As a therapist, I have therapy too

It’s valuable to have a space that’s just for me. A place where I can step out of my role as a therapist and feel emotionally held and supported by someone else.

I’d had a break from therapy for a while and have recently started again, this time with a new therapist. His approach is psychodynamic and also draws on nondual therapy, which is very different from my own background in CBT.

Finding him was interesting. I had an idea of what I wanted, but no idea who might resonate with what I was looking for. I wondered whether the things I wanted to explore were a bit too niche. I also worried that I wouldn’t be able to switch off my therapist brain. Would I spend the session quietly assessing what he said and his ability as a therapist? Would I find myself thinking about the choices I’d have made in his position? And would I feel judged for seeking therapy as a therapist myself?

I’d seen a few of his videos on YouTube and liked his way of thinking.

After our first session, I wanted to go back. Something had struck a chord. He’d offered a way of looking at my difficulties that I might not have reached on my own. That’s part of what drew me to someone with a different approach: he has training and a perspective I don’t have. There’s also so much value in receiving help from someone else—someone with enough distance to offer an outside perspective on what I’m facing.

Something we spoke about was my tendency to try to fix things. I’m used to finding solutions, making plans and working out what to do next. I’m used to playing the role of strategist. I mean, it’s what I’m usually doing for others. But what I’d brought to therapy didn’t have a clear solution. As he put it, it was quite existential.

Of course, my therapist brain immediately thought: Okay, so it’s existential. How do I solve that?

My mind churned, trying to find a clear answer. I noticed an uncomfortable feeling emerging as I realised there might not be anything to solve. There are moments in life when everything feels blurred and difficult to put into words, as though existence itself has become intangible. This was one of them. I’ve spent so much time helping other people find a path through difficulties that I assumed the path through mine would be clear. My instinct was and perhaps still is, to make a map: name what’s wrong, work out where to begin and find the quickest way through.

But I’m realising that, for now, I could do with noticing what I’m feeling, staying curious and seeing what emerges. Maybe there is a tangible solution, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I notice that the more I try to force one, the less harmonious I feel. There’s a part of me that’s grasping, acting from a place of urgency. I get the feeling that if I step away from trying to find a solution, I may find a clearer, less pressured way forward. One that feels more aligned. I already knew this on some level, but knowing it and allowing myself to do it are different things. Having a therapist help me remember that has been precious.

So part of my therapy at the moment is about practising what I often help other people with: making room for an experience without rushing to change it. I’m remembering that uncertainty doesn’t have to be resolved before it can be lived with. Sometimes the most meaningful step is to pause, let the unanswered questions remain, and trust that I don’t have to make sense of everything. For now, it’s enough to be supported while I stay with what is and allow understanding to arrive in its own time. I’d like to share how this goes, so I’ll write another post at some point.