Breaking the familiar – with the therapist by your side

Also known as: Why the hell does therapy feel so scary, and how can you still access it without it overwhelming you to the limits of your capacity?

I’ve been a therapist for 10 years. I’ve been working with vulnerable people for half of my life. I was lucky enough to be raised by a human-centred mother—a nurse, a human—who, without applying much (or any) psychological theory, helped people in the right way. If there’s one thing she modelled for me that truly impacted me, both as a human and a professional, it’s how to create safe spaces.

The idea of a "safe space" and the good enough mother, capable of creating one, never meant a world where all my immediate needs were perfectly met. I’ve learned from her that a safe mother—like a good enough therapist—is strong and unshaken by how she’s received, perceived, or thought about, as long as what she stands for is true. How else could the good enough mother allow her children the space to develop resilience, independence, and a sense of self? I’m not talking about tough love—far from it. Tough love, with its emphasis on harshness and emotional detachment, does not create safety. It demands compliance or change through force, rather than nurturing growth through understanding and patience. A good enough mother—like a good enough therapist—creates a space where the child is free to explore, to fail, and to rise again, without the fear of being emotionally abandoned or criticised for not being perfect. This isn’t about pushing someone to their limits, but about holding them in a space where they can face their limitations, supported and understood.

Fostering Selfhood is a concept that’s stayed with me. To foster someone is to create the right, safe conditions for growth, through care, attention, and encouragement. It’s about setting the stage so they can flourish, even thrive—over time. Fostering is an intentional, ongoing effort to provide what’s needed, but it also means respecting and encouraging exploration—acknowledging a person’s unique thoughts, emotions, and lived experiences.

The good enough mother, and you can probably guess by now that this mirrors the good enough therapist, cares through the prism of experience. She makes informed decisions, predicts the impact of her actions—both short- and long-term. She makes her intentions clear, doesn’t over-explain but provides clarity, and helps make sense of experiences, especially the complex or difficult ones. She stays close, but doesn’t carry you over every obstacle. She doesn’t shield your eyes from the bad stuff. Unfortunately.

And that’s where we come back to the title of this piece—Breaking the Familiar: The Discomforts of Therapy.

So why does therapy feel scary?

First of all, just showing up to therapy can feel like an uphill climb for many. Let’s pause here and thank the bias we’ve inherited, alongside the generational trauma tied to mental health care. It’s almost as if our brains want to change the whole therapy label, right? I mean, what else could we call it? Suggestions on a postcard, please! But seriously, while I don’t want to invalidate the seriousness of therapy (it’s a big commitment), it doesn’t have to be terrifying. And more importantly, it doesn’t have to be what you expect it to be—if, that is, you’re brave enough to redefine it. Easier said than done, especially if your only reference points are The Sopranos and Girl, Interrupted.

So, you’ve made it to therapy... Now what?

You’ve sifted through countless therapist headshots, found one that resonates with you (which could easily take up an entire PhD), and now you’re sitting in the room—perhaps virtually—together. And here’s the question: How do you, with your rejection-sensitive dysphoria, mountains of emotional baggage, a history of abuse, and a life that doesn’t neatly fit into any bracket, even begin?

A good therapist will offer you an open invitation, which is really self-permission to be yourself in this space. They’ll ask you what you need, how you like to connect, and what feels comfortable—or uncomfortable. They won’t rush to define you, they’ll just invite you to be however you are.

But let’s be clear: it doesn’t get easier from here. Therapy is the space where nothing feels 100% familiar—not even you. It’s about stepping into uncharted territory, exploring the parts of yourself you haven’t yet encountered. It’s about healing old wounds and loosening stiff muscles, both emotional and physical. It’s about walking into the swamp, knowing that there’s someone with you who can at least hand you a stick to pull yourself out, if you want to.

But what if you’re neurodivergent?

Ah, well, this adds another layer of complexity. Therapy can be even more difficult when you’re neurodivergent. It often involves abstract ideas, gradual progress, and emotional exploration—things that can feel overwhelming if you thrive on clear structure and predictability. Letting go of familiar coping strategies—like masking or avoidance—can feel deeply unsafe. And in return, strong emotions might trigger sensory dysregulation, making it even harder to stay grounded. So, is it even worth it?

Yes. It probably won’t be easy or comfortable. But it’s necessary.

Freud emphasised the importance of bringing repressed emotions and unconscious conflicts into awareness, which often involves facing discomfort. His concept of working through refers to the gradual exploration of difficult emotions and thoughts in therapy. Jon Kabat-Zinn, a pioneer of mindfulness-based stress reduction (MBSR), encouraged staying present with uncomfortable emotions without judgement or resistance—an essential part of mindfulness practices. Marsha Linehan’s work in DBT includes distress tolerance, a structured way to stay present with emotional pain without trying to avoid or immediately fix it. And Jung’s exploration of inner conflicts, unconscious material, and the individuation process offers invaluable insights on how discomfort—though challenging—can lead to profound personal growth.

If all these brilliant minds have done the work, shouldn’t you give it a shot?

Change: The Beast We Love to Hate

I hate change. With all my might, I hate it. Move a chair while I’m not in the room and watch me flip. But here’s the thing: change, in therapy, is a big deal. It will change you. That can be excruciating, but it’s also the very thing that opens the door to deeper self-awareness, healing, and growth. If you’re not ready to face this—if you need more time—that’s fine. But also, where else will you stretch your capacity for change, if not in therapy?

In the end, therapy isn’t just about talking. It’s about taking those first, wobbly steps into the unfamiliar—and maybe even loving it a little, when you’ve got someone by your side who can walk with you through the swamp.