The Dulling Illusion of Safety in Psychotherapy
Therapists bother me1. For most people, this is not an issue. They can dodge therapists like politicians can dodge honest answers. Being a therapist, I don’t have the luxury of dodging other therapists. Instead, I often sit in meetings with, make multiple phone calls to, and conduct therapy near many, many therapists. Alas, enduring therapists has become a cross I have to bear, just as society will always bear the oppressive yoke of lying politicians.
As a therapist, I often find myself doing many therapist-y things, like thinking about why I dislike therapists so much. The other day I was in a meeting, a meeting of only therapists (of course), and one of the reasons I dislike therapists struck me: therapists love talking about safety.
Just about everything therapists do or say seems to come back to the idea of “creating a safe space for people to explore their true feelings.” But safety, specifically in therapy, is about as specious a promise as the promise to “Make America Great Again.” Not only is the promise a farce, but even if it could become true, the meaning of the promise rests too heavily on the promiser’s understanding of the words “great” or “safe.”
In reality, therapy isn’t safe. By definition, therapy is the process of understanding not only the self, but the context in which the self develops. At any moment, therapy could reveal that you never loved your lover, that your parents never really cared for you, or even that you hate yourself. How, I wonder, can any of this process be considered safe? The only therapy I can think of that would ensure safety would be therapy that would never be worth exploring. This is a therapy that blinds you, tells you your life at status quo is fine, and kills the desire to deepen your relationships. Therapists can’t promise safety in psychotherapy any more than scientists can promise that water isn’t wet or nuclear reactions are safe. Therapy, like a splitting atom, is inherently dangerous.
So what can therapists promise? I believe that when most therapists speak of safety in therapy they are actually referring to trust. I cannot promise my clients that exploring the depths of their personhood and context will cause them no harm, but I can promise them that they can learn to trust me in the process. I cannot promise my clients that the truths they come to won’t influence the way they look at themselves or others, but I can promise them that I will do everything I can to understand their process as they come to truth. The inherent danger of psychotherapy is valuable within the confines of a trusting relationship, just as the danger of nuclear reactions is valuable within the confines of power plants (or at least, sort of).
It would be easy to read this article and assume that the difference between trust and safety are primarily semantic and have little to no effect on the therapeutic process. But emphasizing safety over trust has drastic implications for the therapeutic process. First, when therapists emphasize safety, rather than trust, they are denying their clients’ reality. Clients walk through our doors in terrible pain and often understand the route to healing will require even more. Emphasizing that therapy is a “safe place” communicates that the expectation in therapy is that there will not be pain or that “everything will be okay” if they are able to talk about it. In my experience in psychotherapy nothing could be further from the truth. Clients have to struggle with their pain, wrestle with their insecurity, and grapple with realities that have been slowly drowning them for years. Simply telling our clients, “it’s okay, this is a safe space” communicates that their reality isn’t as pressing, that their pain isn’t as real as it seems to them. Emphasizing therapy as a safe place inherently denies our clients’ reality, blunting emotion, and neutering the therapeutic process.
Highlighting safety in psychotherapy also masks clinical information that is particularly valuable. Typically, therapists emphasize safety in psychotherapy when they experience resistance or hesitancy from their clients and feel they need to do or say something to assuage disclosure. But clients’ resistance to disclose is often a greater sign of the work they need to do than the content of what they are disclosing. Recently I began work with a client who was particularly anxious about her therapeutic work. She came into my office and began asking me questions about myself, about how I view therapeutic work, and about how I work with clients. Her anxiety about therapy was palpable. At this moment it would have been easy to assert that therapy is a safe place and it is okay for her to disclose about her own process and what she needs. Instead, I reflected:
“Talking to a complete stranger about the most difficult things in your life is pretty petrifying, isn’t it?”