In Chinese, “teacher” is a word that appears everywhere. It refers not only to school teachers, but also to doctors, counsellors, therapists, artists and almost anyone who is seen as knowledgeable or experienced, as a mark of respect. When a client calls a counsellor “teacher”, it is usually not because they are trying to make themselves smaller. More often, it is a familiar way of showing politeness and respect.

But in a counselling space, the context shaping the word is different, and “teacher” is no longer just a polite title. It starts to shape the relationship. It may influence how a client sees themselves, how they see the therapist, and what they expect this work to be. In cross-cultural therapy, especially with Chinese-speaking clients, “teacher” can feel safe and respectful. At the same time, it can quietly bring in hierarchy, obedience, idealisation, and a teacher–student frame.

This article is not intended to propose a simple rule: that clients absolutely must not call their therapists "teacher". Instead, I would rather discuss whether practitioners in the Chinese context and the Australian clinical context are aware of the possible hidden power, cultural, and transference behind this term.

In an English-language context, especially in many professional fields in Australia, people often address others by their first names, even when they are older, senior scholars, doctors, PhD holders, or members of the Order of Australia. This naming convention does not imply disrespect but rather reflects a relatively less hierarchical, more equal and approachable style of social interaction.

However, in Chinese culture, addressing someone by their first name can sometimes be perceived as impolite or even offensive. The term "teacher" naturally emerges in such situations. It is both a title of respect and a positioning of the relationship.

The issue is that counselling is not an educational relationship. Counsellors do have professional and ethical responsibilities, but this does not mean they have all the answers. When the title “teacher” positions the counsellor as an authority or guide within the therapeutic relationship, it can shape how clients understand both the counsellor and themselves. In these situations, counsellors may need to take a different approach to exploring the meaning of the title, rather than simply accepting or rejecting it.

Bordin (1979) proposed a working alliance consisting of three parts: goals, tasks, and the therapeutic bond. It emphasises that the therapeutic relationship is not a one-way guidance, but a cooperative relationship formed by both parties around the therapeutic goals and working methods. Subsequent meta-analyses on therapeutic alliances also show that there is a stable correlation between therapeutic alliances and the outcomes of psychotherapy (Flückiger et al., 2018).

Therefore, if the term "teacher" makes it easier for the client to place the counsellor in the position of "the one who knows the answers", "the one who teaches me", "the one who evaluates me", then it may change the nature of the therapeutic alliance. The client may find it more difficult to express dissatisfaction, be more afraid of disappointing the counselor, and more likely to turn the counselling into a relationship of "whether I have done well".

For many clients, calling someone "teacher" is indeed more natural and safer than simply using their first name. If the counsellor requests not to be addressed using that term, it might also make the client feel ashamed, rejected, and even damage the initial trust. Therefore, the key is not to prohibit this term, but to understand what role this term is playing in the relationship.

If a client initially uses the term out of cultural habit, politeness, or a sense of safety, politeness, or a sense of security, the counsellor can first accept it. However, if this term makes it harder for the client to question, makes them more likely to obey, makes them more inclined to idealise the therapist, or slides the counseling relationship into an educational, guiding, teacher-student, or authoritative framework, then it is worth gently bringing it into discussion.

Ways this can be done include asking what the usage means to the client; if it makes them more comfortable, or puts the therapist in a position higher than them; ideas and expressions of dissatisfaction, and so on. The idea is not to correct the client, but to view the language itself as therapeutic material. The term is not a trivial matter. It may be an entry point into transference, culture, shame, attachment, experiences of authority, and self-positioning.

A common statement in clinical literature is that Chinese clients prefer a more direct and instructive form of treatment. However, Ng and James (2013) remind us that this issue is much more complex than the stereotype. Chinese clients may indeed expect the therapist to provide analysis, suggestions, strategies, and assignments, but this does not mean they only want to be guided, nor does it mean they do not need autonomy, relationship security, and being understood.

In the Chinese context, the term "teacher" precisely lies in this complex area. On the one hand, it conforms to the expectations of the clients for professionals: you have knowledge, you can help me, you can guide me through. On the other hand, it may also make the clients retreat to the position of a student or a child.

This is particularly important for cross-cultural therapy. Hook et al. (2013) proposed cultural humility, which emphasises that the therapist should remain open, non-defensive, and self-reflective towards multicultural clients. Cultural humility is not just about knowing certain cultural knowledge, but about continuously being aware of one's position, power, and limitations in the relationship. For the term "teacher" in the Chinese context, cultural humility means that the therapist cannot simply say "This is just Chinese politeness" or "In Australia, we all call each other by name, so you must change." More nuanced work is to understand: What does this term mean for this client? What does it help? And what is it hiding?

In art therapy, the term “teacher” creates a particular problem because it can easily frame therapy as a class rather than a therapeutic session. Art making is already associated with learning, skills and education, so calling an art therapist “teacher” may further blur the distinction between art education and art therapy. Parents may then expect the therapist to “teach the child to draw”, expect a good artwork at the end of the session, or see the therapist as someone who should correct the child’s problems.

This can become particularly complicated in my work with Australian Chinese families. Some parents are reluctant to directly say that their child is receiving psychological support or therapy and instead describe it as “going to class” or “seeing the teacher”. This may reflect mental health stigma, cultural familiarity with educational language, or simply a limited understanding of art therapy. However, when a therapeutic session is repeatedly described as a “class”, the child may also find it harder to understand that this is a space for expressing emotions, exploring relationships and receiving psychological support, rather than a place where they are expected to perform, complete tasks or produce good work.

This does not mean that art therapists cannot teach, or that art, education and therapy do not overlap. The important issue is whether the language being used helps the client and their family understand the therapeutic frame or makes it less clear. When necessary, I explain that what we are doing is not an ordinary art class or classroom teaching, but a therapeutic process with clinical goals, an ethical framework and clear relational boundaries. In this context, discussing why the therapist is being called “teacher” can itself become part of establishing and understanding the therapeutic relationship.

Of course, there is another side to this: refusing the term can invoke an uneasy power dynamic. A counsellor should not turn “Please don’t call me teacher” into another rule that the client has to follow in order to be seen as doing therapy “properly”.

Some clients cannot easily call a counsellor by their first name, especially at the beginning. For people who grew up in East Asian or strongly hierarchical family and education systems, using a professional’s first name can feel rude, unsafe, or simply unnatural. For them, “teacher” may be a bridge into the relationship before anything deeper can be explored. During the later communication, the relationship during the consultation can be fluid. When both parties feel equal, they might naturally drop the term "teacher" and just address each other by their first names.

In cross-cultural practice, I think we need to avoid simple answers. One simple answer is: “It is just a respectful title, so there is nothing to discuss.” The other is: “It is unprofessional, so it must be stopped.” Neither response is enough.

So the work is not to correct the client immediately. The work is to notice what is happening. A counsellor might need to ask themselves: Am I becoming too comfortable with the authority this title gives me? Does it make it easier for me to slip into the role of guide, expert, or instructor? Does it make it harder for the client to disagree with me, feel angry with me, or tell me that something is not working? Are we still doing therapy, or have we quietly moved into education, training, or life advice?

When these questions can be held in mind, “teacher” stops being just a cultural habit. It becomes material for understanding the therapeutic relationship.

Junhaoran LI (Oliver) is a Sydney-based art therapist and counsellor. He holds multidisciplinary degrees in art therapy, arts and crafts, veterinary medicine, and editing and publishing. His clinical and community work focuses on art therapy, cross-cultural mental health, queer lived experience, trauma-informed practice, dementia care, ADHD/ASD support, animal-assisted therapy, and Chinese-speaking communities.

As a member of the Miao ethnic minority and an openly gay man in a same-sex marriage, Oliver is committed to culturally responsive and affirming practice for LGBTQ+ and CALD communities. He is actively involved in public mental health education and community engagement. He is involved in R U OK? community engagement initiatives with Chinese-speaking communities and serves as a co-lead of ANTRA’s Tongxing Peer Support Project, which supports Chinese-speaking queer people living in Australia.

Oliver is also an exhibiting artist dedicated to promoting Chinese intangible cultural heritage, particularly lacquer art. He integrates traditional crafts into expressive therapies and uses bilingual public education, workshops, writing, and social media outreach to demystify art therapy, counselling, queer mental health, and cross-cultural therapeutic practice. His work has been featured in SBS Mandarin and multiple Chinese-language media outlets.

Bordin, E. S. (1979). The generalizability of the psychoanalytic concept of the working alliance. Psychotherapy: Theory, research & practice, 16(3), 252.

Flückiger, C., Del Re, A. C., Wampold, B. E., & Horvath, A. O. (2018). The alliance in adult psychotherapy: A meta-analytic synthesis. Psychotherapy, 55(4), 316.

Hook, J. N., Davis, D. E., Owen, J., Worthington Jr, E. L., & Utsey, S. O. (2013). Cultural humility: measuring openness to culturally diverse clients. Journal of counseling psychology, 60(3), 353

Ng, C. T. C., & James, S. (2013). “Directive approach” for Chinese clients receiving psychotherapy: is that really a priority?. Frontiers in Psychology, 4, 49.