Lauren Wall, LPC-A

Here’s something I’ve noticed: the young people who need support the most are often the ones least likely to ask for it. They’re high-functioning enough that no one’s alarmed. They’re self-aware enough to know something’s wrong. And they’re independent enough that admitting they’re struggling feels like a kind of failure. If that sounds familiar — whether you’re the kid or the parent of that kid — I want you to know: that’s exactly who I’m here for.

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I don’t think the things that bring young people to therapy are signs that something’s fundamentally wrong with them. More often, the anxiety, the perfectionism, the fear of failure — those are signs that they care deeply and haven’t yet found a way to carry that caring without it becoming a weight. My job is to help them build that.

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Most kids and teens walk into their first session feeling at least a little nervous — wondering if it’s going to be awkward, or if they’re somehow going to do it “wrong.” My hope is that pretty quickly, they realize therapy is much more like a conversation than an interrogation. We usually start by talking about things they enjoy and who they are beyond whatever brought them in. By the end of that first session, I want them to leave with a sense of relief and hope — not because we’ve solved anything, but because they can feel that there’s a path forward and someone genuinely in their corner.

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If you’re a hesitant 14-year-old reading this — you don’t have to know what to say when you walk into my office. That’s my job to help with. Most of the time I don’t start by asking about your biggest problems. I’ll probably ask you something like: Tell me about your best friend. How did you become friends? What do you like to do together? Or maybe you love fishing — tell me where you fish, what lures you use, what’s the coolest fish you’ve ever caught. If you’re really into books, I want to hear what you’re reading right now. Do you like fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, or books based on true stories? The reason I ask isn’t to avoid the hard stuff. It’s because I’m a genuinely curious person who wants to get to know you — not just how you’re performing, but who you are as a person. That’s usually when trust starts to grow and the real work can begin.

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Depending on what you need, our sessions might look different from what you’d expect. My office has fidget toys, art supplies, games, and other materials — and you’ll often see me using them too. When people hear “play therapy,” they often picture a young child with dolls. But for older kids and teens, it simply means having something to do with your hands or a shared activity that makes conversation feel more natural. When I was coaching, I noticed how exhausted my athletes were from being evaluated all day — by their coaches, their teachers, their parents, and themselves. The therapy room should feel different from that. A place where they can relax, be themselves, and explore what matters to them without feeling graded or judged. I also draw on ACT, mindfulness and grounding work, and DBT skills depending on what a client needs. I don’t follow a script. I follow the person in front of me.

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I came to this work through sport. I competed in swimming at the collegiate level and spent several years coaching club swimming at Longhorn Aquatics. One thing that’s hard to fully appreciate from the outside is how much of a swimmer’s life revolves around time. In many sports, success can be measured in different ways. In swimming, there’s a clock at the end of every race — and it can start to feel like your worth and all your hard work are being reduced to a number. I know how easy it is to feel like if you didn’t drop time, the season wasn’t successful — even when you’ve grown in countless other ways. I also know the shift that happens as swimmers get older and improvements become smaller and less frequent. Because I’ve lived and coached through those experiences, I’m often listening for things someone unfamiliar with the sport might miss: the pressure of expectations, the fear of falling behind, the emotional weight of a sport where success feels so measurable.

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Something I love about this work is being with clients who are willing to get curious about themselves. They don’t need to have insight all figured out — in fact, most people don’t. What I love is when someone pauses to really think about a question rather than immediately giving what they think is the “right” answer. Sometimes they arrive at something meaningful. Sometimes they look up and say, “I don’t know.” Honestly, that’s often just as valuable. If you’ve taken the time to genuinely consider the question, we’ve learned something. That’s where some of the most meaningful growth happens — when people feel safe enough to slow down, get curious, and explore their own experience without worrying about having the perfect answer.

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People who work with me often say I’m warm, a little free-spirited, and genuinely engaged — I talk with my hands, I use humor when it fits, and I’m not here to be a blank wall. I think therapy works best when it feels like a real relationship. My goal isn’t to help you perform wellness. It’s to help you actually feel it.