Grounded Growth Counseling & Consulting, LLC

There is a moment that happens in my therapy sessions fairly often.

A client starts telling me something.

Then stops.

There is a pause.

Maybe they look away.

Maybe they laugh nervously.

Then: “You’re going to judge me.”

Or: “This is going to sound terrible.”

Or: “I don’t know if I want to tell you this.”

And I usually say some version of: “I’m not judging you.”

Sometimes I can tell they don’t entirely believe me.

Which is fair.

I am, after all, sitting there with a notebook.

It’s not exactly helping my case.

But I mean it.

I’m really not sitting there thinking: Wow. What a disaster of a human being.

I’m usually thinking something much closer to: That makes sense.

Or: There’s something important here.

Or: I wonder what made this feel so difficult to tell me.

Or occasionally: There it is. That’s the thing we’ve been circling around for three sessions.

Therapy is a strange relationship. You’re sitting across from someone you may only know within the walls of a therapy room—or through a little rectangle on a telehealth screen—and you’re expected to tell them things you may not tell anyone else. Of course part of you wonders what they’re thinking. So let’s talk about what might actually be happening on the other side of the room.

The Things People Are Afraid I’ll Judge Them For

People worry I’ll judge them for all kinds of things.

Thoughts they’ve had.

Things they’ve done.

Things they haven’t done.

Sex.

Relationships.

Parenting.

Money.

Jealousy.

Anger.

Resentment.

Things they said during arguments.

Going back to someone they said they were done with.

Staying in relationships they know aren’t healthy.

Not leaving situations they thought they would have left by now.

Missing people who hurt them.

Feeling relieved when someone is gone.

Not feeling sad when they think they’re “supposed” to feel sad.

Intrusive thoughts.

Embarrassing habits.

Things they Googled.

Things they avoided.

Things they’re ashamed of.

Things they believe a therapist is definitely going to put in the imaginary file labeled: CONCERNING.

And most of the time, what they’re describing is much more human than they realize.

You Have Probably Not Shocked Your Therapist

This may either reassure you or deeply disappoint you.

Therapists hear a lot.

Human beings are complicated.

We think strange things.

We make decisions we later regret.

We contradict ourselves.

We want two completely opposite things at the same time.

We stay when we thought we’d leave.

Leave when we thought we’d stay.

Get jealous.

Get angry.

Avoid things.

Lie sometimes.

Have sexual thoughts.

Have intrusive thoughts.

Feel resentment toward people we love.

Want attention.

Want reassurance.

Want revenge.

Want everyone to leave us alone.

Occasionally want all of those things before lunch.

Part of becoming a therapist is becoming very familiar with the enormous range of things human beings think, feel, and do.

Your experience may feel uniquely shameful from the inside.

From my side of the room, I may recognize something very human underneath it.

I’m Usually More Curious Than Horrified

This is probably the best way I can explain it.

When a client tells me something difficult, my brain generally moves toward curiosity, not condemnation.

Not: “What is wrong with you?”

More:

“What happened here?”

“What were you feeling?”

“What did that do for you in the moment?”

“What were you afraid would happen?”

“Where did you learn that?”

“What need were you trying to meet?”

“What made that choice feel like the best available option at the time?”

“Is this still working for you?”

Curiosity doesn’t mean pretending everything is healthy. It means trying to understand something before deciding what to do with it. There’s a big difference.

Understanding Something Doesn’t Mean Approving of Everything

This is an important part of the conversation.

When I say: “I’m not judging you,”

I don’t mean: “Everything you do is wonderful and I have no concerns whatsoever.”

Therapy isn’t supposed to be an hour of someone enthusiastically endorsing every decision you’ve ever made.

Sometimes I may think:

That behavior is hurting you.

That wasn’t fair to the other person.

You’re avoiding something important.

That pattern keeps creating the same problem.

You have responsibility here.

You may need to repair something.

We need to talk about the impact of that choice.

A therapist can hold you accountable without deciding that your behavior defines your entire character.

We can say: “That wasn’t okay.” without saying: “You are not okay.” Those are very different statements.

Your Therapist May Challenge You

Sometimes people interpret being challenged as being judged. They’re not necessarily the same. I might point out a contradiction.

You tell me: “I don’t care what they think anymore.”

And then spend 25 minutes describing what you think they think.

I’m probably going to notice.

I might ask whether a coping strategy is actually helping.

I might challenge a belief.

I might notice that you’re applying one standard to yourself and another to everyone else.

I might point out that you’re asking someone else to respect a boundary you aren’t actually enforcing.

I might gently bring us back to something you’re very skillfully attempting to avoid.

None of that means: I think badly of you.

It means: I’m paying attention.

Therapists Are Still Human

I also don’t want to make therapists sound like emotionally neutral robots who have achieved enlightenment and now float three inches above the floor.

We haven’t.

Therapists have reactions.

We can feel:

Concerned.

Sad.

Protective.

Frustrated.

Surprised.

Confused.

Moved.

Amused.

Worried.

Sometimes we notice our own assumptions or biases.

Part of being a responsible therapist is paying attention to those reactions rather than automatically treating them as truth.

We have supervision.

Consultation.

Training.

Ethical standards.

Self-reflection.

Hopefully our own therapy when needed.

Our reactions are something for us to manage thoughtfully. They are not supposed to become a verdict on your worth.

Sometimes I’m Thinking About Something Completely Different Than You Imagine

This part makes me laugh a little.

A client says something.

Then watches my face.

I can practically see the internal analysis beginning.

She paused.

Why did she pause?

She wrote something down.

WHAT DID SHE WRITE?

Her eyebrow moved.

This is devastating.

Meanwhile, I may be thinking: I want to remember that phrase because it’s important.

Or: That connects to something they told me three weeks ago.

Or: I need to come back to that.

Or: How do I ask this next question without interrupting what they’re figuring out?

Or: Did my face just do something weird?

Therapists also possess faces. Unfortunately, they occasionally move without authorization.

So What Am I Writing Down?

Since we’re here.

No, I’m generally not creating a detailed list titled: Things You Said Today That Were Weird.

Therapists take notes differently, and documentation requirements vary depending on the setting, clinician, insurance involvement, and other factors.

But when I’m writing during a session, I may be noting:

A theme I want to return to.

Something important you said.

A pattern I’m noticing.

A name or detail I don’t want to forget.

Something relevant to treatment.

A question I want to ask later without interrupting you now.

The fact that I wrote something after you said something embarrassing does not necessarily mean: This has been entered into evidence. Sometimes you just said something clinically useful.

“But What If You Think I’m a Bad Person?”

This fear deserves more attention.

Because sometimes the concern isn’t really: Will my therapist disagree with me?

It’s: Will my therapist see who I really am and decide I’m bad?

That’s shame. And shame loves secrecy.

Shame says: If people knew this about me, they would see me differently.

So you edit.

Leave things out.

Tell 80% of the story.

Say: “I know this sounds bad…” before you’ve even explained what happened.

Watch the therapist’s face for signs of disgust.

Try to explain every detail perfectly so there’s no possible way they could misunderstand you.

And then sometimes therapy itself becomes another place where you’re managing how you’re perceived. Which is worth talking about.

You Can Tell Your Therapist You’re Worried They’re Judging You

Seriously. You can say: “I’m worried you’re judging me right now.”

That’s therapy material.

Actually, it can be really useful therapy material. Because then we can explore:

• What did you notice?
• What did you imagine I was thinking?
• What are you afraid I think this says about you?
• Who else have you expected judgment from?
• What usually happens when people see parts of you that you don’t like?
• What do you do when you’re afraid someone thinks badly of you?
• Do you explain?
• Withdraw?
• Apologize excessively?
• Get defensive?
• Change the subject?
• Make a joke?
• Try to become easier to like?

Suddenly the fear of judgment isn’t an obstacle to therapy. It’s part of the therapy.

The Thing You’re Most Afraid to Say Might Be Important

I’m not saying you need to immediately disclose every painful, private, or embarrassing thing you’ve ever experienced.

You get to have boundaries. You get to decide when you’re ready to talk about something.

Trust takes time. A good therapeutic relationship should give you room to build that trust rather than demanding instant vulnerability. But if there’s something you repeatedly almost say and then stop yourself because you’re afraid of what your therapist will think? That hesitation itself may be worth mentioning.

You can start with:“There’s something I want to tell you, but I’m worried about how you’ll see me afterward.”

You don’t even have to tell the thing yet.

Start there.

Sometimes People Apologize to Me for Having Feelings

This deserves its own section.

Clients apologize for crying. “Sorry.”

For being angry. “Sorry, I’m just frustrated.”

For talking too much.

For not knowing what to say.

For needing a minute.

For being anxious.

For getting off topic.

For having a difficult week.

For coming back to the same issue.

For not having made as much progress as they think they should have.

Sometimes I’ll hear multiple apologies in one session. And I find myself thinking: You are apologizing for doing therapy in therapy.

You do not need to perform wellness for your therapist.

You don’t have to arrive with a productive agenda and three measurable improvements since last Tuesday.

Sometimes therapy is: “I’m still struggling with the same thing.”

Okay.

Let’s start there.

I’ve Heard the Thing You Think Makes You Weird

Maybe not your exact thing. But probably something in the neighborhood.

The thought you’re ashamed of.

The relationship you returned to.

The thing you haven’t told anyone.

The resentment you think you’re not supposed to feel.

The mistake you keep replaying.

The behavior you don’t understand.

The part of yourself you desperately wish were different.

Therapists spend an unusual amount of time sitting with people while they talk about the parts of themselves they find least acceptable. And one of the things that experience teaches you is: Human beings are messy. Very messy.

There is no secret group of emotionally healthy people who have never had an ugly thought, made a bad decision, behaved selfishly, avoided something important, or felt something they wish they didn’t feel. They’re not hiding somewhere. I’ve checked.

What I Actually Want From You

Not perfection.

Not a carefully edited version of yourself.

Not the answer you think sounds psychologically healthy.

Not: “I used my coping skills and communicated assertively and everything was resolved.”

Lovely when that happens.

Sometimes what I need to hear is: “I knew exactly what the healthy thing was and I absolutely did not do it.”

Great.

Now we have something real to work with.

Therapy works better when we’re working with what’s actually happening rather than the version of you that you think should be happening.

You don’t have to impress your therapist.

You don’t have to make your therapist like you.

You don’t have to prove you’re trying hard enough.

You don’t have to convince us you’re a good person before telling us about something you regret.

Bring the messy version. That’s usually where the useful stuff is.

And If You Still Don’t Believe Me…

That’s okay too.

Maybe you’ve been judged before.

Maybe vulnerability hasn’t historically been safe.

Maybe people have used things you’ve told them against you.

Maybe you’ve learned to carefully monitor what parts of yourself other people are allowed to see.

It makes sense that sitting across from someone saying: “You can tell me anything.”

doesn’t instantly undo all of that.

Trust isn’t created by a therapist announcing: “Trust me.” It’s built through what happens afterward.

You share something small.

You see how it’s received.

Then maybe something a little harder.

You notice whether you’re treated with respect.

Whether your therapist stays curious.

Whether they can challenge you without shaming you.

Whether they remember that you’re a whole person even when you’re talking about something you aren’t proud of.

Those experiences accumulate. That’s how trust gets built.

No, I’m Really Not Secretly Judging You

So when one of my clients looks at me and says: “You’re going to judge me.” and I say: “I’m not judging you,” I mean it.

That doesn’t mean I’ll never challenge you.

It doesn’t mean I’ll tell you every decision was healthy.

It doesn’t mean I’ll pretend harmful behavior didn’t cause harm.

It means I’m not sitting across from you assigning a moral score to your humanity.

I’m trying to understand you.

I’m trying to help you understand yourself.

I’m trying to figure out what happened, what keeps happening, what you need, what isn’t working, and what might help.

And sometimes I’m waiting patiently while you spend five minutes explaining why what you’re about to tell me is extremely weird. Only for you to finally tell me. And for me to think: Oh. Yeah. Humans do that.

So say the thing when you’re ready. And if you’re not ready? Say that. We can start there too.