Beyond Conflict, Beyond Norms: Finding Couples Counselors Who Understand Queer Relationships
For many queer couples, therapy isn’t just about resolving fights. It’s about being witnessed—truly seen—beyond shame, beyond survival, beyond the assumptions we’ve been forced to live under.
It’s about healing in the presence of someone we love.
But here’s the truth: most couples therapy models were never built with queer people in mind. And when you layer in trauma, especially from religious or cultural systems that taught us to hide or diminish ourselves, that gap grows wider.
If you’re queer, in a relationship that doesn't fit traditional boxes, and looking for a couples counselor who gets it, this blog is for you.
Love Isn’t the Problem—Unseen Pain Is
Renowned couples therapist Ellyn Bader reminds us that conflict in relationships isn’t inherently bad. In fact, it’s a sign that growth is trying to happen. But many queer couples never had models for conflict that was safe, loving, or transformative.
Take Amari and Jules, for example. They’re both nonbinary, neurodivergent, and in a long-term polyamorous relationship. Amari often feels overstimulated during intense discussions, while Jules tends to process verbally and quickly. Their differences aren’t the problem. But when a past couples counselor assumed one of them was “stonewalling,” the sessions quickly became unsafe.
They stopped going.
Queer couples therapy should create space for each person’s nervous system, processing style, and truth—not punish them for it.
As psychotherapist Esther Perel writes, “The quality of our relationships determines the quality of our lives.” But to tend those relationships well, we need care that honors our complexity.
Religious Trauma Shapes How We Love
You don’t have to have been kicked out of a church or subjected to conversion therapy to carry religious trauma. Sometimes it’s quieter: the internalized belief that asking for what you need is selfish. That your body is shameful. That love should always hurt, and that sacrifice makes you holy.
Religious trauma teaches us that intimacy is dangerous.
In relationships where members have experienced shame around their needs, emotions, or wants, that trauma often shows up as silence. Avoidance. Guilt when needs arise. One partner might shut down during sex, not from lack of desire, but because they were taught their body was inherently wrong. Another may over-accommodate, terrified of being “too much.”
Sometimes this harm was overt—being prayed over, cast out, or forced to hide. Other times it was the slow erosion of self-worth, through sermons, family expectations, or coded language about “real” love. Over time, these messages become internalized parts of us. We question whether our longing is legitimate. We shrink before we even know what we want.
This is why couples therapy can’t just focus on communication tools. As Perel reminds us, “What we fear most is not being loved; what we fear even more is not being worthy of love.” When we carry spiritual shame, that fear runs deep—and it follows us into even our most loving partnerships.
Case Story: When Faith Becomes a Wound
Sam and Maya came to therapy feeling stuck. They loved each other deeply but hadn’t had sex in nearly two years. Every attempt at intimacy ended in tears, shutdown, or miscommunication. Sam, raised in a conservative evangelical home, still hears their pastor’s voice in their head whenever they touch their partner.
“You’re sinning,” it says.
Maya, who grew up without religion, didn’t understand why affection felt so unsafe. She started to wonder if she was undesirable.
At first, couples therapy was hard. Sam often dissociated during sessions or deflected with humor. Maya, unsure whether to push or give space, said little at all. But we started slowly. We talked about the difference between coercion and consent, between trauma and truth. We explored how Sam had internalized messages equating sexual desire with moral failure. Together, we began to name the fear that if they embraced their full self, they’d lose everything again—God, belonging, family.
In therapy, we didn’t start with scheduling date nights or spicing up foreplay. We began with grief. With rage. With the young part of Sam that still longed to be accepted by God and loved by Maya.
Eventually, they co-created new rituals: lighting a candle to mark when conversations shifted to intimacy, practicing grounding techniques before being physically close, and exploring touch without expectation. These small acts helped rebuild trust—in their bodies, in each other, and in the present.
As the shame softened, so did their defenses. Intimacy slowly returned—not because they “fixed” their sex life, but because they began to feel safe in their own skin.
Case Story: Beyond Monogamy, Beyond the Binary
River and Cleo are a neurodivergent queer couple in a hierarchical polyamorous relationship. They came to therapy not because of jealousy, but because their couples counselor tried to convince them that “opening up” was the source of their issues—even though their conflict was actually about how neurodivergence impacted time management and sensory overload.
Cleo, who has ADHD, often struggled to stick to shared plans. They’d make spontaneous dates with their secondary partner, forgetting to update River. River, autistic, relied heavily on structured routines and advance notice. The mismatch led to hurt—not because of polyamory, but because of unmet needs for predictability and inclusion.
Their past counselor viewed their struggles through a monogamous lens and framed their polyamorous structure as “avoidant attachment.” This reinforced River’s fear of being abandoned and Cleo’s guilt about being “too much.” They almost ended therapy—again.
In our work together, we honored both their neurotypes and their chosen relationship framework. We created visual calendars, sensory check-in rituals, and communication cues tailored to their processing styles. We acknowledged that masking for each other had become exhausting. Cleo admitted they were scared of being “the reason everything breaks.” River confessed they missed who they were before constant vigilance set in.
We also made space for joy—how polyamory had expanded their support systems and allowed both to experience freedom without loss. Rather than pathologize their differences, we worked with them. Over time, miscommunications became moments of repair, not rupture.
The problem wasn’t polyamory. It was the prior counselor’s bias—and the healing came when they finally understood their story, their dynamic, and their needs.
How to Find a Counselor Who Gets It
Here’s what to look for when choosing a queer-affirming couples counselor, especially if your relationship includes neurodivergence, non-monogamy, or spiritual trauma:
1. Training in relational diversity
Do they name polyamory, open relationships, or queer partnerships on their website? Have they done real work to unlearn heteronormative, mononormative assumptions?
2. Awareness of religious trauma
Ask directly: “What is your experience supporting clients who are healing from religious or spiritual harm?” A quality couples counselor won’t flinch—and will center your experience without needing you to educate them.
3. Trauma-informed and body-aware
Does the counselor incorporate somatic work, pacing for trauma, or tools like parts work (e.g., Internal Family Systems)? This matters when the trauma is stored in the nervous system, not just in words.
4. Inclusive of neurodiversity
Do they ask about how you process information, how you self-regulate, and how your brains differ without pathologizing? Do they understand that communication doesn’t look the same for everyone?
5. Willingness to be challenged
Even affirming couples counselors have blind spots. A good one welcomes your feedback and adapts. If you express discomfort and are met with defensiveness, that’s a red flag.
Case Story: Healing After “Good Enough” Love
Alex and Devon had a quiet kind of love. They rarely fought. They took care of each other. But they came to therapy with a question that felt hard to name: “Is this all it’s supposed to be?”
They had both survived a lot. Alex had been disowned by their family after coming out. Devon had lost their faith community after marrying a trans partner. The trauma had bonded them—but now it felt like that was the only thing holding them together.
In sessions, they hesitated to dream. When asked about their future, they talked in terms of survival—paying bills, avoiding conflict, getting through the week. Joy felt indulgent. Desire felt selfish. When Devon would bring up fantasies or hopes, Alex would shrug and say, “That’s just not us.”
But in reality, it hadn’t been allowed to be them.
We started by talking about worthiness—not just as individuals, but as a couple. What did it mean to move from surviving together to thriving together? What had they sacrificed to keep the peace?
They began experimenting with small shifts: setting aside 15 minutes to share what had brought them delight each day, decorating their apartment with art that reflected their story rather than their parents’. Slowly, the flatness lifted. Devon started playing music again. Alex planned a surprise weekend trip—something they hadn’t done since early in their relationship.
In a final session, Alex said something that stayed with me: “We thought we were just lucky to have each other. But now I see—we also deserve to feel alive.”
Esther Perel on Desire and Queer Resilience
Esther Perel often speaks of desire as something that requires space, mystery, and freedom—not just safety. And for queer couples, desire can feel especially complicated. We’ve been told that wanting is dangerous. That our bodies are wrong. That passion is sinful.
But queer desire is sacred.
It is a form of resistance.
It is a return to self.
It is a remembering.
In her work, Perel challenges the idea that love and desire are the same. She says, “Love enjoys knowing everything about you; desire needs mystery.” For many queer couples—especially those who have spent years fighting for the right to love openly—desire can feel like a luxury, or even a betrayal. When so much energy is spent surviving, advocating, or protecting each other, eroticism may take a back seat to emotional caretaking.
Desire asks us to step into uncertainty, to explore parts of ourselves we may have been told not to touch. That can feel threatening, especially if our bodies were policed by religious teachings or cultural scripts about what “good” love is supposed to look like. For people raised in purity culture or rigid gender roles, even the act of wanting can bring up waves of guilt or fear.
But Esther Perel offers a liberating truth: eroticism is not about performance—it’s about vitality.
It’s about feeling alive. For queer couples, reclaiming erotic space can mean rewriting entire narratives: that our love is dirty, that our bodies are dangerous, that intimacy should be hidden. Desire is where we step out of obligation and into imagination. It’s where we ask not just, “Are we okay?” but, “What excites us? What do we long for? Who are we becoming together?”
In therapy, when queer couples are given permission to want without apology, something powerful unfolds. They begin to inhabit their relationships differently—not as wounded people tending to damage, but as whole people creating beauty.
When desire returns, so does agency. So does laughter. So does creativity. And that, too, is healing.
Therapy That Moves With You, Not Against You
You deserve a couples counselor who doesn’t try to fix you, but walks alongside you. One who sees the beauty in your complexity and helps you hold it with compassion. Whether you're neurodivergent, polyamorous, queer, or carrying the weight of spiritual wounds, your love deserves care that meets you where you are.
You don’t have to explain why your love is real.
You don’t have to translate your experience into language a counselor understands.
You don’t have to shrink to be safe.
When therapy is done right, it helps you expand.
You get to redefine connection on your own terms.
You get to grieve what you never had and build what you want now.
You get to heal—not in spite of your story, but through it.
Final Words: Your Relationship Is a Sacred Space
Your love—whether it looks “normal” or not—is worthy of protection, curiosity, and celebration. The couples counselor you choose should see that.
You are not a problem to be solved.
You are a story still unfolding.
And in that unfolding, there is space for joy, healing, wholeness, and hope.
Find a therapist who sees all of you. The grief. The strength. The tenderness. The fire.
Because when someone sees us clearly, we start to see ourselves—and each other—with gentler eyes.
And from that place?
Love doesn’t just survive. It begins to thrive.
*Disclosure: The case stories included in this blog are composites based on real themes that arise in queer couples therapy. All identifying details have been changed or fictionalized to protect client confidentiality.
Reclaim the Relationship You Deserve with Couples Therapy in St. Paul MN
You don’t need to be in crisis to seek support. Maybe you’re carrying old grief, spiritual shame, or the quiet ache of not being fully seen—even by someone you love. At NobleTree Therapy, our affirming approach to couples therapy in St. Paul & throughout MN honors the layered, beautiful truth of queer relationships. We don’t rush to fix. We slow down. We listen. We help you hold space for each other’s complexity, and for the kind of connection that feels like a home you both helped build.
Schedule a free consultation to see if we're the right fit
Step into a space where your love, your story, and your growth are fully welcome
Other Therapy Services at NobleTree Therapy in Minnesota
At NobleTree Therapy, we offer care that honors all of who you are—not just what hurts. Our work is rooted in deep respect for the layered, lived experiences of queer, neurodivergent, and spiritually wounded folks across Minneapolis, St. Paul, and beyond. Whether you're navigating identity shifts, unpacking spiritual shame, or grieving a version of yourself you had to hide to survive, we’re here to hold that with you.
Alongside couples therapy, we offer LGBTQIA+ affirming individual therapy, support for religious and spiritual trauma, and space for identity exploration that doesn't require a crisis to be valid. We also help clients move through grief, loss, and burnout in ways that make room for imagination, creativity, and embodiment—not just coping.
You don’t have to shrink here. You don’t have to translate your experience into language a therapist will understand. You get to bring your full self, and we’ll meet you there.
About the Author
Kendra Snyder, MA, LMFT, NCC (she/her) is a queer couples therapist and the founder of NobleTree Therapy. Based in Minnesota and licensed in both Minnesota and Colorado, Kendra specializes in LGBTQIA2S+-affirming therapy that honors the complexity of queer love, identity, and partnership.
With a trauma-informed and relational lens, Kendra supports couples navigating non-monogamy, neurodivergence, religious trauma, and desire recovery. Her approach is rooted in the belief that queer relationships are not problems to be fixed—but sacred spaces where healing, creativity, and connection are possible. At NobleTree, she helps couples move beyond survival and toward aliveness, joy, and wholeness—on their own terms.