From & To Sathish #7 - Page 79

https://psyche.co/ideas/do-you-weave-historical-events-into-your-own-life-story?utm_source=Psyche+Magazine&utm_campaign=e8919fb885-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_11_14&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-8e23a7006c-838120577

Do you weave historical events into your own life story?

by Şebnem Ture, PhD candidate in the Study of Lives Research Group at Northwestern University

Some people watch history pass by. Others high in ‘historical consciousness’ truly live it – and seem to benefit as a result

On 6 February 2023, I woke up to terrible news from my home country, Türkiye. Two massive earthquakes had struck back-to-back, flattening cities, displacing millions and killing more than 53,000 people.

When a major event like this happens, it becomes a shared marker in people’s lives. Many of us begin to position our own experiences around it: ‘This happened after the earthquake.’ In speaking of the before and the after, we give shape and meaning to what happened, and a story begins to form. Over time, those stories can become part of how we tell the larger story of our lives.

The evolving story of my own life now carries the earthquakes as one of its defining moments. After that day, I felt more sharply how fragile life is, and how much it is shaped by the systems we build. Unplanned construction, failed disaster education, poor disaster management – they all revealed themselves as sources of loss. This reckoning also reshaped my path as a psychologist. I knew I wanted my work to address the psychological costs of such historic and systemic disruptions.

Of course, my story is only one example. For others, the earthquakes may not carry the same weight. The difference depends on many factors: ties to the region, personal exposure, whether loved ones were affected. Yet, even when two people live through the same conditions, one person might make the event a part of their life story, while the other might leave it out entirely. Seeing this divergence led me to ask: how does history become part of people’s life stories, and why does it, at times, get left out?

Humans are natural storytellers. We often think about our lives in narrative terms, connecting low points, high points and turning points into a personal storyline. Psychologists call this narrative identity: a coherent life story that meaningfully connects a person’s past, present and imagined future.

Let’s take a non-historic life event like graduation as an example. At first, it is simply an event, a date on the calendar, a milestone. But when it’s described as part of a story, it often takes on the weight of a turning point. For a first-generation student, for instance, the diploma might symbolise perseverance against the odds or a gift offered to one’s family. Over time, that turning point might be integrated into one’s broader life story, together with other remembered struggles, triumphs and sacrifices that connect to it in some way. The event no longer stands alone. It is woven into a coherent narrative, one that provides a sense of who one is.

Most research on narrative identity has focused on stories of personal life events. Wondering how historical moments enter life stories, I brought this question with me to the Study of Lives Research Group at Northwestern University in Illinois. At that time, the lab had conducted interviews with 134 late-midlife adults in the US. In addition to talking about events such as personal turning points and high points, participants were also asked to recall an important historical event that their generation had experienced. With a diverse research team, we set out to analyse those responses.

Their stories showed how collective events became turning points in their lives

As we read through them, we found that some people made historical moments central to who they were, while others hardly made personal connections with those moments. The team systematised the differences into what we called ‘historical consciousness’: the degree to which people integrate history into their life stories. Each narrative was carefully coded on a scale from ‘tuning history out’ (1), to ‘witnessing history’ (3), to ‘living history’ (5). Most people fell somewhere in the middle.

One participant, scoring on the lower end, recalled the terrorist attacks on the US on 11 September 2001:

I remember being at home and watching to see what was going on and finally just having to turn that TV off because it was just over and over and over again and I couldn’t figure out why for all this time – what, it’s like a week and a half they just kept talking about it …

For her, the event was something happening on the screen, distant and intrusive, not something that shaped who she was. In a literal sense, she was tuning out history.

Others did what we describe as witnessing history, remembering events in vivid detail. For example, one participant described the day of John F Kennedy’s assassination in 1963. She recalled the collective disbelief in her classroom:

‘What do you mean shot? With a gun?’ … [My teacher] started to get emotional and was crying and she said, I think we should say a prayer … we all just sat there like this with our eyes wide open.

Her account captured the collective shock with detail and emotional reflection – but it ended there. The event didn’t seem to have shaped her broader life story.

A smaller group of high scorers lived history. This doesn’t mean that they were necessarily more directly involved in a historical event than everyone else. Rather, their stories showed how collective events became turning points in their lives. One man reflected on the same tragic day when JFK was killed:

I was nine years old when that happened. I learned to be patriotic … Over the years, the impact that had on me was I registered to vote and registered for the draft when I was 18. I have never missed voting in any election, state, federal, or local since I was 18 years old.

In his recollection, JFK’s death influenced his values and his behaviour for decades to come. Beyond simply witnessing, he and other respondents were ‘storying’ the events they’d lived through, finding deep personal meaning in them and integrating them into the larger stories of their lives.

Who are the people who ‘live history’, carrying historical events forward with them as part of who they are? Do they share certain tendencies or characteristics?

Since narrative identity research often finds links between personality and the way people tell their stories, personality traits seemed like a natural place to start exploring this. In our sample, we found that individuals who were higher in historical consciousness – those who made more of a connection between historical events and their own life stories – tended to be higher in the trait of extraversion and lower in neuroticism.

We can speculate about why this might be: extraversion brings social energy and an outward orientation; it could make people more likely to join collective movements and to link those experiences to their identity. You might easily imagine, for example, an extraverted person participating in protests or a voting drive during an election, and later integrating those experiences into the story of who they are. Neuroticism, in contrast, is associated with a more inward, often anxious focus. For some people who are high in this trait, large-scale events may feel too overwhelming or emotionally taxing to process. That kind of avoidance can be a form of protection, but it could also make it less likely that historical events become part of one’s life story. Of course, personality traits are broad tendencies, and individual lives will always vary.

Integrating history into my story goes together with a sense of responsibility

In our research, we also found that people with a more global outlook were more likely to have made history part of their story. Psychologists sometimes use a scale to measure what’s called ‘identification with all humanity’, which asks people how strongly they feel connected to all humans, not just their own community or nation. One participant explicitly demonstrated this kind of identification while reflecting on the US civil rights movement:

‘[It] has made me a lot stronger and given me a resolve [to have] empathy for people throughout the world who are under oppressive regimes … that time in my life – it shaped … what I believe was right and what was wrong, and right and wrong in the whole world, too. ’

For this person, the historical moment expanded into a global worldview.

Integrating history into one’s life story seemed to come with benefits, too. People higher in historical consciousness reported greater wellbeing and a stronger sense of generativity, which refers to the drive to care for and invest in future generations. They were also more likely to vote, volunteer, and engage in civic life. Of course, these are associations, not proof of cause and effect. We can’t yet say whether integrating history into one’s story fosters these tendencies or whether these tendencies make people more likely to integrate history into their stories. What we can say is that the two often go hand in hand.

I see this connection in my own life. Reflecting on the earthquakes brings sadness, but also motivation: to give back to the people of that land, to work toward a society that is better prepared and better educated. For me, integrating history into my story goes together with a sense of responsibility as a writer and as someone who studies aspects of what it means to be human.

Think about your own life story and some of the major historical events that have coincided with it: do any of these events feel like a lived part of your story, or do they seem more removed? And what impact, if any, has that had on you? We might want to encourage each other into this kind of reflection more often. Indeed, one reason history may get left out of many people’s stories is that social conventions don’t always frame it in very personal terms. Someone might be asked: ‘Where were you when X happened?’ but not ‘What has X meant to you?’ Despite the wide reach of disasters, sociopolitical upheavals or major historical changes, it’s possible that many of us are not used to acknowledging them as forces that shape the psyche. But as we’ve seen, when history does enter people’s life stories, it can have a lasting influence on how they relate to the world – and might motivate them to help create a better one.

Şebnem Ture is a PhD candidate in the Personality, Development, and Health programme at Northwestern University in Illinois, where she is a member of the Study of Lives Research Group and the Life Span Development Lab. She also writes about psychology and identity, including a blog on Psychology Today.

https://psyche.co/turning-points/how-strength-training-saved-me-from-my-own-mind?utm_source=Psyche+Magazine&utm_campaign=e8919fb885-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_11_14&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-8e23a7006c-838120577

When grief and distraction spun my mind out of control, only the strain of my muscles could keep it intact

The first time I cried in the middle of a workout, I wasn’t sad – I was finally in my body. It happened in a Solidcore class, a high-intensity, low-impact strength workout using a reformer, a sliding platform with springs that add resistance, making every movement slower and harder. I was doing a plank sequence – holding my body straight like the top of a push-up, then moving through slow, gruelling variations – when my limbs started to tremble. ‘This is where the real work begins,’ my instructor said and, for once, I didn’t flee. Shaking, burning, breathing. That moment, raw and unspectacular, broke a lifelong pattern of abandoning myself when things got hard.

Before strength training, I lived in my head, spinning with ADHD noise, low self-esteem, and a model’s insecurity about how others saw me. I had a dream body, but it lived in my head, as a fantasy. I was naturally slim and tall, but prone to bloating and self-conscious of my hooked nose. I never imagined myself as a model. I didn’t feel beautiful. Not seeing people who looked like me in the media only deepened my self-doubt.

Growing up as a Bangladeshi Muslim, I wore shame like a second skin. Shame shaped how I dressed, how I socialised, and the space I allowed myself to take. My family and community told me to stay docile because my reputation was at stake. This meant ignoring mental health concerns like ADHD, considered disruptive. Movement that wasn’t soft or dainty was seen as unfeminine, even masculine. Women weren’t supposed to grunt, sweat or build muscle. Working out – especially with intensity – was seen as stripping away femininity, as though strength and softness couldn’t coexist. I internalised the belief that, to be desirable, I had to stay physically, emotionally and spiritually small.

In my late 20s, I was underweight – and celebrated for it. I unexpectedly began modelling, walking runways, shooting editorial campaigns, living the kind of model life that looks glossy from the outside. But I was always tired. I survived on Adderall and crashed hard when it wore off. My body was in a constant state of depletion – no fuel, no foundation, just adrenaline and aesthetics. On the outside, I still looked like a model. On the inside, I felt like an empty shell.

Grief made that gap even wider. After losing my father, I became detached from hunger, routine and my own internal cues. I didn’t know how to nourish myself. Without the Adderall, I was a zombie, and with the Adderall, I had no appetite. I had no way to manage the pain.

Eventually, my best friend Aimee intervened. In Toronto, where she lived, Aimee gifted me an ice plunge session – the kind of thing I would have once dismissed as pseudoscience. But something shifted. The moment I lowered myself into that freezing bath, I screamed. I felt everything. And then I breathed. Slower. Deeper. Soon, I felt warm. I emerged reborn. ‘I’m a baby again,’ I whispered, half-joking, half-serious. Aimee and I always say: ‘We’re mirrors.’ We met in college and have been inseparable ever since. She is the friend who gave me my first swim lesson, gently guiding me into the water off the Toronto Islands. She introduced me to therapy, to taking smart risks, to honouring my body’s signals instead of silencing them. Aimee loved me back to life.

After Toronto, back home in New York City, I decided to try strength training, not to sculpt myself into someone more lovable, but to rebuild the parts of me I had long neglected. In the dark of my first Solid core class, I told the instructor I was new. The studio was dimly lit, and I could see only my own form in the mirror. Juan, the coach, guided me with quiet precision – adjusting my posture, reminding me to move with intention. I tried to rush through the movements, chasing speed, but he kept saying: ‘Slower is better.’ In the trembling, tear-streaked stillness of that class, I realised: I didn’t need to be smaller. I needed to be here. I needed to rebuild a home inside my body.

This was the dopamine I had been chasing all along, but in its purest form

At first, I hated how bad I was. I was intimidated by the other women – athletic, sculpted, sexy, serene. Unlike them, I couldn’t hold a plank for the life of me. I fumbled. I shook. I panicked. But, still, I kept showing up. One day, during a particularly challenging series targeting the oblique muscles, I heard Juan say: ‘The way you do this plank when you’re tired is how you do life when you’re tired.’ That cracked something open. It was never about doing it perfectly. It was about how I showed up when I had nothing left to give.

‘There’s this moment in strength training called second-stage muscle failure,’ Juan later told me. ‘It’s when your body starts to shake, and your brain has to decide – do you give up, or do you lean into it?’ I started to crave that moment, that edge. It was where the spiral softened. Where overstimulation gave way to presence. Where survival became strength. When everything else felt out of control – my ADHD, my grief, my sense of self – this was the one place where I could feel the chaos and not collapse under it. This was my prayer in motion.

After class, I walked home and felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: proud. I was sober – no Adderall, no crash looming, just me and the quiet pulse of natural endorphins buzzing through my body. This was the dopamine I had been chasing all along, but in its purest form. Not a high, but a harmony. I didn’t need to escape my body – I needed to return to it.

First, it was my biceps. Tiny bumps appeared, almost shyly, like the stirring of muscle memories. Then came the curve of my hamstrings, the cut of my shoulders, the strength of my core. I marvelled at the way I had sculpted my body, for the first time. I’d flex and invite my friends to feel my muscles, and we’d laugh, proud together. What thrilled me wasn’t just the strength – it was that I had earned it through care, vulnerability and discipline. I’d tell all my friends about the art of moving slowly. I loved inspiring others to move, not for aesthetics, but as an act of devotion.

My belly, the soft pouch I used to criticise, was not a flaw. It was a living archive

Strength training was a practice. It required consuming enough protein for my muscles to grow, so I did. Egg whites, sweet potatoes, steak, avocado and lots of water. My body and my mind craved it. I created rituals that honoured my body’s cycles and my brain’s hunger for both structure and novelty. Strength training gave me a pulse my neurodivergent mind could dance with. I also began meditating and sleeping better.

I started learning more about my real body, beyond image and fantasy. I paid attention to its rhythms, becoming gentler with myself when I was premenstrual, honouring the shifts instead of resisting them. And, somewhere along the way, I began to trace my body not just through fitness, but through history. My belly, the soft pouch I used to criticise, was not a flaw. It was a living archive. I wondered if it came as a direct result of colonisation and inherited survival. The British Empire’s extractive rule – raising taxes, enforcing cruel policies like the ‘denial of rice’, and prioritising military needs over human lives – devastated Bengal, with millions of lives lost to artificial famines. That legacy may live in me. In the softness of my belly. In my people’s fight to survive. I started seeing my body not as something to fix, but as something sacred. A continuation of survival.

I also reframed modelling. Like playing sports, it was a performance under pressure. Models are athletes. We hold poses for hours, contort under hot lights, and perform intimacy on command. But now, for the first time, I was training for myself – not the gaze. This wasn’t about shrinking into an image. This was about expanding into my fullest form.

Strength training didn’t fix me – but it did anchor me. I was grounded in knowing I could rise to the challenge. You either show up, or you don’t. You either breathe through the discomfort, or you break. Like life, muscles grow through resistance. The moment you want to give up is often the exact moment you’re on the edge of transformation. And that shaky, uncomfortable, beautiful edge is where life begins.

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2025/nov/10/why-do-people-love-spicy-food-even-when-it-hurts-to-eat-it?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_14&position=9&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=20694430-8aeb-490e-8110-076c20303858&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theguardian.com%2Flifeandstyle%2F2025%2Fnov%2F10%2Fwhy-do-people-love-spicy-food-even-when-it-hurts-to-eat-it

Why do people love spicy food – even when it hurts to eat it?

https://www.mentalfloss.com/history/famous-quotes-everyone-misattributes?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_14&position=10&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=c1f663e7-f324-4f61-b77b-9bbf325f9b52&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mentalfloss.com%2Fhistory%2Ffamous-quotes-everyone-misattributes

12 Famous Quotes Everyone MisattributesThough widely shared on the internet and other places, these popular quotes weren’t actually spoken by who you might think they were.

https://www.sciencefocus.com/future-technology/experts-pick-the-25-most-significant-breakthroughs-of-the-21st-century?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_17&position=5&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=1c3113be-2235-4901-b75d-e09252f6327d&url=https:%2F%2Fwww.sciencefocus.com%2Ffuture-technology%2Fexperts-pick-the-25-most-significant-breakthroughs-of-the-21st-century

The 25 most powerful ideas of the 21st century (so far), picked by the world’s top thinkers

https://www.vqronline.org/summer-2025/essays/profits-and-false-promises?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_18&position=2&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=9c1cec2c-e81b-4612-96b0-a27a8d813993&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.vqronline.org%2Fsummer-2025%2Fessays%2Fprofits-and-false-promises

Profits and False Promises

By Sofi Thanhauser, Illustration by Max-O-Matic

How the war on cancer is good for business.

https://www.thedial.world/articles/news/ireland-us-tech-meta-google-apple?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_18&position=1&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=80263425-9e89-4531-9403-baefd5817998&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.thedial.world%2Farticles%2Fnews%2Fireland-us-tech-meta-google-apple

What US Tech Did to Ireland

Reporting

Jessica Traynor

The country is alarmingly reliant on Meta, Google and Apple.

https://aeon.co/essays/victorian-diary-writers-kicked-off-our-age-of-self-optimisation?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_18&position=7&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=621a9389-bdc8-49be-ba80-847962246473&url=https%3A%2F%2Faeon.co%2Fessays%2Fvictorian-diary-writers-kicked-off-our-age-of-self-optimisation

Our cursed age of self-monitoring and optimisation didn’t start with big tech: as so often, the Victorians are to blame

https://psyche.co/guides/what-should-you-do-if-you-have-doubts-about-your-therapist?utm_source=Psyche+Magazine&utm_campaign=886f119095-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2025_11_21&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_-8e23a7006c-838120577

How to deal with doubts about your therapist

It’s not wrong to wonder whether your therapist is helping – it could be a useful signal. Here’s what to do next

by Alice Rizzi, licensed clinical psychologist

It’s not unusual to get a few sessions into therapy – or even more – and find that something doesn’t feel quite right. Maybe your therapist says something that doesn’t sit well with you. Maybe they don’t seem to ‘get’ you. You might leave your sessions feeling drained, or unheard. Or perhaps the doubts are quieter, but still you start to wonder: Is this person actually helping me?

Doubting whether your therapist is right for you can be uncomfortable and confusing, especially if you are new to therapy. You might feel guilty or disloyal for doubting them, or uncertain about whether your concerns are valid. But doubts are normal and worth paying attention to. In this Guide, I’ll help you approach them with curiosity and care so you can take the most informed next step.

As a clinical psychologist, I believe therapy should feel safe, supportive and genuinely helpful. If it doesn’t, it’s important to notice and honour your doubts. Sometimes talking about them with your therapist leads to greater clarity and connection; other times, your doubts help you recognise that a different therapist or approach might be a better fit. Either way, listening to these signals can guide you toward the kind of support you need to thrive.

Finding the right fit

When I speak to a potential therapy client for the first time, I always tell them: fit is paramount. ‘Fit’ refers to how well a therapist and client match in ways that foster trust, progress and wellbeing. It’s not about whether your therapist is perfect (no one is), but whether you feel seen, heard and supported in the ways that matter to you.

The strength of the therapeutic alliance – your working relationship with your therapist – is one of the most consistent predictors of positive therapy outcomes. Ensuring that your therapist is a good fit for you will greatly contribute to your alliance throughout treatment.

Sometimes, doubts about a therapist stem from a lack of fit. A good fit involves factors such as:

Expertise – whether the therapist has experience with your goals or problems.

Personality – the therapist’s tone and energy, and whether you feel comfortable with them.

Schedule and fee – whether they are available when you are and charge a fee that you can comfortably pay (or they accept your health insurance).

Identity-related preferences – some find it helpful to work with a therapist who shares an important aspect of their background or perspective, such as age, gender, race, culture, political views or sexual orientation.

Therapeutic style – one therapist might offer guidance and practical strategies, while a different one might focus more on helping you reflect, gain insight and make your own connections.

What matters most will depend on where you are in your life and what you need right now. If you’re in crisis, you might prioritise getting seen quickly by someone competent, even if they’re not a great long-term fit. If you’re seeking deeper healing or identity-based support, shared experiences might seem more essential to you. You’re allowed to want what you want.

Aside from having a therapist who’s a good fit for you, it’s important to protect yourself from potential harm. While most therapists are ethical professionals, sometimes providers cross boundaries, act disrespectfully or even behave unethically. If that happens, it’s only natural to question whether the therapist is right for you (or for anyone).

In the next sections, we’ll talk about the different kinds of doubts you might have about a therapist – from concerns about fit to more serious issues like harmful or unethical behaviour – and how you can respond.

Key points

Doubts about your therapist are worth paying attention to. They might stem from a lack of fit with your therapist, a need for adjustments, or questionable or harmful behaviours. In any case, doubts can guide you toward better support.

Think about where your doubts are coming from. Consider whether it’s something the therapist said or did, the approach they use, questions about their qualifications, or another source.

Decide whether to leave or talk it through. You’re free to stop seeing your therapist for any reason. But discussing your concerns with them could clarify matters and it sometimes makes therapy work better.

If you decide to leave, consider saying why. It ensures the therapist knows that you’re safe, and they might offer referrals or other support.

Look for other options. Many people see more than one therapist before finding someone who feels like a good fit. A different therapy approach, or a different practitioner, could be right for you.

Think about where your doubts are coming from

Therapy sessions can stir up discomfort, especially when you’re describing difficult feelings or experiences that you’ve never shared before. Sometimes, doubt shows up precisely because therapy is working: it’s disrupting familiar patterns, surfacing buried emotions, or asking you to be vulnerable in new ways. When this is the case, you’ll feel supported by your therapist and safe to bring up whatever comes up for you. You will feel that the therapist is ‘on your side’ and that you’re a team working together to reach your desired outcomes. In these circumstances, the next step may be to talk with the therapist about any feelings of doubt rather than immediately walking away.

Other times, however, doubt is pointing to a genuine problem, whether it’s a mismatch in style, a lack of emotional safety, or something that hasn’t been addressed between you and your therapist. To tease these apart, slow down and get curious about what kind of doubt you’re experiencing and what it might be telling you.

Here are some questions to help you reflect on what might have caused your doubt about your therapist:

Did something happen (such as a comment or behaviour) that made you feel unsafe, uncomfortable or judged?

What thoughts or emotions are you having right now?

How does your body feel during or after therapy sessions?

Do you feel respected and able to express yourself fully and honestly?

Do you feel like you’re getting what you need from your therapist?

Have you shared what you need, or are you hoping the therapist will just ‘know’?

Have your goals or needs changed since starting therapy?

If you could change one thing about your work together, what would it be? Is that feasible?

While every situation is different, here are a few common sources of doubt that you might recognise as you reflect:

Your therapist’s qualifications: you might wonder whether your therapist has the right background or training to help with your specific concerns. If so, it’s reasonable to ask them to tell you more about their experience and approach, and to see if what they share alleviates your doubt.

The type of therapy: you might question whether you’re in the right kind of therapy – for instance, whether you need something that is more supportive, trauma-focused, or based on learning new skills. This, too, is something you could bring up with your therapist, who might be able to adapt their approach to your needs or recommend someone who uses a different approach.

Something the therapist said or did: maybe a comment felt dismissive, or they seemed distracted during your session. These moments can be unsettling, but they’re often worth discussing directly with the therapist.

Boundary concerns: if your therapist ever acts disrespectfully, makes you feel unsafe or crosses professional lines, that’s a red flag. In those cases, protecting your wellbeing comes first. Boundaries a therapist should never cross include sexual advances (whether initiating or reciprocating) and breaking confidentiality by sharing your private information without consent or legal obligation. Less obvious, but still important, is when a therapist overshares about their own life or steers sessions toward their needs instead of yours. A little self-disclosure now and then can be appropriate – sometimes it even helps you feel more at ease. But if most sessions start to feel like you’re the one listening and offering support, it may be a sign the therapeutic boundaries aren’t being maintained.

These are just some of the possibilities. You may not be sure yet which applies, but thinking about what kind of doubt you’re having can help clarify your next step. That might be raising the concern with your therapist, asking for adjustments, or deciding that it’s time to look for a different therapy provider.

Decide whether to leave or talk it through

If your therapist has done something harmful – crossed a boundary, made a prejudiced remark, dismissed your pain or acted inappropriately – you have every right to end therapy immediately. You don’t owe anyone your continued presence in a space that feels unsafe.

Even in less extreme situations, you are always allowed to end therapy for any reason (assuming you’re not in court-mandated or medically mandated treatment). If you’re not getting what you need, it’s OK to explore other options.

That said, you might not be sure yet. And if it feels safe to do so, bringing up your doubts in session can be very useful. Try something like: ‘I’ve been feeling unsure about our work together lately, and I’d like to talk about it,’ before describing your specific concerns. Or: ‘Something you said last session left me feeling unsettled. Can we unpack it together?’

A good therapist will welcome these conversations – not punish you or make you feel guilty for bringing them up. In fact, some of the strongest therapeutic relationships are forged through moments of honesty and mutual vulnerability.

For example, I’ve had clients tell me that they didn’t resonate with a particular intervention or skill I had introduced during our sessions. Talking it through helped us figure out whether it felt too difficult or advanced, triggered something from the past, or simply wasn’t their priority at that time. These conversations ensure that both therapist and client are on the same page and are moving forward in a way that feels supportive. They can also lead to valuable discoveries about how a client responds to challenges, handles confrontation, and practices asserting their needs and boundaries.

If the conversation goes well, you might leave with greater clarity, a deeper sense of trust in your therapist, and renewed commitment to the work. If it doesn’t, and instead your therapist reacts defensively, dismisses your concerns, or refuses to acknowledge your experience, that’s a clear signal something’s wrong. For example, they might say: ‘That’s just my style. I’ve worked like this for years and other clients don’t have a problem with it.’ A response like this suggests the relationship might not be serving you, and it’s worth considering whether a different therapist would be a better fit.

If you’re still unsure even after speaking with your therapist, take some more time to think it through. Ask yourself if you’ve clearly communicated your goals or needs – and if not, consider bringing them up next time. Ask whether you feel empowered to advocate for yourself when speaking with your therapist. Consider what you would choose to do next if you weren’t worried about hurting their feelings. You could write down your responses, or talk them through with a trusted friend. These can help you clarify your own thinking and weigh different perspectives before taking action.

If you decide to leave, consider saying why

You’re not doing anything wrong if you decide to stop seeing your therapist. Therapy is a professional relationship and, like any relationship, it’s not always built to last forever.

Tell your therapist, if you can. Though it’s not required, telling your therapist that you’re ending the relationship ensures they know you’re safe and not in crisis. It also gives them an opportunity to offer you referrals to other professionals, or insights that might support your transition. If you feel comfortable, you can share why you’re ending the relationship. You can do this face to face, over the phone, or via email. If you don’t, that’s OK too.

Take action if harm occurred. If you think your therapist violated ethical or legal boundaries, you have a right to file a complaint with their licensing board or to seek legal guidance. While these situations are rare, they do happen – and you’re not alone if that’s the case for you.

Look for other options

Having a disappointing experience with a therapist does not mean that therapy isn’t for you. Many people see more than one therapist before finding someone who feels like the right fit. And, when they do, it can make all the difference.

Remember, no two therapists are alike. In addition to a therapist’s personal style, experience and background, what works for you might depend on whether you’re seeking practical strategies, deeper reflection, or a mix of both. I frequently hear from clients who’ve had unproductive therapy experiences: they wanted practical tools for anxiety or obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), but worked with a therapist who mostly nodded along or asked the cliché question ‘How does that make you feel?’ While some clients thrive with minimal feedback, or value a safe space to think out loud, others prefer a more direct approach, with specific skills that they can implement right away – such as strategies for setting boundaries with difficult people, managing stress at a demanding job, or disengaging from endless ‘what if’ thought spirals.

Different therapeutic approaches emphasise different things. For example:

Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) focuses on noticing and shifting unhelpful thought patterns, managing emotions, and changing harmful behaviours and experiences (eg, insomnia, substance use, procrastination, depressed mood, emotional eating). It’s often structured, goal-oriented, and skills-based.

Exposure and response prevention (ERP) is the gold-standard treatment for OCD and many phobias. It involves reducing compulsions and unwanted behaviours like checking, ruminating and reassurance-seeking that develop in response to intrusive or obsessive thoughts, and anxiety about having to tolerate discomfort and uncertainty.

Internal family systems (IFS) helps you explore and integrate your ‘inner parts’ – different aspects of yourself that might hold pain, manage problems, protect you from potential harm, or feel vulnerable or afraid. Many people find IFS helps them feel more empowered, compassionate and whole.

These are only a few of the many approaches available. (For a fuller overview, see this Psyche Guide on how to pick the right therapist for you.)

Just because one approach didn’t help doesn’t mean that none will. You can always ask your current or future therapist what approach they use, and why they believe it’s effective for your needs. Many therapists use more than one approach and can help you decide which one might work best for you – if not a combination of them.

If you do meet with a new therapist, consider sharing what didn’t work in your previous therapy experience(s). Talking through those frustrations can clarify what you want now and can help you avoid repeating patterns that feel discouraging or disempowering.

If individual therapy hasn’t felt like the right approach for you, you can also explore group therapy or support groups. Some of these are more skills-based, and others focus on education, relationships or specific struggles. Many people find it comforting to hear from others who’ve had experiences similar to theirs. Group settings can expose you to different perspectives and normalise what you’re going through so that you feel less alone, less ‘weird’ and more supported.

Final notes

Having doubts about your therapist is not a failure on your part – it’s feedback. Therapy is for you. It’s your space. You have a right to ask questions, to change course, to advocate for yourself, and to expect a relationship where you feel valued. A good therapist will respect your autonomy, welcome your questions and encourage self-reflection – even if that means helping you find someone else.

Whether you choose to stay and speak up, or seek a new therapist, trust that your inner wisdom is guiding you toward the care you need. Therapy, at its best, is a place to be fully yourself. Don’t settle for less.

Alice Rizzi is a licensed clinical psychologist in New York and a Florida telehealth provider. She specialises in helping ambitious professionals break free from stress, anxiety and OCD. She is also a mindful embodiment coach and the founder of the virtual mindfulness studio Together Mindful.

https://www.businessinsider.com/doctors-prescribing-socializing-loneliness-crisis-medical-solution-2025-11?utm_medium=email&utm_source=ten_tabs&utm_campaign=FIREFOX-EDITORIAL-TENTABS-2025_11_19&position=1&category=fascinating_stories&scheduled_corpus_item_id=67e48cac-f68f-4329-8cca-755db64e0dfc&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.businessinsider.com%2Fdoctors-prescribing-socializing-loneliness-crisis-medical-solution-2025-11

Doctor, doctor, give me the schmooze

Your next doctor's visit may include a prescription to join a book club or go to a party.

A year ago, Traedana Odom didn't like to go out much. She was struggling with depression, lived more than an hour away from her family, and mostly left the house to catch a movie or go to her medical appointments.

That changed last December, when her doctor suggested she try something new, and connected her to the Art Pharmacy. It's a new company that connects healthcare organizations and community groups with the goal of bolstering patients' participation in social and artistic activities that can benefit their health. A play was the first of a dozen "doses" of the arts prescribed to the 35-year-old. She's since joined a monthly paint-and-sip style class, and says they've "got me opening up." She's laughing with strangers and coming out of her shell, and says her depression has lessened. "Before I started the Art Pharmacy, I really didn't want to befriend anyone," she tells me. "I'm actually getting out of the house more, and I actually made a friend at one of the events."

Doctors have for years dolled out healthy lifestyle orders: exercise regularly and keep a nutritious diet. They might ask basic questions about depression, anxiety, and loneliness, but have had few resources to fix the latter. There's often little follow up or assistance to help people access social activities or exercise — both of which can boost their moods and benefit health.

But through a growing movement called "social prescribing," more physicians are making these types of recommendations. In social prescribing, doctors and other healthcare professionals give their patients specific referrals to a community service or person that prescribes the patient to partake in an activity that best suits their needs. It could be a knitting group, a dance class, or a run club. Since its founding in 2022, the Georgia-based Art Pharmacy has expanded to nine states, and has some 35,000 activities available for people to partake in over the next six weeks, Chris Appleton, Art Pharmacy's founder, tells me.

In our ever-atomized age, a book club could be just what the doctor ordered.

The movement is fueled by "the dual mental health and loneliness crises that maybe were exacerbated by the pandemic and made more visible," Appleton says. Former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared loneliness a health epidemic in 2023. There's also a supply-demand issue for mental health professionals, which gives alternative treatments their own appeal. Across the US, only 26% of the need for mental health care is met, and the US would need some 6,200 more practitioners to meet the demand, according to an analysis from health research firm KFF.

The movement has been embraced by the UK for a few decades. In 2023, an estimated 1.3 million people in the UK received social prescriptions, according to a study from University College London researchers. According to the UK's National Academy for Social Prescribing, more than 3,000 people in England serve as "link workers" — these are the people doctors refer patients to, who then help patients figure out and find programs that best suit them. That can involve speaking to the patient and searching for programs that fit their interests, lifestyle, and their comfort level. In some ways, they act like social workers or community organizers.

While less established, social prescribing programs have popped up across North America increasingly over the past three years. As of last month, the Montreal Symphony Orchestra will give two free concert tickets to patients who call in with prescriptions from doctors. There are nonprofit studios offering dance classes for people with Alzheimer's and Parkinson's in Los Angeles, and Stanford University began a partnership with Art Pharmacy last year that provides students with experiences like poetry workshops and tickets to art museums.

"Two paths are emerging on how to address the loneliness crisis: one in finding companionship in code, the other in community."

Access to these programs, however, is sparse. Social Prescribing USA, an organization that began promoting the practice across the US in 2022, is tracking known programs, and a map of activities across the country shows the programs that are typically concentrated in cities (from horticultural groups to hiking clubs to performances), especially along the coasts, while no formal programs are identified in central and many rural parts of the country. It's a slow process to expand access and shift the way doctors think about assessing loneliness and suggesting alternative treatments for conditions like diabetes, heart disease, and neurological conditions.

The programs are typically low-risk to try and could potentially benefit anyone, but there aren't enough yet to fully meet the need. "We'll be working with the highest risk populations, but I'm hoping that eventually this really gets baked into the healthcare system as a way to address all of these things and that it's a different way of thinking," says Alan Siegel, a family doctor and the executive director of Social Prescribing USA. But one person's therapeutic nature walk could be another person's nightmare trek through the woods. Social prescribing is so individualized that finding successful programs for people depends on trial and error. Appleton tells me that participants with Art Pharmacy are assessed after each activity they attend using standardized questionnaires on depression and anxiety, along with a loneliness scale developed by UCLA, the World Health Organization's Five Well-Being Index, and progress toward individual health goals.

A study published in 2024 by the Canadian Institute for Social Prescribing found that participation in programs led to reduced hospitalizations, fewer doctor visits for mental health care for adolescents, higher rates of employment, and lower rates of stroke and heart disease — which could lead every dollar invested in social prescribing programs to have a $4.43 return across society. Another study out of the UK found that a program focused on horticulture and therapeutic crafting led to a return of £3.30 to £4.70 for every £1 invested. The World Health Organization established a commission on social connection in 2023, with the goal of making loneliness a global health priority. In a June report, the commission noted that there have been some social prescribing programs found to abate loneliness and isolation, but small sample sizes and differences in programs have not provided enough data to widely declare their benefits.

While the social prescribing trend grows slowly and quietly, some of the loudest voices addressing the loneliness epidemic are AI evangelists hyping the tech's ability to simulate connection. Founder of the AI friend necklace, Avi Schiffmann, insists "people underlyingly want" to wear recording devices around their necks that allow them to speak as a sort of quasi-therapist, quasi-friend to combat loneliness. Meta is pitching chatbot characters as its next phase of online friendship. OpenAI will soon give ChatGPT users the ability to generate erotic content. People have grown attached to AI pets, AI girlfriends, AI therapists, many of which act like sycophants — ever affirming, ever available. All of these are proposed quick fixes, largely unstudied and unvetted, that are built as omnipresent distractions from loneliness, anxiety, and isolation. They're designed to build habits where people engage repeatedly with the tech, and to turn profits for tech companies.

As Mark Zuckerberg said earlier this year, "there are all these things that are better about physical connections when you can have them. But the reality is that people just don't have the connections, and they feel more alone a lot of the time than they would like." The idea of chatbot pals isn't to wean people off of them and throw people back into IRL social circles, but provide a new type of companion. Social prescribing, by contrast, intends to help people with diagnosed medical conditions or those who are isolated through a tough period, but with the larger goal of long-term healing and a continued involvement in their community.

"Calling this phenomenon loneliness really individualizes something that is a social phenomenon," says Kate Mulligan, scientific director of the Canadian Institute for Social Prescribing. "Having AI chatbots does absolutely nothing for the social phenomenon of disconnection, polarization, and the lack of social participation and cohesion."

Two distinct, diverging paths are emerging on how to address the loneliness crisis: one in finding companionship in code, the other in in community. There may be a third way: AI can help pair people together to meet in person, or take notes for doctors and analyze them, potentially uncovering who might benefit the most from social prescribing programs. The tools can help small community centers become more efficient and analyze records to find gaps in care. "There are tons of things that AI could be doing that are really helpful, that are not the one thing that we need most," Mulligan says. "They can't replace the human connection."

Amanda Hoover is a senior correspondent at Business Insider covering the tech industry. She writes about the biggest tech companies and trends.