INTERVIEW BIO WITH Kamille Thompson
Could you give us a sense of the family system you come from and how that reflects your journey of becoming an LMFT?
I am a first-generation Jamaican-American, eldest daughter of four siblings—which naturally comes with a lot of responsibility. My parents' framework on life was centered around leadership and emphasized education: “You are an example to your siblings and the greatest manifestation of our dreams.” For a long time, I carried those burdens. That resonates deeply with the role of the eldest daughter, and I understand the complexity that comes with that, particularly within a collectivist family.
I grew up surrounded by aunties, uncles, cousins—everyone—which led me to do social gymnastics from a young age. I learned to people-please, often putting myself last when navigating my family system. At the same time, I’ve come to appreciate and honor the cultural richness I come from, while also learning to value autonomy and independence as I continue to evolve.
My family didn’t have strong conflict resolution skills. My parents have been married for 40 years, but there was a lot of conflict, and I stepped into the role of mediator very early. I became a healer. People around me would say I was “dropping gems” when I was only ten—but I was still a child who wanted to live. That experience eventually led to my desire to become a therapist and help others.
Where does your Jamaican identity show up in your therapy?
Through my humor—we’re gonna laugh! I’m goofy, not in a way that diminishes the seriousness of the work, but in a way that brings in the lightness of life. Jamaicans are known to be relaxed and airy. I honor the heaviness just as much as I honor the lightness. You’ll see those dynamics in session—some will be intense, and others will feel like you're talking to an old friend. And that, in itself, is therapeutic and healing for me, too.
Then there's the honesty. Jamaicans are very blunt. My grandmother specifically had this way of offering the truth with so much warmth that you couldn’t help but receive it. It was presented in a way that made you recognize it—you could journey with it. That’s part of how I approach therapy too–helping clients see a mirror of themselves in a compassionate, warm, and effective way.
I think it’s a gift to see people in all their different states. As I navigate the therapeutic journey with clients, I gain a deep understanding of where they come from—what motivates them, what makes them turn away. And laughter becomes a way to honor the various experiences they’ve been through—in a real way that could be humorous. What comes up in this session? Sadness, anger, all kinds of emotions. We have the opportunity to explore and honor them all.
In describing yourself as an eldest daughter, you use words like “burden” and “complexity.” There’s a paradox: You’re asked to be the oldest, the brightest, the most responsible, to take up space—and simultaneously you’re told to sit down, be quiet. How do you explore that paradox in yourself and with others?
It’s really been about establishing safety, or realizing when safety is lacking, in the environments I move through. I often work with clients who face contradictory narratives, especially coming from collectivist backgrounds where community once equaled safety. Over time, I had to learn how to create that safety internally.
I often ask myself, “Am I going to dilute myself?” I want to show up fully, but I’m constantly reckoning with how much of myself to bring into a space. In the therapeutic space, I want my clients to feel they can be their authentic selves—they don’t have to shape-shift for anyone. I strive to model that for them. I see myself as an alchemist of safety—creating safety for myself and inviting clients to do the same in their own way.
What does it mean to you to be an alchemist of safety?
It means creating an environment where you can exist without the harmful narratives and beliefs that society often places on Black and Brown people. It’s a lifelong process—one that evolves and redefines itself with time.
How do you approach clients who feel tension between collectivist family expectations and their own needs?
We take the slow, scenic route—exploring what values, legacies, and beliefs their families have grounded themselves in. We also examine the individual’s trajectory. Some family patterns served a purpose, but as people evolve, so must their frameworks. We reframe, question, and explore how someone wants to live authentically.
It’s not about discarding tradition—it’s about expansion. There doesn’t have to be one “color” to their life. I use the metaphor of a rainbow—there are many shades and options. This process liberates rather than restricts. It’s a dance of honoring both family grounding and individual need.
What’s your favorite song to sing?
At karaoke? Probably “I Want It That Way”—you know, one of those songs that hits. Adele, Beyoncé, Yebba—anything with emotional depth and vocal range. I’ve played the violin since I was five, though I took a break in college. It became my parents’ dream more than mine, and I needed to reclaim myself. I’m trying to pick it back up again.
What is your universal piece of advice?
The name of the game is pacing. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. You don’t run the whole 26 miles at full speed. At different moments, life will require different energies from you. Learn to attune to yourself: Is this a time to move quickly? Or a time to slow down?
Life is an elevated spiral staircase. As you climb, you gain knowledge—but you may face similar patterns again and again. That’s part of growth, especially if you come from a complex background. So pace yourself. Learn yourself. And move with intention.