breakups or affairs experience long-term impacts on emotional security and attachment (Journal of Family Psychology, 2019).

And here’s the paradox: the couples who survive an affair also invest the most - in therapy, in raw honesty, in rebuilding from the ground up.

Those couples sometimes create a stronger, more intentional relationship than the one that was broken.

So when people ask me, “Is an affair worth it?”, my answer is simple: The cost is almost always higher than you think.

Reflection Question:

What do you think: Is the emotional cost of an affair greater than the financial one?

Why “Sex” Is a Scary Word — Even for Couples Counsellors

I remember asking a family therapist once - someone who works with couples as part of their broader practice - whether she talked about sex with her couples.

Her answer was:

“My couples have bigger issues to worry about.”

It was clear the topic made her slightly uncomfortable. And I get it. Before I trained as a sex therapist and studied sexual and reproductive health, I didn’t find it easy to bring up sex in the therapy room either.

In those early days, saying certain words out loud was hard. Penetration. Masturbation. Vagina. Penis. When I did, my voice didn't sound confident, giving away my discomfort to the clients. It took time, practice, and conscious effort to say those words without flinching — to make it feel as natural as talking about communication, trust, or conflict.

Why It’s Hard for Practitioners Too

We’re not blank slates. Every practitioner has their own history, beliefs, and emotions about sex - shaped by family, culture, religion, education, and personal experience.

In my own Russian-Armenian family, sex was never openly discussed. I knew, through observation and a few clues, that my mother and grandmother both had a healthy interest in sex. I even discovered erotic books tucked away on my grandmother’s shelf. But no one ever talked to me about it.

My mother’s version of “the talk” was to hand me a couple of brightly coloured books on puberty and genital development when I was 11. The books were illuminating, intriguing - and scary. That was the extent of my sex education at home. I suspect her reasoning was similar to many parents: that talking about sex might somehow encourage more sexual activity. And they certainly were not ready for that.

The Research Says Otherwise

This fear - that discussing sex will “put ideas in someone’s head” - is common, but decades of research show the opposite. A 30-year review published in JAMA Pediatrics found that when parents talk frequently and openly with adolescents about sexual health, teens are more likely to delay sexual activity, use contraception, and make safer choices, resulting in fewer STIs and unintended pregnancies (Widman et al., 2016).

Similarly, a UNESCO review of 87 international studies concluded that comprehensive sexuality education does not increase sexual activity among adolescents. Instead, it delays initiation, reduces the number of sexual partners, and improves contraceptive use (UNESCO, 2018).

In other words: openness protects. Silence doesn’t.

What I See in the Therapy Room

Even now, in what we believe to be less conservative and more sexually progressive times, I meet clients who struggle to talk about sex - not just with me, but with each other. Regardless of whether you are 20-something or 60-something, it is still hard for many.

And yet, I haven’t met a couple for whom sexual intimacy wasn’t an important part of their relationship. Sex is deeply woven into trust, connection, self-esteem, identity, and love. Avoiding it doesn’t make the issues go away; it just allows them to pile up quietly, in a box no one dares to open.

How Couples Can Practise Talking About Sex

Normalising sexual conversations takes practice — and sometimes it starts with the simplest thing: saying the words.

The brilliant Emily Nagoski, in her work on sexual wellbeing, suggests an exercise I often use with clients:

• Pick the words — vagina, vulva, penis, clitoris, masturbation, orgasm.

• Say them out loud — not in a whisper, but in your natural speaking voice.

• Say them with different tones — casually, with delight (as if greeting an old friend you haven’t seen in ages), and with pride (as if talking about something you value).

• Repeat until the awkwardness fades — the goal is to strip away the “charge” so they become everyday language.

Conversation Starters for Partners

Try these prompts to ease into more open conversations:

• “What’s one thing you wish I knew about your desires?”

• “What’s a sexual memory of ours that still makes you smile?”

• “Is there something you’ve never told me that you’d like to try?”

• “How do you feel about our sexual connection right now?”

• “When do you feel most desired by me?”

These don’t need to lead to immediate changes in the bedroom - sometimes the win is being able to say out loud what you have been thinking of, or to feel that your partner cares about your needs.

The Moral of the Story

We need to normalise conversations about sex - in therapy rooms, in relationships, and in families. For practitioners, that means doing our own work: becoming comfortable with the language, learning to ask clear, non-judgmental questions, and modelling openness.

Because the more we avoid it, the heavier the silence becomes. And the more we practise talking about it, the easier it gets to own our sexuality and intimacy - instead of hiding them away and hoping the problems inside that box will somehow resolve themselves.

Reflection Question:

When was the last time you talked about sex openly - with your partner, your client, or your child? What made it easier, or harder?

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