On Leadership
Introduction
Coming up to three years of Colorful Minds Psychotherapy Collective, I’ve been thinking a lot about my role and what it means to lead. Not just at CMPC, but as a counseling professor, clinical supervisor, and psychotherapist. Especially during this time period in our country, and the world, where so many types of leaders (political, business, spiritual) are clearly unfit for their roles, are harming the people they are meant to protect, and are not living up to their stated values.
When I was growing up in Utah in the Mormon church, leaders were always men with literal God-given authority. I fully believed these leaders had access to knowledge I could never have, and a permanent place in the hierarchy of authority I could never reach. I trusted them completely, singing along with my friends as a child, “Follow the prophet, follow the prophet, he knows the way.”
In the Beginning
“A leader is simply someone who leads - teaching, sharing their experience, and creating structures for others to follow and grow from.”
As a 25-year-old counseling student intern at Brigham Young University Hawaii, my supervisors were both Mormon men. Seeing them as professional and spiritual leaders felt like a natural combination for me. I deferred to their expertise and experience even as my relationship to my faith changed drastically over this year. In hindsight, however, I can see that I never considered myself a future colleague or peer to these men. At the time, I expected to finish my degree and then give up my career to become a full time stay-at-home mother, which was the life path I was taught to prioritize as the only correct option for my life.
After leaving the church, and becoming the reluctant financial breadwinner in my marriage, however, things changed. I decided to pursue my PhD in counseling education, and my view of leadership changed alongside my sense of identity as a human, a woman and a counselor.
One of my first classes in my PhD program was called “Counseling Leadership.” My professor was Dr. Silvia Fernandez (she/her), Associate Dean and a Malaysian immigrant. When assigned a paper that required us to interview a leader in the field, I remember being surprised at my classmates’ personal connections to many counselor educators (mostly men of course) that had written our books or seemed “famous” in the profession; they held leadership titles in the American Counseling Association or National Board for Certified Counselors. I asked Dr. Fernandez if I could interview her, given her leadership role in the Education Department. She was surprised at my request, and told me, “I guess I have some experience to share.” I enjoyed learning about her leadership style, which was mostly plugging away at emails and paperwork in her office, and staying calm during heated meetings. She described her leadership style as quiet, but effective. She shared a lot of wisdom in connecting with colleagues, especially other counselors of color.
The next year, I was accepted to participate in an NBCC International Institute in Buenos Aires, Argentina at Dr. Fernandez’s encouragement. The trip leaders were big names in the counseling world - textbook authors, journal editors, even Dr. Ted Remly, who is a lawyer and counselor who is responsible for counseling becoming a licensed healthcare profession. I was intimidated being around these men, but after sharing meals and interacting with them for a few weeks, I realized they are just humans. For the first time, I truly realized and felt that a leader wasn’t an elevated type of human I could never become. I remember thinking to myself, “Well if they can write textbooks and change the field, I can do that too.” A leader is simply someone who leads - teaching, sharing their experience, and creating structures for others to follow and grow from.
After this experience, and with my connections from the NBCC Minority Fellowship Program, I began aiming higher. This led to my decision to get a divorce. That semester, I had to take an incomplete in one of Dr. Fernandez’ classes - the first time I ever had to ask for this type of extension. I sobbed in her office after she signed the paperwork. She didn’t try to comfort me, or rush me. She sat nearby and continued working until I gathered myself and was ready to leave. I didn’t feel judged or pitied. Even though she is a highly skilled clinician, that wasn’t her role in my life, and she didn’t take it on. She was comfortable being present without rescuing, which made me feel respected and capable even in a very vulnerable moment.
I started with conference presentations, and then challenged myself to become a professor of counseling rather than stay in clinical work like the rest of my cohort. My MFP cohort peers and my professors were supportive, providing practical support like reviewing my curriculum vitae, sharing conference presentation templates, and teaching me the importance of networking at conferences ahead of applying for academic positions. At each conference I attended, I would see Dr. Fernandez, usually dressed in a sari, and she was always warm and happy to catch up with me, and introduce me to other leaders in the counseling field.
The Scales Fall From My Eyes
“Being Dr. Johnson, counseling professor, didn’t boost my confidence in the way I expected, however. I wanted my students to see my humanity and flaws, and treat me as a more experienced peer.”
Joining Antioch University Seattle as a professor was a major milestone for me, professionally and personally. I had the proof I could achieve high levels of professional success despite being taught my ambition was sinful and my highest goal should be motherhood. I still remember very clearly my first faculty meeting, when I spoke up and felt truly seen, heard, and respected as an equal to my colleagues. It was a strange new experience for me after having been a student, supervisee, mentee, little sister, or youngest coworker for the majority of my life and career.
Similarly, teaching classes for the first time and seeing students write down things I said was very surreal. As I adjusted to this role and life in Seattle, I was also finishing my dissertation on cross-cultural counseling skills. Near the end of my first year as a professor, I defended my dissertation and became Dr. Johnson. I remember the next day, sitting on the balcony in Miami, drinking in the deep sense of satisfaction and pride I felt for myself, having overcome so many obstacles to get to this point. The next month, I learned Dr. Fernandez was becoming the CEO and President of CACREP. This parallel leveling up we both experienced in 2018 sweetened my experience of graduating, and boosted my confidence in what I could achieve in my career.
Being Dr. Johnson, counseling professor, didn’t boost my confidence in the way I expected, however. I wanted my students to see my humanity and flaws, and treat me as a more experienced peer. I didn’t want to be pedestalized. I did not enjoy being unquestioned and looked up to. This contrasted with how some of my colleagues showed two faces in the relationship to their own power - happy to take advantage of others’ willingness to work for them. Other colleagues were leaning in the other extreme direction, keeping the same pace and urgency as their graduate students, to the detriment of their own health and lives outside school.
Then COVID happened, and my role as a professor shifted. I found it absurd to hold the same standards and deadlines as normal while we were living through such fear and uncertainty. The whole role of counselor shifted as telehealth became required, and no one had more footing than anyone else. How do you lead through an unfamiliar dark tunnel? I did my best with my own existential coping skills, and found new ones - gardening, walking outside, and smoking copious amounts of cannabis after work. My internal self-understanding shifted too, and I began exploring my own neurodivergence in earnest. When I found the edges of my capacity, I also felt the demands to keep pushing myself to exceed it; but I started saying no. The demands ate at me. My email inbox became a list of shame. I started every reply with “I apologize for the delay in responding” and moving through my inboxes felt like pulling my own teeth out.
I really struggled with the decision to quit. I enjoyed working with students, but felt this constant tension with my role, especially around deadlines and academic standards I was losing faith in. In the context of the pandemic, the emails, meetings, committees, and expectations for research and publication felt more and more meaningless - they were so disconnected from the very urgent reality we were all facing. I wanted to use my role and expertise to help people cope and make sense of our collective crisis, but instead I was expected to correct APA format and give feedback on mock treatment plans based on outdated vignettes. The curriculum I was tasked with teaching felt like it wouldn’t be relevant to the type of clinical work students would be doing to help people through the reality of the current moment. Clients don’t need a therapist to be able to cite things in APA style. They need a clinician who can sit with the uncertainty and messiness of life.
In 2021, I quit teaching full time, and moved back to South Florida to be closer to my mother and my partner’s family in Honduras. I built my private practice back, but didn’t fill my calendar to maximum capacity. I got back to my yoga practice, and read books by Black and Latine scholars, to learn from them about how to live through existentially disruptive times and keep going. Adrienne Marie Brown’s “Emergent Strategy” was especially impactful to me. I spent time reflecting on my own needs for active rest, and learned how to best take care of myself instead of pushing myself to succeed at the expense of my health like I had been, out of necessity, for so many years. My migraines softened and showed up less often. My depression became more manageable.
Finding a New Path
”After reading Arlan Hamilton’s book, ‘It’s About Damn Time,’ I wrote one of her quotes on a sticky note and put it above my computer: ‘Be a keymaker, not a gatekeeper.’”
I was starting to feel my energy and motivation return and was considering what I’d like to do next when my supervisees let me know about Seattle Psychology’s corporate buyout and imminent demise. I spoke to Erin Karcher about what building an emergency group practice would look like to help transition people who were about to lose their contracts, and we started drawing the outlines of Colorful Minds Collective. After reading Arlan Hamilton’s book, “It’s About Damn Time,” I wrote one of her quotes on a sticky note and put it above my computer: “Be a keymaker, not a gatekeeper.”
As we’ve grown, I have stayed committed to an emergent strategy - being responsive to the needs of the clinicians instead of forcing the collective to grow into a particular shape or toward an end goal. I enjoy having this role and being able to share my experience as a business owner, and support clinicians to create their own path instead of herding people through the narrow gateways of graduate school and internship. Just like my guiding philosophy as a counselor, of being who I needed when I was younger, I am now able to be the private practice mentor I needed when I was younger.
I’m still wrestling with defining my own version of ethical leadership. Perhaps my biggest question since the start: is it possible to lead and admit I have no idea where I’m going? You can follow me, but I’m just wandering around and trying to figure things out. Things that work for me might not work for you. But I do want you to be okay. I will help you and share what I know, and introduce you to people who know things I don’t know, and tell you when I don’t know how to do something. I’ll always want to figure it out together.
For CMPC clinicians, I want to share that it’s possible to be a therapist in a way that works for your unique needs and values. To normalize that it’s hard to reconcile the demands of insurance, state licensing, business ownership, our capitalist economy, and the desire to help others meaningfully. That it doesn’t work the way it should. That graduate school didn’t prepare us for much of the reality of this work. But it can still be meaningful, even though it changes you in weird ways. Together, we can help each other and help our clients, and find our way through the dark.
Learn More About Colorful Minds
-
Explore our therapists on the All Clinicians page!
You can also select age ranges and populations from the Client Services dropdown in the top menu.
We also have a map of office areas for our clinicians who provide in-person therapy.
-
We are accepting new associate and licensed clinicians.
See what our collective has to offer on the Join Us page.
Reach out to hello@colorfulmindscollective.com if you have any questions!
About Dr. Tanya
Dr. Tanya Johnson, PhD, LMHC-QS (FL), LMHC (WA), NCC (she/her/ella)
Dr. Tanya is the co-founder and CEO of Colorful Minds Psychotherapy Collective, a neurodivergent, queer, Cuban-American counselor educator, clinical supervisor, and licensed mental health counselor in Florida and Washington. She provides virtual supervision, consultation, and psychotherapy through her practice, Evolve Counseling Center, and teaches as adjunct faculty at Antioch University Seattle.
With extensive experience in religious and spiritual trauma, Dr. Tanya helps adults recovering from high-control faith communities, coercive belief systems, and the loss or reconstruction of faith. Her work integrates trauma-informed care, neurodiversity-affirming practice, and meaning-making frameworks to help clients rebuild trust in themselves and their worldview.
A national presenter and curriculum developer in distance counseling and supervision, Dr. Tanya has trained and mentored hundreds of emerging clinicians. Through Colorful Minds, she advocates for sustainable, accessible private practice models that empower both clinicians and clients to thrive.
