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The Hidden Language of Therapy: 10 Things Every Great Therapist Knows

1. No one really changes unless they want to.

You can drag someone to therapy. You can throw lifelines, write letters, and wait by the phone. But if they don't want to see it, feel it, do the terrifying work of changing—they won't. And it's not because they're evil or selfish. Change requires a kind of 'ego death,' a letting go of the old self to make way for the new. Most people would rather suffer than undergo this profound transformation.

Okay, so now what?

You must stop trying to rescue people from themselves. It will destroy you. Love people where they are, not where you wish they'd be. Let them choose. Save your energy for your own healing. That's what changes the world. 

Let go of the illusion that you can save anyone. You can offer support, not transformation. That part is up to them. And your job—your only job—is to protect your peace and live your truth, even if they never change.

2. You are not broken.

Most people walk around thinking they're defective. Many of us learned to survive by shutting down, exploding, disappearing, being a perfectionist, being angry, and pleasing—because we had to. Those were the most intelligent decisions available at the time. 

You're not flawed. You're 'unfinished' because you're still growing and evolving. You've been using the tools you adapted to survive in a household and a situation you're no longer in. It's like getting used to a new house using the blueprints from your childhood home.

Okay, so now what?

Instead of asking, "What's wrong with me?" try asking, "What happened to me?" Then listen. Not with judgment—but with patience. The parts of you that feel the most shameful often make the most significant sacrifices to keep you alive. 

Thank the strategies that saved you. Then ask: Do I still need this? Is there another way? You can begin to let go of what's no longer serving you, piece by piece, over time. Like any muscle contracted for too long, it will be tender underneath. That's okay. Tenderness is where connection lives.

3. Healing rarely feels good.

You think healing is going to be all epiphanies and breakthroughs. Sometimes it is. More often, it's tedious and uncomfortable. It requires facing parts of yourself you'd rather avoid and letting go of old stories and the roles you played.

Okay, so now what?

No one is ready for anything—not proposing or having a baby; it's all terrifying to some degree. We've been taught that readiness comes before process when, in fact, it’s process that leads to preparedness. So, stop waiting to feel ready or motivated. Just commit to the process. Trust that progress often feels like nothing. Or worse—like regression. 

But little by little, you will notice you no longer abandon yourself or lower your expectations. The goal isn't to feel amazing all the time but to become more awake and attuned to yourself, even when it hurts. The goal is to raise your tolerance for discomfort, understanding that healing is a gradual process that requires patience and self-compassion. 

4. Your parents wired your nervous system.

Not just how you relate to others but how you relate to yourself. The way you attach. The way you respond to conflict. What you believe you're worth. It all started there, in the beginning. They didn't have to be abusive. Just distracted. Anxious. Inconsistent. Erratic. That's all it takes to bend a life.

Okay, so now what?

Learn about the nervous system and what it takes to feel regulated. Then, apply it. Try different things—meditate, take long walks, look out on a body of water. Just because your parents didn’t know how to regulate their own nervous systems, and therefore yours, doesn’t mean you’re stuck not knowing. It’s okay that they didn’t give it to you, but if you think you can do better, then you must give it to yourself.

5. Most people don't want intimacy.

Not real intimacy, at least. Real intimacy is mutual vulnerability, not validation. It's about letting someone really see you—flaws, needs, shame—and also seeing them without trying to fix them. That level of exposure is terrifying. So we often settle for control, caretaking, and chemistry, thinking it's love. But it's not. Real love requires discomfort and feeling vulnerable, which is risky. So we often avoid it or sabotage it. 

Okay, so now what?

Start by being honest with yourself. What parts of you do you hide, even from yourself? Where do you perform connection instead of living it? The more you allow your whole self to exist, the more capable you become of true closeness with yourself and others. Practice being seen a little more each day. Not all at once. Just enough to stretch.

That's how intimacy is built—inch by inch.

6. Loving yourself (or anyone) isn't a feeling; it's maintenance.

You might never "feel" loving toward yourself. That's okay. Love isn't a mood—it's a verb. It's feeding yourself even when you hate your body. It's resting even when your brain calls you lazy. It's doing the kind thing, especially when the cruel voice is loud. Most days, it looks like taking a walk instead of scrolling. Eating real food. Setting boundaries. Apologizing when you're wrong. Choosing quiet over chaos. It's less about how you feel and more about what you do when no one's watching.

Okay, so now what?

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My deepest insights don't go in the free version—distilled from 27 years in therapy, decades of study, and my own recovery from panic disorder. I share concepts clinicians know but rarely reveal—typically gatekept, buried in journals, or only discovered after years in therapy. Join our members for these professional-grade insights.

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