The Quiet Lies We Tell Ourselves About Starting Therapy
Chris Greenaway
3/19/20263 min read
The Quiet Lies We Tell Ourselves About Starting Therapy
There’s a curious thing many of us do when it comes to therapy: we don’t reject it outright, we just keep it at arm’s length. Therapy is just something “other people do”. We have reasonable and very common preconceptions that feel sensible enough to trust. I know this because I’ve used and heard plenty of them myself.
And if you’re reading this here, on a therapy website, then part of you has already started to question those thoughts, and perhaps I’m preaching to the choir, but it’s still worth a look to see if any of these beliefs are showing up for you.
They tend to sound like this:
“Other people have it far more difficult than me.”
“It’s a bit self-indulgent to spend time talking about myself.”
“If I need help, I’ll just talk to my friends.”
“I can just look things up, I don’t need therapy.”
“Isn’t therapy a bit… weak?”
“I just need to plough on through.”
“I’m not bad enough to need therapy.”
At face value some of them feel fair, but left unchallenged, these beliefs can cause us to close the door on something helpful, before we’ve really given ourselves a chance.
I’ve lost count of how often I’ve told myself that other people have it worse, and it’s true—but it’s also a convenient way of minimising what’s going on for me. There will always be someone struggling more, just as there will always be someone struggling less. Using that as a measure just keeps us stuck in comparison, instead of understanding our own experience. Struggling is not a competition!
The idea that talking about ourselves is self-indulgent can feel especially convincing. Many of us are used to being capable, dependable, getting on with things. Sitting down and focusing on our own thoughts and feelings can feel… excessive. And yet, we invest time, money, and effort into our physical health without a second thought—joining gyms, eating well, trying to look after ourselves on the outside.
A good question is, why would my mental health deserve any less care?
Looking after our wellbeing isn’t indulgent. It’s an investment. It just happens to be one that’s quieter and less visible.
Then there’s the “I’ll just talk to my friends” line. Yes, friendships matter enormously. But they just can’t offer the same kind of space. Friends are part of our lives—they have their own views, their own emotional stake, they may struggle to remain objective and to challenge us when that’s needed. Therapy offers something different: a place that’s entirely about us, where we don’t have to filter, protect others’ feelings, or perform in a particular way.
Sometimes, we just want to Google the answer, we don’t want to think or talk, we just want a quick solution, and figure with the whole internet at our disposal we should be able to figure it out. And to an extent, that’s true. Information is everywhere, and practical suggestions can be found online. But insight is something else entirely. Reading about mental health isn’t the same as being gently challenged, understood, and seen. So much of our emotional difficulty revolves around difficulties in relating with other people, and sitting with a trained therapist is a way of exploring this in a real authentic, human way. Reading about theory doesn’t always translate into change.
The belief that therapy is a sign of weakness can be a quiet but powerful barrier. It shows up in different ways for different people, but the message is the same: we should be able to handle things on our own. I get it, I’ve felt it, but honestly there’s nothing particularly strong about staying stuck. It takes far more courage to turn towards what’s difficult and try to understand it.
And then there’s the classic: just plough on. Sometimes it works in the short term. “This too shall pass”. But often, the same thoughts, patterns, or frustrations circle back around. Endurance gets us through the day; it doesn’t always help us understand why the same struggles keep returning.
“I’m not bad enough” is an interesting one. As though there’s some invisible threshold we must cross before we “qualify” for support. But therapy isn’t just for when things fall apart. It can also be for when we’re simply… curious.
Curious about why we react the way we do.
Curious about patterns we can’t quite shift.
Curious about what might change if we stopped just coping and started understanding.
Really, we don’t need a dramatic reason to begin. Being interested in our life is reason enough.
In the end, therapy isn’t about proving that something is wrong with us. It’s about deciding we are worth paying attention to. And when we think about how much we’re willing to invest in how we look, appear to others or perform, it starts to feel entirely reasonable to invest in how we actually are, because it matters.
Chris Greenaway, 19/03/2026 – 3 minute read
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