It’s quite interesting to have friends who aren’t therapists. Of course, the jokes about me analyzing them or reading their minds come up, and often my loved ones have to remind me, “You don’t need to be a therapist right now.” And while I laugh it off, I’ve also noticed the surprise when people find out that I, too, take therapy. The most common question I get is, "Why would a therapist need therapy?"
This misconception is widespread—the idea that therapists somehow have their lives perfectly sorted out, untouched by the struggles they help others navigate. The truth couldn’t be further from that. Therapists are human, too. And that’s what I want to unpack.
As a “new” adult, I’ve recently started living alone, away from family. Every day, I return to an empty, sometimes messy house that reminds me how much of my life is still in progress. Professionally, I constantly question my skills, wondering if I’m in the right profession. Will I ever be "good enough"? Will there come a time when I will feel completely confident in my capacity to guide others through their struggles? When I’m overwhelmed by these thoughts, I often retreat into a dark cave of anxiety. It’s a feeling many of us—whether we’re therapists or not—can relate to. At times, I’ve wished I could fast-forward through the uncertainty, to arrive at a point where I’m that ideal therapist, someone who has everything figured out, like a perfectly solved 1000-piece puzzle, framed and on display.
But here’s the thing: this desire to ‘solve’ everything can prevent me from actually living through my experiences. Where did I learn this? In my therapy. The same space where I guide others has become one where I am also guided. We often live with the idea that the ultimate goal is to reach a point where we no longer need help, be fully self-sufficient, and never rely on anyone else. But that idea is a myth.
So why do therapists need therapy? Because we are human. We deal with our own insecurities, fears, and doubts, just like everyone else. And through therapy, we don’t just confront our struggles—we become better at understanding the struggles of others. Therapy helps me develop the empathy I need to be a better therapist. It also reminds me of the importance of vulnerability.
In the first seven months of my career, I lost both my grandfathers. Grief hit me like a wave and suddenly, I was in a strange mixture—trying to support others in their emotional pain while I was drowning in my own. My sessions as a therapist became heavier; I felt split between the version of me that had to stay grounded for my clients and the version of me that was struggling to process two significant losses. It was in therapy that I allowed myself to grieve truly, to face my emotions head-on, instead of pushing them aside. But it wasn’t easy. Processing those losses while holding space for my clients felt like a tightrope. There were days I questioned how I could sit in a room and have someone else’s pain when my own was so raw.
I had to remind myself that therapy wasn’t just about being the “strong” one. My own grief, and my pain, helped me understand just how messy and unpredictable healing can be. In therapy, I learned to stop compartmentalising my life. My grief was a part of me, just like being a therapist was, and I didn’t have to separate the two. It took time, but therapy helped me realize that holding my pain didn’t make me less capable of holding someone else’s. At the end of the day, we’re all just trying to figure life out, whether we’re therapists or not. And that’s okay.
The fact that therapists seek help doesn’t make us any less capable—it makes us better at what we do because we know firsthand how important it is to ask for support when we need it. So, when you picture your therapist, remember—they’re a person, just like you. And going to therapy isn’t a sign that something’s wrong. It’s a reminder that we all need a little help sometimes, and there’s nothing more human than that.
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