Does authenticity threaten therapy? A balancing act

I was on the same level with him, also vulnerable, also searching.

It was as if he wanted to build a bridge to overcome the distance between us. But while I was emotionally moved by his statement, my thoughts took me away for a moment. A quiet warning crept in: Should I dare to deviate from the role of neutral observer? The golden rule of abstinence in psychotherapy was too firmly anchored in me. This states that psychotherapists are only allowed to disclose personal information about themselves to a very limited extent. A therapist should put their own person and their own needs aside in order to offer patients a space in which they can deal with their personal problems without distraction.

Maybe David sensed my hesitation. Perhaps in his sensitive perception he had long since understood that I wasn’t as invulnerable as I tried to appear. People with attachment trauma like David are often sensitive. In order to detect potential threats early, they developed finely tuned antennas during their childhood. But these protective mechanisms come at a price: they increase isolation and only increase the deep longing for real closeness and connection. That’s exactly why David needed me to show myself authentically.

A common misunderstanding

But I let the moment pass and remained in the role of the distant expert. I replied as neutrally as possible to his comment that it was easier for me: “Oh, it’s not that easy.” “Well, you know how to deal with everything,” David asked. “Hmm… maybe some of it, but definitely not everything,” I replied shortly. What would he have said if I had revealed to him that I was struggling too? That I have weak moments when doubts and insecurities quietly creep into the background of my thoughts?

David’s words resonated: “Well, you know how to handle anything.” This idea that as a therapist you always have clarity and control over your own internal processes is a widespread misunderstanding. I thought about the many times I had been on the other side, sitting on a couch myself – just like David was at that moment. Back then, in the first few sessions, I had felt small and insecure, as if what I brought with me was too chaotic to be truly sorted or understood.

Small insights have a connecting effect

At that time, I experienced how healing it can be when therapists not only keep their distance, but also show humanity: small personal insights that were not intrusive, but had a unifying effect. It was precisely this personal aspect that was crucial for me because at that time I was looking for something maternal, a support that I had not experienced in my family of origin. In our technical jargon we speak of “reparenting” – the experience of getting something of what was missing as a child in the therapeutic relationship. This warmth was not part of a theoretical concept, but something deeply human. And that was probably exactly what was the most healing factor in my own therapy.

So now I sat here as a therapist, not with all the answers, but a little brighter – ready to accompany others on this painful journey. The openness that I was able to experience in my own therapy stayed with me, and perhaps it was time to incorporate some of that into my own therapeutic approach. Authenticity didn’t have to mean revealing everything, but rather sharing the essentials – enough to create closeness, but without crossing protective boundaries.

Our work with David ended shortly afterwards, before I had the opportunity to truly live this new understanding in our therapy relationship. Some time later I was sitting with Clara^*a young woman, in a therapy session. Clara seemed closed to me, as if she wanted to reveal as little as possible. Their answers were often brief. She came to me because she kept getting into conflicts at work. We had already explored the origins of their tension. The way her parents often judged her had shaped her and led her to now react very sensitively to criticism.

Something concrete to remain able to act

“I need something to help me stay calm in these moments at work,” she said, nervously fiddling with her hands. It was no longer a matter of continuing to talk about it – now something concrete was needed. Something that helped her keep a clear head and remain able to act.

I felt myself struggling again with opening myself up. Finally I decided to give it a go. “You know,” I began, “I know situations like this.” Clara seemed surprised, almost as if she hadn’t expected me to say something like that. I pulled a small, inconspicuous shell out of my pocket. “I always have these with me,” I explained. “Whenever I get nervous, I reach into my pocket and feel the shell between my fingers. This helps me to ground myself, to stay with myself.” Clara nodded slowly, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small stone, coral colored and smooth, oval in shape. A selenite. She turned it over in her hand. “A friend brought this to me from her vacation in Portugal yesterday,” she said quietly. “It’s so nice and cool in your hand. Maybe it can help me stay calm.”

In the sessions that followed, I noticed a change in our dynamic. Clara dared to be vulnerable more than ever before. In doing so, she had overcome a large part of her original strategy of always appearing strong and aloof. Sure, that little selenite had been useful for emotional regulation, but in the end it was the connection we shared in that moment that helped Clara open up.

David was no longer there to experience this change, but it was the experience with him that found expression here. It was he who had taught me that authenticity does not threaten the role of the therapist, but rather only humanizes her – and that it is precisely this humanity that sometimes makes all the difference. Because “what heals,” says Irvin D. Yalom, co-founder of existential psychotherapy, “ultimately is the relationship. The love. The connections with people.”