what I hear in therapy:

How Therapy Improves Life (And Why It’s Not Just About Talking)

In my work, I often meet people who’ve spent years navigating life feeling a bit “off” in social situations, work environments, or even just sitting quietly by themselves.

It’s that stillness—when we’re not distracted, not performing, not doing—that sometimes allows our past to catch up with us. For some, it arrives as a quiet unease. For others, it’s a wave of overwhelm that seems to come out of nowhere. We might call it being triggered, but what’s really happening is that old emotional patterns—formed through past experiences—are playing out again in the present.

So, people respond. Some get busy: tidying the house, going to the gym, diving into work. Others turn inward and start to nitpick, judge, and criticise themselves. That’s a form of action too—just one that’s a bit more corrosive.

And what I see, time and time again, is that people are living through these moments, reacting in these ways, and then punishing themselves for it. Internally, they’re saying things like, “Why couldn’t I just speak up?” or “Why do I always feel so small around others?” They want to be able to articulate themselves clearly, assertively, like an adult—but in the moment, they freeze, overwhelmed, and feel childlike. And then the internal critic swoops in, reinforcing the belief that they’re not enough. Over time, this erodes self-esteem.

Here’s the thing: they haven’t done anything wrong. They simply haven’t yet had the chance to piece together their own history, with support. That’s where therapy comes in.

Why therapy feels scary (and why that makes sense)

A lot of people don’t want to come to therapy. And that’s completely understandable. Therapy is a very specific kind of relationship—it asks a lot. You’re sitting with another human being, and if you’re willing, you let them see what it actually feels like to be you. Not just the surface stuff, but the full internal world. That’s incredibly vulnerable.

And if you don’t hold yourself in high regard—or you’ve never been truly seen or validated by others—it makes perfect sense to wonder: Will this person understand me? Will they get it right? Will it be safe to let them in?

In many cases, people’s reluctance to trust is deeply rooted in past experiences where trust wasn’t honoured. So of course this feels dangerous. It’s not resistance—it’s self-protection.

What changes in therapy?

When people do step into therapy, and they stick with it, something begins to shift. By the time we finish working together, I hear things like:

• “I’m not triggered in social situations anymore.”

• “I can be alone now without feeling flooded.”

• “I understand myself—my story makes sense to me.”

• “I don’t feel shame anymore. Or guilt that was never mine to carry.”

They start to feel a genuine sense of self-worth—not in an inflated way, but in a grounded, settled way. They’re able to look at their own story and say, Wow, I really survived that. No wonder I developed certain ways of coping.

And this is one of the most beautiful parts of therapy: seeing people begin to appreciate their own personality. To understand the traits and patterns that helped them survive. To realise that these weren't flaws—they were protection. And sometimes, they were brilliant.

We look at that together. We explore what parts of the self stepped forward, what they were protecting, and how well they did. There's a kind of reverence that comes in—how wonderful, really, to have a personality that looks after you like that.

In short?

Therapy helps you feel better about yourself. And when you feel better about yourself, you enjoy life more. You’re more present, more at ease, more connected to the world around you.

Sometimes people don’t realise how heavy things have been until they put the weight down. Therapy gives you the space to unburden, to reframe, to heal—and to walk away with a deeper appreciation for who you are and what you’ve lived through.

And that, I think, is the point.