Can I Find a Therapist Smart Enough to Help Me?

how a common concern reveals a misconception about therapy

The “child” is all that is abandoned and exposed and at the same time divinely powerful; the insignificant, dubious beginning, and the triumphal end. The ‘eternal child’ in man is an indescribable experience, an incongruity, a handicap, and a divine prerogative; an imponderable that determines the ultimate worth or worthlessness of a personality. - Carl Jung

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Note: I change identifying details of patients and acquaintances and their stories in order to protect anonymity.

I was talking recently with a friend going through a hard time. When I mentioned the obvious—after all, I am a therapist—she said, ‘I know it sounds arrogant, but I’m afraid I won’t find a therapist smart enough to understand and help me.’

I imagine many people relate to her concern. I can. A similar worry kept me from pursuing therapy. Other friends and acquaintances have expressed similar concerns. For curious reasons, this concern sounds more reasonable than it is. Looking back, at least, I now see my own version of it in quite a different light. But first, notice that the practical effect of such misgivings is to keeps people away from therapy. And this, I suggest, is the real point.

In particular, this conscious and rather intellectual concern about being understood is often a defense motivated by a less conscious, or even unconscious, fear of therapy. As Nietzsche said, our conscious stories and philosophies often mask “an involuntary and unconscious autobiography.” I know, it sounds presumptuous to say that those of us who have this worry are in the same psychic boat, being carried (rather conveniently) away from therapy by unconscious currents. But it’s less presumptuous if the worry is actually not about what it seems to be about, and is based on a mistaken view of therapy to boot.

The common mistake is to assume it’s our smart, accomplished, insightful (not to mention incredibly well defended!) egoic self that primarily needs to be seen and understood and helped. I once made this assumption, as did the patients who initially sought me out because of my philosophy background. But in fact the complex adult self that worries about finding a therapist who is their equal is often covering for (and compensating for) more insecure and vulnerable parts that could use a therapist’s attention. Therapist recognize that these parts of the psyche need the sort of attuned empathy a good-enough parent gives their young child. These parts won’t be helped by the sharp intellect of a philosophical counselor challenging the ego’s arguments. On the contrary, they are likely to hide behind those arguments!

I should add here that psychodynamic psychotherapy differs from behavioral (and medicalized) therapies precisely by its attention to the “involuntary and unconscious” parts of our autobiography. It means viewing the self as constituted through a kind of internal family that, like all families, has its own psycho-dynamics, many of which are unconscious. In the present case, the concern about finding a smart-enough therapist makes just enough sense to operate as a defense without the conscious mind suspecting what’s really going on.

In biological and psychological terms, what’s going on is that the instinctual goal of survival is often well served through self-deception. By keeping the conscious mind in the dark, our unconscious mind pursues more instinctually driven values like self-protection and survival at the expense of what we may consciously value. After all, says the Unconscious, why take a chance on the conscious mind’s bright but dangerous idea of putting us in harm’s way for the sake of airy intangibles like enlightenment or flourishing?! What good are these if you’re hurt or dead?

This begs the question of what makes therapy so threatening that our unconscious minds might seek to defend against it. But look at it from a hurt child’s perspective. As wonderful as it is to be seen, heard, and understood, this child may have had early experiences of being neglected or abused by those who were supposed to be caring for them. So, it’s natural they might adapt to defend against any such “help” in the future—even if it means guarding against good things like cooperation and intimacy. Now add to this inner child’s instinctive mistrust the adult awareness that therapy is associated with vulnerability, painful discoveries, big emotions, and loads of uncertainty—not to mention the expense. Together, this gives the rational adult and the fearful child within more than enough reason to steer clear of therapy.

All of this helps explain why, looking back, I see the worries that kept me from therapy as a well-meaning but ultimately misguided defense. In general, the concern that a therapist won’t be smart or capable enough to help us is misguided, after the smelly fashion of a red herring. Of course, one does have to look around to find a therapist who will be a good fit, but that’s true of finding a good doctor or teacher or employee, etc. And it ignores the fact that the child within also needs to be seen and understood—but in a different way from the adult. In short, the apparently sensible concern turns out to be a red herring dragged across the trail by our Unconscious, which seeks to divert us from a path it feels is threatening. The “red herring fallacy” was named after the practice of dragging something smelly across the trail in order to distract the pursuer from focusing on the main thing.

What is the main thing? Well it’s not mere survival, it’s flourishing. Most of us agree it’s about waking up, getting to know, being with others, having good work and play, making friends and art and love and meaning of our lives.

To do all that we need our defenses, but we don’t want them to get in the way of flourishing, and therapy can help with this. For our defenses are revealing, helping us get to know parts of ourselves that had been unconscious. For example, my friend’s sense of identity is tied to her intellectual qualities. Is it surprising, then, that she might not be as well acquainted with her inner child and its needs? Is it surprising she’d deploy an intellectual defense—I need a therapist that I perceive to be at least as smart as I am—because that’s the part of herself she identifies with; oh, and because it protects her from having to know about and connect with vulnerable and disowned parts of herself that know nothing of physics or philosophy? She also manages to defend against meeting regularly with someone who treats her as though she has such parts, and even seems eager to meet them. Too woo-woo. Too vulnerable.

I get it. This talk of the inner child significantly affecting our lives can sound implausible, fuzzy-minded, even a little creepy. There’s lots of other ways to talk about psychodynamics, but the metaphor of an inner child reminds us that we need to be attuned and empathetic. We’re seeking help for our whole self, not just for our conscious smart self. This includes what Jung called the “eternal child”, what happened when we were very young, before we could read books and think clever thoughts, before we had ego defenses, But not before we could be affected and hurt. And remember. And adapt accordingly.