The internet has a way of collapsing boundaries we didn't even realize were there—including the one protecting your image of your shrink.
Dear Psychoanalyst,
I recently came across my therapist's profile on Hinge. ICK! Though she used an alias and shared photos in silhouette, I knew it was her when I spotted a print from the office in the background of her photo. Now I can't stop wondering how I'm supposed to explore my recent dating drought and feelings of unworthiness with someone who describes herself as “single but open to a long-term relationship,” and who may be trolling sites under an assumed name. Is she lonely, or even worse, desperate? What kind of therapy does a desperate person give? And why the alias? I wonder if she's been dishonest about other things. My questions are getting in the way of our work.
Signed,
TMI
Dear TMI,
I know it can be jarring to see your therapist living life outside the consulting room. Maybe you've spotted them in the supermarket scolding a rambunctious toddler, or at an airport gate boarding in black socks, sandals, and a too-loud Hawaiian shirt. Running into your therapist can produce the “butcher-on-the-bus” effect—the uncanny feeling of seeing a familiar person in an unfamiliar context—which means you might not even recognize them at first. And it can be off-putting if you find your shrink doing something you wouldn't normally imagine, which frankly could be almost anything besides carefully paying attention to you.
Basic extra-office sightings and online professional profiles are one thing, but finding a trove of photos on Hinge and then diving into your therapist's dating wants and needs is another. Discoveries about a therapist's personal life can rattle us. (They like anime? They drink Aperol spritz from a can?) But it's not obvious how this experience has affected you specifically. Let's consider two aspects of your situation: the reality—unearthing pictures of your therapist—and your fantasies about finding out personal information.
First, what you observed and shared: That profile. Those photos. “The ick.” Your therapist is dating, and knowing this makes you uncomfortable. You say it's getting in the way of the work, leaving me to wonder whether you feel that personal information is forbidden, and that in discovering it you've done something wrong. The discomfort you note sounds like it stems from vulnerability: Having hitched your psychological health to this person, you need her to be solid. I'm guessing that you worry she's been exposed as unstable or unbalanced—and that revelation leaves you on shaky ground.
Let's examine your concerns more closely. What does “ick” mean to you? I sense your embarrassment here. People often feel this way when they see something in others that they dislike in themselves. Perhaps you think needing is bad and desiring closeness is weak. If so, asking for likes on Hinge takes on an embarrassing cast—like publicly broadcasting a very personal deficit. It also sounds like you are now questioning your therapist's judgment and competence, wondering whether she can help patients if she hasn't figured out her own life.
But your therapist still has the same expertise and is the same person as she was before you came upon her dating profile. What's changed is your feeling about the treatment and the relationship. If you were free-associating on my couch, I'd encourage you to explore your fantasies and fears about a few different aspects of the situation:
All of us come with human flaws and imperfections. And you are seeing your therapist in her humanity. Your idealization is now punctured. We want to feel like we are with an expert. But being in good hands doesn't mean receiving care from someone who does nothing but give care (and maybe curl up with a dog-eared copy of Winnicott in the evening). Part of what makes a therapist effective is that they're a fellow human being with their own desires and frustrations. Maybe they're trying to quit smoking. Maybe they're anxiously awaiting a text from a potential date. Maybe they're binging The Golden Bachelor.
Given her dating status, you're worried about whether she can help with your feelings of worthiness. Is there something about being single that you believe is inherently less-than? What we put onto others—especially our therapists—offers a window into ourselves.
Now that you've seen that she uses a different name for the sites, your trust is frayed. We can speculate that she does this because she wants to keep her personal life private. You don't include any other reasons not to trust her as a clinician. You don't cite ethics violations or criminal findings. Is there really a problem here?
Perhaps you feel like you've learned a secret you weren't supposed to know. Think about whether your surprise and disappointment reminds you of anything. How were secrets or discoveries handled in the past? Try to remember if there were forbidden areas or activities and if your curiosity was encouraged or you were punished for it. In some families, generations are hierarchical and parents think kids should speak when spoken to, while in others engagements are loosey goosey, with open doors and free-wheeling conversation. If your family was of the first type, getting to know your therapist in this way might bring up old experiences and feelings of shame or even rejection, leading to self-criticism.
My advice is to talk to your therapist about all of it: your discovery and the surrounding concerns. Try to use the therapist and treatment in a new way, look at your feelings about her with her. In a perfect world imagined by old-timey analytic theory, the clinician was a blank screen for the patient's projections. But psychotherapy is really a dialogue on a cluttered stage, with both parties' belongings partly visible in the background.
Tell your therapist you worry she's lonely or desperate, and share your reaction that being single makes her less-than in your eyes. We analysts have a name for your thoughts, fantasies, and feelings about us: transference. And we don't take your fantasies or criticism personally—and if we do have a reaction, we're trained to mine our feelings for clinical insight. So, go for it! Share all that you imagine now that you've seen her in a different way and learned something about her personal life.
In my experience, when patients bring their fears, disappointments, and critical feelings into treatment there are fresh insights and opportunities for learning and growth. Give your therapist a chance to dig into your reactions. Analysis is built to hold this kind of material. Awkward conversations tend to be the interesting ones.
In Ask a Psychoanalyst, Stephanie Newman, PhD, responds to reader questions about therapy, relationships, and the psychopathology of everyday life. Submit your questions to . Your identity will be kept anonymous.
This column is for general educational and informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your own therapist, physician, or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a mental health condition. Reading or submitting to this column does not create a therapist-client relationship.
First published online February 2026