Most people imagine therapy as a neat one-hour session where a professional sits across from you, offering perfect advice and solutions. But the reality is far more human—and far more meaningful.
When you walk into a therapy office, you might see photos of mountaintops, inspirational quotes, soft music, and plush couches. It creates the illusion that therapists are fully put together, completely healed, and ready to fix whatever walks through the door.
At a recent therapy conference, a well-known LCSW and practice owner opened her keynote by joking about her ADHD and hinting at a possible autism diagnosis. She laughed, then looked out at the audience and said: “You laugh because most of you are neurodivergent too.”
Over the years, I’ve sat with MFTs, LCSWs, CMHCs, psychologists—you name it. When people hear I’m a therapist, the most common responses are either, “Are you crazy yourself?” or “Are you analyzing me right now?” (Spoiler: probably yes, but so are you.)
Spend enough time with therapists, and you’ll hear the truth: we struggle with the same things you do. Divorce. Financial stress. Relationship strain. Kids being left out. Loss. Career burnout. We don’t have all the answers. We are human, too—and sometimes we carry the weight of your story home with us.
During my internship, I worked with survivors of domestic violence and found myself drowning in the heaviness of it all. A professor told me that carrying clients’ pain is like a gift—something you either have or don’t. Later, someone else reframed it: it’s not a gift, it’s a muscle you can strengthen over time. That’s closer to the truth. Some days it’s easy to leave the stories behind. Other days, they follow me home. The truth is: we don’t stop caring just because the hour ends.
The Quiet Wins
Therapy breakthroughs rarely look like they do in movies. There are no dramatic “aha!” moments scored by swelling music. Progress is often slow and subtle.
The first time a client says “no” without apology.
The day someone names a feeling they’ve avoided for years.
The courage it takes to share a secret for the very first time.
Those quiet moments—the ones no one else sees—are the real wins. That’s what lights us up.
Being a therapist isn’t about giving advice or fixing people. It’s about guiding someone back to their own strength, reminding them that the answers they’re looking for are already inside. My goal is never to keep clients with me for life. My goal is to help them become their own therapist.
We laugh with you. We cry with you. We hope with you. And yes—therapists need therapy, too. Because this isn’t just a profession. It’s a deeply human experience.
The Numbers Behind the Work
- 75% of people benefit from psychotherapy (American Psychiatric Association).
- 87% report life improvements like confidence, happiness, and self-esteem (Pulse on Mental Health, 2024).
- Yet 52% of therapists experienced burnout in the past year (SimplePractice study).
These numbers show both sides of the story: therapy works, and therapists need support, too. Healing is powerful work—but it takes energy, vulnerability, and resilience on both sides of the room.
Therapists Need Support Too
Therapists are not immune to stress, grief, or overwhelm. The weight of sessions doesn’t just vanish at the end of the day. Many of us seek therapy ourselves—not because we’re failing, but because it keeps us grounded enough to show up for others.
When people hear that I go to therapy, they’re often surprised. But I compare it to medicine: even the best physician benefits from another doctor’s care. Self-work is hard to sustain alone.
Recently, after a week of community-level trauma, I found myself holding my breath, my stomach tight, my body stuck in a trauma response. My therapist suggested polyvagal exercises: box breathing, humming, and upbeat music (goodbye sad love songs). I had forgotten the basics until another professional reminded me.
That’s the thing—skills only help if you actually use them. And sometimes even therapists forget.
The Myth of Self-Care
In grad school, the answer to everything seemed to be: self-care. Overwhelmed? Self-care. Burned out? Self-care. Sad? Angry? Frustrated? Self-care.
But here’s the truth: most therapists I know don’t have the luxury of long yoga retreats or mental health days. Employers may use the language of “wellness” and “support,” but many treat providers as easily replaceable.
So, we learn to care for ourselves in the margins. A deep breath between sessions. Shaking out our hands before walking back into the room. Listening to one uplifting song instead of doomscrolling.
It doesn’t have to be big. But it does have to be real. Don’t just talk about self-care. Don’t just recommend it to others. Actually do it.
