There’s Something Fundamentally Wrong with Therapy

Trust isn’t a doorway—it’s the ground the house is built on.

I know. You already don’t like how that title sounds. Bear with me—it’s not what you think.

---

Candidly, I’ve carried a discomfort with therapy for as long as I can remember. A quiet tension I tried many times to articulate, even as I trusted some fundamental part of the process. Therapy is supposed to help. It does help—many people, in real and measurable ways. Thus, my inevitable takeaway:

This discomfort must be mine. I’m too guarded, too analytical. I just need to let go of…something.

Fear of rejection, maybe. I do carry my fair share of trauma. Much like the rest of you, I imagine.

And for a long time, I nearly convinced myself that was all it was.

But it wasn’t. Autistic realization has reframed a lot for me over the past several years. And as it happens, that unease I’ve always felt with therapy wasn’t resistance. It was recognition of something actually tangible. A contradiction that goes largely unacknowledged.

To be clear: this is not a rejection of therapy. I believe in its potential. I’ve seen its real impact. But that belief and observable evidence exist alongside a growing awareness that something in the system is fundamentally broken. Not just ineffective for many—but, at times, actively harmful. And unless we’re willing to name that, therapy will never fulfill the promise it was meant to carry.

I know, I’m losing you. I promise—I’m getting to the point. Right now.

---

“How can you claim to be an effective guide for me if you don’t know who I am or where I’m going?”

That’s not a rhetorical flourish. It’s a structural flaw built into most therapeutic approaches. Even well-intentioned therapists often begin from a place that quietly assumes too much.

Trust is treated not as something to be earned, but as something already present—an unspoken agreement built into the premise of therapy itself. But that scaffold only holds if it’s anchored in something real, something aligned with the client’s actual internal framework.

And way too often, it just isn’t.

Many therapy models aim to triangulate: identify who you are, determine where you want to go, and chart a path forward. In theory, that creates clarity. But in practice, that process often skips a crucial layer—the deep structure beneath identity and goals. The layer where meaning is formed. Where trust is born. Where decisions take shape in ways that can’t be captured by surface-level language or standardized technique.

Without that grounded layer, the path becomes disorienting. It may look clear to the therapist, but it doesn’t feel like movement to the person navigating it.

The result? A structure that demands vulnerability before it establishes safety. That asks you to surrender control before it offers coherence. So, let’s spell out that contradiction:

Those systems that rely on pre-installed trust often present themselves as the means to build trust.

Do you see the problem? These systems talk about forming a strong foundation—but the foundation they actually stand on is only assumed to be there.

That’s not just a misstep. It’s a quiet erosion of the relationship before it even has a chance to take root.

For many—especially those who process the world through nontraditional cognitive structures—yes, I’m talking about neurodivergence—trust isn’t directional. It’s gravitational. It has to emerge from within. It has to align with how someone builds meaning—not just with what they say or how they behave.

---

And yet, therapy often follows a script:

“You are broken, and I know how to fix you—but only if you let me.”

That framing—though often implicit—even if explicitly denounced by every therapist with any sense—is everywhere. In clinical checklists. In intake scripts. In the assumption that resistance signals pathology instead of self-preservation. And in the practice of therapists who haven’t yet recognized that even professional trust must be earned. This framing turns surrender into submission. Healing into obedience.

But for people whose identity is built on internal coherence—not external validation—that demand isn’t just uncomfortable. It’s alienating.

You can’t guide someone safely across a bridge if you don’t understand how they move.

Still, therapy can work. It does work. Even within a flawed system. But only when the therapist is willing to see the flaws—not ignore them. When they approach with humility, not authority. With curiosity, not a framework already written.

It means asking:

• What does trust look like for this person?

• How does this mind form meaning?

• Where does movement begin for them?

Effective therapy doesn’t start with answers. It starts with structural empathy. With the willingness to slow down and understand how someone builds a foundation—before offering to help them climb.

Trust can’t simply be imposed.

It must emerge—slowly, steadily—from the recognition that the person in front of you isn’t a project to be fixed, but a system of meaning to be understood.

And from there, healing becomes possible—not because the system made it so, but because someone within it chose to lead with integrity.

For therapists, that means letting go of the idea that technique or insight is enough. It means reframing resistance as a signal—not of disorder, but of misalignment. It means showing up not just as a professional, but as a listener—willing to be recalibrated by the person in front of you.

To the therapists already doing this: I see you. And I’m grateful for what you do. Please keep doing it. But we need more of you. A lot more.

And for those seeking therapy: honor your own framework. Your pace. Your doubt. Your sense of what feels grounded and what feels performative. Therapy doesn’t work because you submit to it. It works when it resonates with how you make sense of yourself and the world.

And it’s okay to walk away from what doesn’t.

This isn’t about giving up on therapy.

It’s about rebuilding it—at the root.

Where real connection still has a chance to grow.

Where meaning lives.

Where trust begins. ∞

---