Challenging the Myths of Conversion Therapy

Conversion therapy, also known as reparative therapy, is not just a political issue for Guy Felder. It is a deeply personal one. “I always find myself thinking back to how hopeful someone can feel when going into conversion therapy,” Felder says. “I saw conversion therapy as an opportunity to maintain connections with my family, my faith community, and to belong in a world that, up until that point, was the only world I’d ever known.”

That sense of hope, he explains, is part of what makes the practice so insidious. What initially presents as a solution often reveals itself over time as something far more damaging. “What felt like a solution actually became something that was really challenging to maintain,” he explains.

Now a Houston-based psychotherapist working with LGBTQ as well as cisgender heterosexual clients, Felder brings both lived experience and clinical perspective to a conversation that is once again in the national spotlight. Recent legal developments, including renewed scrutiny of conversion therapy and gender-affirming care, have left many questioning what protections and risks exist for queer Texans.

From a professional standpoint, Felder firmly states that conversion therapy lacks credibility. “If something works, there should be credible evidence,” he says. “We don’t see that with conversion therapy.”

Beyond the absence of evidence, he points to the very real harm it can cause—a harm that often unfolds long after the experience itself. “My own experience in conversion therapy really involved finding a person or thing that was responsible for my being gay,” Felder recalls. “And in this case, it was my dad that they identified.” As one would imagine, this created tension within Felder’s family. “That blew a hole in my family relationships,” he admits. Felder finds that search for a “cause” is built into the structure of conversion therapy itself. “Conversion therapy is an outcome in search of a solution that has to have a problem,” he says.

By contrast, Felder advocates for a person-first, evidence-based approach. “People do come in and say, ‘I think I might be gay and this is really distressing for me,’” he says. “Let’s understand where that’s coming from and what the client wants to do with it within their value system.” Rather than attempting to change their identity, the focus should be on safety, support, and resilience. “My goal is to say, ‘Okay, how do we build a support network? How do we get you resourced so that you can have the resilience to survive this?’ Not, ‘How do we change this?’”

The alternative, he notes, can be devastating. “We see increased rates of suicide from people who have not been successful going through conversion therapy,” he says. “The most difficult thing is what it does to people when they are ultimately not successful.”

Felder is also seeing the ripple effects of today’s political climate show up in more subtle, cumulative ways. “The current climate is putting LGBTQ+ people at greater risk,” he states. “It exposes how stress shows up in our lives. It’s the little incremental additions that happen every day, and in those moment-by-moment circumstances where a stressor is being introduced.”

That gradual buildup of stressors then manifests in a myriad of ways, including irritability, disengagement, or a growing reliance on numbing behaviors. “What we start to see is a lot of those numbing-out behaviors really start to increase,” Felder notes. Numbing out could look like doomscrolling, social withdrawl, overeating, overspending, and even behaviors such as excessive cleaning, exercising, hosting, or cooking. “It solves an immediate problem, often at the expense of a long-term need,” Felder adds.

In his practice, Felder centers autonomy as a guiding principle, particularly for clients navigating identity in complex or unsafe environments. In this approach, a client will understand that he gets to do something when and if he wants to. That approach is especially critical at a time when external pressures can make even deeply personal decisions feel politicized.

For those questioning their identity or struggling in non-affirming spaces, Felder offers reassurance rooted in both realism and hope. “Your identity doesn’t disappear, even if you can’t express who you are publicly because the environment is too threatening,” he says.

And perhaps more importantly, he emphasizes that no one should have to navigate this journey alone. “In fact, we as people are not meant to navigate things alone,” he adds. “Find safe resources if you are able to do so—things like The Trevor Project and Rainbow Railroad.” Other options in the Houston area include the Montrose Center, Tony’s Place, and The Normal Anomaly, among many others.

When it comes to finding a therapist, Felder encourages individuals to trust their instincts when seeking care. “The biggest predictor of whether or not therapy is going to be helpful is something called the therapeutic alliance,” he explains. “It is that X-factor feeling of, ‘Am I connecting with this person? Not just in my mind, but is my emotional self comfortable with them?’” In simpler terms, it comes down to whether a client feels safe, seen, and understood.

Even amid uncertainty, Felder remains cautiously optimistic about the future of LGBTQ mental-health care in Texas and beyond. “The only way out is through,” he reflects. “There are some people who are going to experience harm. There are levels of stress, challenge, and difficulty that are being applied to people who have done nothing to deserve it.”

Indeed, history has shown that progress often emerges from periods of tension. “I don’t like what we’re going through right now, but I do ultimately believe that it’s going to lead to something better,” he concludes. “When everyday Americans are asked to look at, think about, and confront their beliefs, they tend to end up in the right place.”

Although it’s not a simple or painless path forward, for Felder and others in the LGBTQ community, it is one worth continuing to walk.