Finding a therapist is so hard, y’all. We reached out to Jalynn Norling, who I’m sure is a well-meaning person, but unfortunately, she wasn’t accommodating. Her website specifically says she works with neurodivergent folks, but that didn’t match our experience.
My husband and I have a short list of questions we send to potential therapists to help us figure out if they’re a good fit—because like many people, we don’t have the time or resources to schedule consultations or pay for sessions only to discover it’s not a match. The questions are very standard—things like “How often do you work with neurodivergent clients?” and “What’s your therapeutic style?”
After a back-and-forth, Jalynn declined to answer our questions or continue the conversation. She responded with some vague, buzzword-heavy language and referenced that most providers are required to offer accommodations—but didn’t actually model that in her own approach. Unfortunately, this kind of response is all too familiar. As a neurodivergent person, I often hear the word accommodations used in theory, but when it comes to putting that into practice, people back away. It’s disappointing and honestly hurtful—especially when it comes from professionals who position themselves as neurodiversity-affirming.
And it felt really out of step with what her website says:
I am tired, unsure and searching—and I was hopeful this could be a good fit. But a truly responsive space includes being willing to answer questions up front. Feeling emotionally safe, especially as a neurodivergent person, often starts with clear communication and flexibility. I didn’t get that here.
I’m sharing this because the process of finding a therapist is already so exhausting. If I can save someone else from the stress, it’s worth the time it took me to write this up.
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