A queer couple walks into my therapy room for their first session. They sit down, clock the small rainbow flag on the shelf, glance at each other, and giggle. Nothing is said about it. We get on with the work.
That moment the giggle, the look, the not-needing-to-say-anything is one of the clearest pictures I have of what LGBTQ-affirming therapy is actually meant to feel like. Not at all performative, not a special category of therapy with a different set of techniques. I’m Stella, a Registered Counsellor (C0940) with the Singapore Association for Counselling, and co-founder of LightingWay Counselling & Therapy. I’m also a queer therapist, which means I sit in this
conversation as both clinician and community member. I wanted to write this piece because I have noticed a gap between what LGBTQ clients are often told they should want from therapy and what they actually walk in hoping for.
What LGBTQ clients actually come in with
The popular imagination of “LGBTQ therapy” tends to assume that queer clients come in wanting to talk about being queer. Sometimes, yes. But in my practice, the most common presenting concern is relationship issues, which is the same thing most people come to therapy for. A conflict with a partner, a difficult breakup, communication issues, navigating commitment in their relationship, working out what they want. The reason they specifically sought an LGBTQ-affirming therapist is usually not because the issue itself is categorically different, but because they wanted to discuss their relationship without first having to establish that their relationship counts.
The next most common concern is something related to gender or sexuality identity and here, yes, the affirming lens will matter directly. After that, it will be mental health concerns like anxiety and depression, which often connect back to the relational themes.
What surprised me most when I started working with this population is how unsurprising it is. My clients are, overwhelmingly, ordinary people living ordinary lives, who happen to be LGBTQ. They’re tired or exhausted from work, frustrated with their partner, worried about their parents getting older, or trying to figure out what to do with their careers. The queerness is part of the context of their lives, not always what they’ve come to talk about
The rainbow flag question
Several of my clients have told me, unprompted, that seeing the rainbow flag in my space made them feel safe before we’d even spoken. Friends of mine who have been in therapy have said the same a rainbow flag at reception, a pin on the therapist’s lanyard, or even a line on a website are small visual cues that made them feel comforted.
At the same time, a flag is a filter rather than a competence marker; it can tell a client this therapist is probably safe to approach, without telling them whether the work will actually be any good. The difference between a therapist who displays a flag and a therapist who knows what to do with a queer client sitting in front of them is where the real work really is.
What ‘affirming’ actually means in Singapore
A lot of imported westernized frameworks don’t quite land in Singapore, where most LGBTQ people aren’t fully out in every aspect of their lives. For example, many are out to friends but not family, or to family but not at work, calibrating carefully who gets which version of themselves across different settings. This isn’t internalised shame, but it is often a considered, healthy, strategic response to a specific cultural and legal environment.
An affirming therapist in Singapore, in my mind, doesn’t treat the closet as a problem to be fixed or push disclosure as a therapeutic goal. Affirming therapy means treating the client’s relationship concerns in the same way you would treat any other person’s. It means understanding without being told that HDB rules, family structures, religious communities, and workplace visibility sit differently here than they do elsewhere. It also means holding the client’s careful management of identity as wisdom, not avoidance, unless the client tells you otherwise.
One of the clearest example I can give is about the Chinese New Year (CNY) period. When a client tells me CNY was hard, I don’t need it explained. I already know about the aunties asking when you’re getting married, the performance of a self that isn’t quite you for two (or three) days straight, the partner who either couldn’t come or came and had to be introduced as a friend. The client doesn’t need to build the scaffolding before getting to their feeling, and tell me what hurt and be understood. The same applies to Hari Raya visits, church services, the “when are you bringing someone home” conversation with their parents, or the quiet mental assessments about which colleagues get which version of you.
What therapy good therapy looks like
If you are evaluating a therapist, here are some things worth paying attention to, drawing from what my clients and people whom I know have described as working (and not working):
When you mention a partner, does the therapist absorb the information and keep going, the way they would with any other client? Or do they pause, clarify, ask how you met in a way that feels like you’ve become interesting rather than just seen?
Do you find yourself having to explain LGBTQ terminology mid-session? A therapist who works with LGBTQ clients should already know what you mean by non-binary, demisexual, ace or any of the language you might use about yourself.
When you bring a concern that isn’t about identity, for example work stress, family conflict or low mood, does the therapist treat it as what it is, or do they keep pulling it back to how you feel about being queer? Equally, when identity is relevant, can they go there without flinching?
And the most important question: do you leave the session feeling you did work, or feeling worked with?
A small closing note
LGBTQ-affirming therapy, in the end, isn’t really a separate modality in the field of therapy. It is therapy that starts from a place of already knowing enough about your life that you don’t have to teach before you can feel. If you’re looking for this space –whether for a relationship concern, something about your identity, or just the ordinary weight of being a person in Singapore in 2026 I’d be glad to hear from you.
You can find me at LightingWay Counselling & Therapy.
