Even Therapists Struggle: On Knowing So Much and Still Being Human

You can know all the theory.

You can name every attachment style, trace every trauma response, guide others through grief, shame, panic, and heartbreak.

And still—your own chest can tighten when you’re misunderstood.

You can still wake up anxious for no reason.

You can still spiral over a conflict, even as the wise part of you whispers what’s happening in real time.

Being a therapist doesn’t mean you’ve figured it all out.

It means you’ve committed to the work. Again and again.

And sometimes that work is raw, humbling, and painfully familiar.

The Quiet Shame

There’s a particular kind of shame that creeps in when you’re both the helper and the hurting one.

It can sound like:

• You know better than this.

• How can you support others when you can’t even regulate yourself right now?

• Shouldn’t you be past this by now?

Some of this shame is internal—rooted in perfectionism, old wounds, the drive to be good enough.

But some of it is cultural, too. We’re trained, subtly or overtly, to be the calm center of the storm. To be regulated, composed, above the chaos. As if being a therapist means being immune to the very struggles we help others hold.

But we’re not immune. We’re immersed.

We swim in the same ocean—we’ve just learned how to name the currents.

What We Know (That Helps Us Return)

The difference isn’t that we never fall—it’s that we’ve built practices for returning.

We know how to witness our shame without collapsing into it.

We know how to track the nervous system, slow the breath, bring in the compassionate voice.

We know how to ask for help, even when it feels hard.

We know that healing isn’t a straight line, and that struggle doesn’t disqualify us from showing up with integrity and care.

And maybe most importantly—we know how to sit with ourselves in the mess, without needing to fix it right away.

Permission to Be Human

You are allowed to be a therapist who cries.

Who spirals.

Who goes to therapy.

Who doesn’t have it all together.

Who is still healing.

You are allowed to be both the container and the contents.

The guide and the one still walking.

The work you do is sacred—and so is your humanity.

So when the shame gets loud, remember: your compassion doesn’t just belong to your clients.

It belongs to you, too.

Love,

Your human therapist