Meet Paige Bakman of Century City

Today we’d like to introduce you to Paige Bakman.

Hi Paige, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
I was raised in Los Angeles in a complex environment that was both loving and profoundly chaotic. My parents divorced when I was an infant, and my early life was shaped by conflict and separation. Even as a child, I felt things intensely. I remember clinging to my mom, terrified to leave her side, as though my safety depended entirely on her presence. That kind of early anxiety became both my deepest wound and my greatest teacher.

Over the years, I’ve come to understand that my story has never been black and white. Even within the chaos of my childhood, there was tenderness. My mom embodied unconditional love and emotional safety; and my stepdad, who entered my life when I was four, brought a steadiness and safety into my world that I had never known. Watching him build his career as a defense attorney from nothing, with relentless integrity and brilliance, gave me a model for resilience and purpose. He taught me that even when life feels chaotic, discipline, grit, and a sense of calling can create order. That influence is one of the deepest reasons I was drawn to forensic psychology: it combined the justice, intellect, and humanity I saw in him every day.

Still, the instability of those years left its mark. Moments of fear and loss shaped how I relate to others even now. I’ve lived through sudden ruptures and unexpected disconnections, and those experiences carved deep patterns of attachment and anxiety that I’ve spent adulthood learning to understand. Over time, though, I’ve come to see that my story isn’t defined by what hurt me, but by how I’ve grown through it. The coexistence of love and pain, safety and instability, taught me early that multiple truths can exist at once: a lesson that has become central to both my life and my work as a psychologist.

My curiosity about human behavior and the justice system led me to Loyola Marymount University for my bachelor’s degree, Pepperdine University for my master’s, and then a doctorate in clinical psychology from Azusa Pacific University, where I specialized in forensic psychology. My training took me through state hospitals and correctional facilities, experiences that showed me the human capacity for resilience in the most unlikely places. I have published research on the treatment and mental health needs of incarcerated individuals, which reflects my commitment to advancing both justice and compassion within forensic settings. Working in those environments also shaped how I see people in my personal life. It gave me a tolerance most people don’t have for complexity and nuance, and a patience to stand by people when others might walk away. I believe that most people are doing the best they can with what they know at the time, and that belief allows me to hold space for growth even when it’s messy.

After earning my doctorate, I completed my internship in Maryland, the first time I ever left Los Angeles, and that move became its own kind of psychological transformation. It invited me to confront the same separation fears that had lived in me since childhood. My anxiety has been a lifelong companion, sometimes painfully so. It’s the part of me I know most intimately. It shows up as the voice that tries to protect me from loss or uncertainty, even when it makes life harder. I’ve learned that anxiety has its own intelligence: it’s both my survival instinct and the root of my empathy. It allows me to feel what others feel, to understand fear and longing not just intellectually but viscerally. And while it’s the source of much of my struggle, it’s also the foundation of my connection to others. It just takes me longer than most to move through loss, to loosen my grip on what I’ve loved. My attachment runs deep, and while it can make letting go difficult, it’s also what allows me to love and connect with others so deeply.

Some relationships in my life have been mirrors, showing me both my strengths and my challenges. They’ve taught me how important it is to stay true to who I am, even when that truth isn’t easy for others to understand, and to never erase myself just to belong. I’ve learned that real connection can only exist alongside authenticity. And I’ve also realized that not everyone will see things the way I do, and that’s okay. Those lessons continue to shape not only my relationships, but the way I understand and support others in my work.

This season of my life has been one of change and transition: painful, but also deeply clarifying. I’m learning to find meaning in the quiet and to trust the strength that comes from being with myself. This space has given me room to reflect on my own patterns, the parts I want to grow beyond and the ways I hope to show up differently moving forward. That process feels never-ending, but maybe that’s what being human is: continually refining how we love, how we respond, and how we evolve.

Today, I run a private practice and conduct forensic evaluations for the Los Angeles Superior Court. I specialize in the treatment of severe mental illness and psychosis, areas that remind me daily how fragile and intricate the human mind can be. This work keeps me grounded in the truth that healing isn’t a straight line. It’s circular, layered, and lifelong. If there’s a through line in my life, it’s that every ending, every rupture, every moment of loss or anxiety, has quietly been asking me to return to myself. I’m still learning how to do that. But it’s from that same place of learning that I meet my clients, not as someone who’s figured it all out, but as someone who understands what it means to keep trying.

Would you say it’s been a smooth road, and if not what are some of the biggest challenges you’ve faced along the way?
It hasn’t been a smooth road, but I don’t think it was ever supposed to be. My path has been shaped by anxiety, change, and a lifelong effort to find steadiness within myself. For much of my life, I measured stability by proximity to others: by whether I was loved or accepted. When that safety was disrupted, my anxiety would take over completely. Learning how to soothe myself, rather than be soothed, has been one of my life’s hardest lessons.

There have also been periods of isolation, times when I felt like life kept handing me the hardest, most complex lessons, often through loss or sudden change. But those moments have shaped me into someone who can sit and move through pain instead of running from it, which is incredibly hard and uncomfortable. They taught me that resilience isn’t about perfection or ease; it’s about showing up for yourself, even when everything in you wants to disappear.

That same sensitivity that once made life feel so difficult is now what allows me to connect so deeply with others. My struggles have been my teachers, they gave me empathy, they gave me purpose, and ultimately, they gave me my career.

As you know, we’re big fans of you and your work. For our readers who might not be as familiar what can you tell them about what you do?
Professionally, I wear two hats. I’m a forensic psychologist and a clinical psychologist: two worlds that meet at the intersection of law, psychology, and the human experience. I conduct court-ordered evaluations for the Los Angeles Superior Court, addressing questions like competency to stand trial, criminal responsibility, mental health diversion, sexual offense risk assessment, and mitigation. I also maintain a private practice where I support individuals facing complex mental health issues and life transitions.

The population I serve often carries immense pain. Many of the people I evaluate are incarcerated and living with serious mental illness, individuals whose stories are marked by adversity and by environments that have too often failed to support them, creating barriers to the care and treatment they need. I hear about trauma every single day, and bearing witness to that level of suffering is heavy. It changes you. But it also reminds me, over and over again, of the resilience that can exist in the darkest places.

Before becoming licensed, I trained across state hospitals, correctional facilities, and clinical programs, working with individuals at every point of the justice and mental health system. My published research on incarcerated individuals grew out of that experience and reflects my belief that everyone, no matter their circumstances, deserves to be seen with humanity and depth.

What sets me apart is how personally I connect to this work. I don’t view people through the lens of pathology or judgment. I see them as layered, shaped by systems, experiences, and stories. My background has taught me that we all exist in shades of complexity and that understanding someone requires curiosity, not judgment. I’m most proud of my ability to hold both clinical objectivity and deep compassion. My goal isn’t just to evaluate or treat, it’s to understand the person behind the story.

So, before we go, how can our readers or others connect or collaborate with you? How can they support you?
Through my Los Angeles–based practice, I work clinically with private clients and conduct forensic evaluations. In addition to my work with the Los Angeles Superior Court, I’m also retained privately by attorneys seeking psychological evaluations for their clients. These cases often involve complex questions and I take pride in offering evaluations that are both clinically rigorous and deeply human. Beyond direct clinical and forensic work, I continue to write and conduct research.

For attorneys or professionals interested in consultation, referral, or collaboration, I can be reached directly through my website or professional email. For those who simply resonate with my work or my story, the best way to support it is simply by keeping these conversations alive, by seeing people in their full complexity, challenging stigma, and allowing both truth and compassion to coexist.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://paigebakman.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/paigebakman/?hl=en
• LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/paige-bakman-psy-d-404821371