Tag: self-reflection

Why Doing the Right Thing Doesn’t Always Feel Good

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy, psychotherapy

Nowadays, we are seeing a ton of pop psychology and self-help advice that encourages us to prioritize ourselves by:

~Setting boundaries.

~Asserting our needs.

~Emphasizing self-care.

~Giving yourself grace.

Most of this is reasonable advice. However, for most of us, the problem isn’t a lack of information. We already know we should be setting boundaries. We know our needs matter. We know constantly sacrificing ourselves for everyone around us probably isn’t sustainable.

Knowing what to do is often the easy part.

Actually doing it can feel terrible.

When Healthy Choices Create Uncomfortable Emotions

We might assume that doing the “right” thing should feel naturally rewarding or empowering. It may not

Although setting a boundary is healthy, it’s also unfamiliar and can lead to conflict.

Although advocating for myself is appropriate, it can also be awkward and inconvenient.

Although prioritizing my own well-being is necessary, it can feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes doing the right thing for ourselves can be naturally rewarding in the moment. Yet most times doing the right thing comes with feelings of guilt, selfishness, shame, sadness, anxiety, hurt, or even pity for ourselves or the persons affected by our decision.

We might know intellectually that a boundary is reasonable while emotionally feeling like we have done something wrong.

“I know I need to assert my needs, but it’s going to create conflict.”

“I know I need to set this boundary, but what if they think I’m selfish?”

“What if I choose myself and something bad happens to them?”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“What if I advocate for myself and they feel hurt?”

These emotions can become powerful enough that we start using them as evidence.

I feel guilty, so maybe I did something wrong.

I feel selfish, so maybe I’m being selfish.

They’re upset, so maybe my boundary was unfair.

But emotions don’t always work that way.

Feeling Guilty Is Not the Same as Being Guilty

Our emotions are real, but that doesn’t mean every conclusion we draw from them is accurate.

You can feel guilty without being guilty.

You can feel selfish without being selfish.

You can feel anxious about conflict without the conflict being dangerous.

You can feel sad that someone is disappointed in you without being responsible for eliminating their disappointment.

That distinction matters.

Many of our emotional responses have been reinforced through years of experience. If you are accustomed to avoiding conflict, prioritizing other people, or receiving approval for being accommodating, suddenly behaving differently might feel wrong even when you consciously believe it is appropriate.

The discomfort isn’t necessarily proof that you made the wrong choice.

It may simply be the emotional experience of doing something different.

Sometimes We Have to Feel Bad

I would love to offer a strategy for setting boundaries, prioritizing yourself, and asserting your needs without experiencing any guilt, anxiety, sadness, or discomfort.

Sometimes we can reduce those emotions. We can challenge irrational beliefs, communicate more effectively, develop greater self-awareness, and make thoughtful decisions about when and how we advocate for ourselves.

But sometimes the uncomfortable emotion is still going to be there.

And sometimes the work is learning that we can tolerate it.

This doesn’t mean ignoring our emotions. It doesn’t mean deciding that we are always right or that other people’s feelings never matter. Emotional discomfort can provide valuable information, and our choices still deserve reflection.

But feeling bad does not automatically mean we behaved badly.

Sometimes we have to allow ourselves to experience guilt without immediately trying to make the guilt disappear.

Sometimes we have to tolerate someone being disappointed in us.

Sometimes we have to accept being misunderstood.

Sometimes we have to experience the anxiety of conflict rather than continually avoiding it.

And through those experiences, we can gradually learn that these emotions are uncomfortable without necessarily being intolerable.

The Goal Isn’t to Never Feel Bad

There is an important difference between trying to eliminate uncomfortable emotions and becoming more capable of experiencing them.

If we require ourselves to feel completely comfortable before setting a boundary, we may never set one.

If we need reassurance that nobody will think we are selfish before prioritizing ourselves, we may continue putting ourselves last.

If we need to know that asserting ourselves won’t create conflict, we may continue staying quiet.

Confidence rarely comes before the behavioral change. It develops because we acted despite the discomfort and discovered that we could handle what follows.

The more capable we become of experiencing these emotions without immediately abandoning our needs because of them, the more freedom we have to make decisions based on our values rather than solely on what feels most comfortable in the moment.

We can set boundaries.

We can advocate for our needs.

We can assert ourselves more confidently.

And we can give ourselves grace when doing those things is harder than we think it “should” be.

Doing the right thing for yourself doesn’t always feel good.

Sometimes the emotional discomfort isn’t evidence that you’re doing something wrong.

It might even be evidence that you’re finally doing something different—and doing the right thing for yourself.

My Top 3 Irrational Beliefs

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in anxiety, burnout, cognitive behavioral therapy, perfectionism, personal-growth, REFLECTION

The real B.S. I used to tell myself—and believed for longer than I care to admit.

As a cognitive behavioral psychotherapist, I spend a lot of time helping people identify irrational beliefs.

Very often the stories we tell ourselves and the assumptions we make are flawed or self limiting. We reach conclusions and fill in gaps without much evidence.

We subjectively create rules for ourselves that, at some point, we stop questioning.

Unfortunately for me, being a psychotherapist does not make me immune to any of this.

I have my own irrational beliefs. Some which I’ve stubbornly held onto for years. And the tricky thing about an irrational belief is that when you believe it, it usually doesn’t sound irrational.

It sounds completely reasonable to us at the time.

So in an effort at transparency and vulnerability, here are three of mine.

Irrational Belief #1: “I’m a psychotherapist. I shouldn’t be in great physical shape.”

For a long time, I had this strange belief about being physically fit. I told myself I didn’t need to be in great shape because I was a psychotherapist. Part of that was probably just a convenient excuse to do bare minimums.

But there was something else underneath it.

I thought being too physically fit might actually make me less relatable. Maybe people would look at me and wonder what I was trying to prove. Maybe they’d think I was hiding something.

Maybe a client struggling with their own health, motivation, confidence, or body image would look at me and think:

He doesn’t get it.

So somehow I turned not taking care of myself into something that felt almost professionally responsible.

That was my own B.S.

The reframe was much simpler:

I can care about my physical health and appearance because I care about me.

It doesn’t have to have anything to do with other people:

A) I can exercise because I like feeling strong.

B.). I can care about how I look because it makes me feel more confident.

C.) By challenging myself physically it reminds me I can do difficult things.

And none of those things make me less capable of understanding someone else’s struggle. If anything, what actually happens is the exact opposite of what I feared. I’m more confident and speak with more conviction in my approach. Theres more heart. I genuinely feel better.

My behavior is more congruent with a lot of the things I encourage in therapy.

And I think my clients benefit from that.

Irrational Belief #2: “If my clients find out I’m divorced, they’ll see it as negative.”

For years, I was extremely cautious about self-disclosure.

I’m a therapist. The session isn’t about me. I need to have strong boundaries. And these are good reasons to have boundaries around what and how much we share with clients. But somewhere along the way, healthy boundaries turned into boxed in walls. Based on fear or my own anxiety.

I worried that if clients knew too much about me, eventually something could be used against me.

Divorce was a big one.

He got divorced.

His marriage failed.

What does he know about successful relationships?

So I kept parts of myself hidden for far too long. Not necessarily because keeping them private made me a better therapist, but because keeping them private made me feel safer.

Eventually, I had to dispute that self serving by self limiting comfort zone.

I can have appropriate boundaries without being afraid of being known.

I can be proud of choosing divorce even if someone else sees it as failure.

I survived something difficult.

I made a decision that was healthier for me and gave me more opportunity to be the father I wanted to be.

And none of that disqualifies me from helping someone else navigate their relationships.

What actually happened?

I became more comfortable acknowledging my failures.

I became more intentional with self-disclosure instead of simply being afraid of it. (Also, no one used my divorce against me. It actually is more of a gateway into understanding people)

More importantly, I stopped believing that being a good therapist required presenting some carefully protected version of myself.

I can have boundaries.

I can keep parts of my life private.

But I don’t have to hide myself out of fear.

Irrational Belief #3: “Posting on social media to get clients is for therapists who need clients.”

This one is probably the most humbling to admit because I didn’t just avoid social media.

I judged other therapists for doing it.

I thought it was cringey.

There was this part of me that believed:

Just be good at your craft.

If you’re a good therapist, people will find you.

You shouldn’t have to shamelessly promote yourself.

And if you’re constantly posting online trying to get clients, maybe that says something about your ability as a therapist.

Then eventually I had to confront something uncomfortable.

I wasn’t avoiding social media because I had some deeply held professional principle.

I was boxing myself in because I cared too much about other people’s opinions.

What if another therapist thinks I’m cringey?

What if someone thinks I’m desperate for clients?

What if people I know see one of my videos and make fun of me?

I was allowing hypothetical opinions from hypothetical people to dictate what I was willing to try.

That isn’t freedom. It’s confinement.

The reframe became:

I don’t need to do this to still do it and enjoy it.

In fact, maybe it’s better to start doing something before you need it.

And what actually happened?

It’s fun.

I enjoy writing.

I enjoy making videos.

I enjoy trying to communicate psychological ideas in ways that people might actually want to read or watch.

I’ve realized that actively creating on social media feels a lot better to me than lurking as a passive recipient of overstimulation.

I’ve connected with people I otherwise wouldn’t have.

I’ve created more.

I’ve written more.

And yeah, I may have even gained a client or two.

They Were All the Same Irrational Belief

At first glance, these are three completely different beliefs.

One is about physical fitness.

One is about divorce.

One is about social media.

But when I started looking at them together, I realized they were really just different versions of the same irrational belief:

Other people’s hypothetical opinions should influence how I live my actual life.

That one had a lot more control over me than I realized.

And disputing it doesn’t mean I’ve convinced myself that nobody will judge me.

That’s just another irrational belief.

Someone might think I care too much about how I look.

Someone might think a divorced therapist has no business talking about relationships.

Someone might watch one of my videos and think I’m cringey.

Someone might read this entire blog post and think the same thing.

That’s possible.

The healthier belief isn’t:

Nobody will judge me.

It’s:

I can withstand it if and when they do.

I don’t have to organize my life around preventing negatives. I can adapt and overcome them.

Person jogging on rural road at sunrise with rolling hills and trees

Overcoming Self-Doubt: Lessons from Running

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy, personal-growth, REFLECTION

The other day I posted about a running benchmark and captioned it:

“Do impossible sh!t. Then try to beat it. Fall short and still be proud.”

I didn’t get my best distance ever, but I completed a truly hard run.

The tongue-in-cheek “do impossible shit” wasn’t meant as a flex, some form of unbridled toxic masculinity, or an unhinged run-through-a-wall mentality. What I really meant was: do something that a previous version of you couldn’t do. Then keep working on yourself and see what you can do next.

If you’ve followed me for a while, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve become a runner. Of all the stereotypical midlife crisis responses, running has been an unexpectedly healthy one.

It has helped settle my own hypervigilance and helped me regain a sense of stability and confidence through doing hard things. Not because running magically fixes your mental health, but because it has repeatedly given me opportunities to challenge myself and find out what I’m capable of. (In different ways then my career)

I have increased confidence now but only because there was a time when I had very little. I earned trust in myself slowly, by gradually challenging myself to do things I didn’t think I could do.

Here’s the thing, though:

I still very often don’t think I can do stuff.

My routine before a benchmark is now telling anyone at the gym who will listen that I don’t think I have it today. Then, almost immediately, I’ll explain my exact plan to run X speed for Y minutes and what I’m hoping to accomplish.

I plan for what I want despite initially believing I probably can’t actually do it. The self doubt is underneath but not the reality.

And then I try anyway.

The attempt comes first.
The plan comes second.
The belief comes last.

I think we often imagine confidence working in the opposite direction. First you believe in yourself, then you make the plan, then you confidently go do the thing.

That has not been my experience.

The belief came from repeatedly attempting things before I was convinced I could do them. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I fell short. But every attempt gave me a little more evidence about what I could handle.

Running has also become a pretty good illustration of my own cognitive process and, specifically, my all-or-nothing thinking. In a matter of minutes—maybe even seconds—I can vacillate between thinking I am unstoppable and thinking I am way too out of shape for this.

I suppose neither is true.

The truth is somewhere in the healthy middle.

I am not unstoppable. I can’t do the impossible. There are things I will attempt and fail at. There are goals I won’t reach and days when I genuinely don’t have it.

But I can do hard shit.

And maybe confidence isn’t believing that you’re going to succeed every time. Maybe it’s trusting that you can attempt something without knowing how it’s going to turn out.

That trust has been earned slowly.

One run. One workout. One race. One benchmark. One uncomfortable thing at a time.

So when I say, “Do impossible shit, then try to beat it,” I’m not really talking about doing the impossible.

I’m talking about doing something that feels impossible to you right now.

Then seeing what you can do next.

Person jogging on rural road at sunrise with rolling hills and trees

Why the Knicks Championship Means So Much Psychologically

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy, PARENTING, personal-growth
Collage of New York Knicks players celebrating their 2026 NBA Championship victory with a basketball graphic in the background.

The Emotion

The Knicks winning a championship was a beautiful moment.

Of course, it was a beautiful moment for Knicks fans who had been waiting 53 years.

I cried almost immediately.

As the final minute ticked away, I felt myself welling up numerous times. Then when the final buzzer sounded I hugged my 11-year-old daughter and cried. I don’t think she fully understood what was happening or what this meant. How could she?

She’s 11.

When we’re 11, we expect our teams to win eventually. We expect our needs to be met. We assume the world is mostly fair. We root for our team, invest our time and energy, and naturally believe that one day it will all pay off.

Then she saw my reaction and wrapped her arms around me in a hug that felt like she understood that this was important to me.

I’ve wanted to see the Knicks win a championship since I was eight years old.

And they finally did it.

The Belief

After Game 2, standing in a crowded hometown sports bar, I kept repeating the same two phrases:

“We’re watching history.”

“It’s happening.”

After Game 4, following what will surely be remembered as one of the defining moments of this playoff run, the feeling only intensified.

“This is happening.”

“It’s really happening.”

The disbelief was understandable.

7 years ago, the Knicks were the laughingstock of the league. They were the team that threw passes off players’ backs, missed uncontested layups, and found creative ways to lose games in the final seconds. For decades, disappointment felt more predictable than success.

Many Knicks fans jokingly refer to this as “Knicks Fan PTSD.”

The comparison is obviously imperfect. Losing basketball games is not actually traumatic for fans. But there is something psychologically interesting about the phenomenon.

After enough disappointment, we learn to expect disappointment.

It’s anticipatory anxiety. It’s negative thinking and looking for the worst. We anticipate that what could go wrong will go wrong. We brace ourselves for the collapse before it arrives. We become convinced that if there is a painful way for the story to end, that’s probably how it will end.

It’s learned behavior—a belief formed through repeated experiences.

And while we’re talking about basketball, this isn’t really unique to sports.

People who have experienced repeated rejection often begin to expect rejection.

People who have been hurt in relationships may start anticipating abandonment.

People who have failed repeatedly can lose faith in their ability to succeed.

Our brains are constantly trying to predict the future based on the past. Sometimes those predictions protect us. Sometimes they keep us stuck.

That’s what made this championship feel so surprising.

For once, the story didn’t end the way many of us expected. It didn’t reinforce the negative narrative but provided a positive alternative.

The Community

Part of what made this championship feel so powerful was that it wasn’t a solitary experience.

Over the past few weeks I’ve talked Knicks basketball with clients, friends, strangers at bars, people at the gym, the pool guy, and landscapers outside my office.

For a brief period of time, an entire region was participating in the same conversation.

Sports create something increasingly rare in modern life: a shared experience.

We all watched the same games. We all felt the same tension. We all carried the same hope. And when the final buzzer sounded, millions of people celebrated together.

Maybe that’s part of why the victory felt bigger than basketball. It wasn’t just my joy. It was our joy.

Effort Over Outcomes. But We Still Love Outcomes

Now, logically, I know I didn’t earn anything.

I’ve had quarter-season tickets for the last four years. I’ve attended games, bought the merchandise, paid for the subscriptions, and invested countless hours watching and discussing Knicks basketball. But I did those things because I enjoyed them, not because I expected repayment.

The Knicks don’t know who I am.

They don’t owe me anything.

For most of the last twenty years, they barely seemed capable of functioning as a competent basketball organization despite having one of the most loyal fan bases in sports.

And yet, when they finally won, it still felt personal.

A few months ago, I made a video about one of life’s hardest truths: Trying your best does not guarantee results. I know that to be true. I suspect most people carry some version of this belief. We want to believe that if we work hard enough, long enough, good things can happen.

Not always.

Not automatically.

But sometimes.

In therapy, I often meet people who have lost faith in that possibility. After enough setbacks, enough disappointments, enough evidence pointing in the wrong direction, hope begins to feel naive.

It’s understandable.

But meaningful change often requires believing in a future that doesn’t yet exist.

Watching Jalen Brunson lead this team to a championship felt like watching that belief come to life.

There are no guarantees in therapy. There are no guarantees in business. There are no guarantees in relationships, health, or life.

But I still operate with a deeper belief.

I believe that if I exercise regularly, I’ll be healthier, stronger, and more capable tomorrow than I am today.

I believe that effort matters.

Not because it guarantees outcomes, but because it improves the odds.

In Summary…

I cried for a complex combination of reasons.

Not simply because my favorite basketball team finally won.

I cried because the moment validated something deeper.

It reinforced the idea that persistence matters.

That improvement is possible.

That years of frustration don’t always end in disappointment.

That occasionally, hard work and hope intersect.

As a therapist, I can never promise someone that things will get better. It would be dishonest to make guarantees about life.

But I do believe people can get better.

I believe relationships can heal.

I believe confidence can be built.

I believe suffering can be reduced.

I believe effort, applied consistently over time, can create meaningful change.

Maybe that’s why this championship hit me so hard.

For one night, millions of Knicks fans weren’t just celebrating basketball.

We were celebrating hope actualized.

We were celebrating the proof of concept that things can improve.

We were celebrating the idea that after enough work, enough patience, and enough belief, something wonderful might finally happen.

Embrace Change: The Power of Identity in Personal Growth

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in anxiety, cognitive behavioral therapy, personal-growth

A pair of black and blue basketball shoes placed on a stone surface with green grass in the background.

I shared this story with someone recently who was struggling with identity, confidence, and feeling stuck. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it applies to a lot of people—personally and professionally.

Some people will remember the early days of me doing all-out sprints in Jordans. I’m lucky my knees survived.

At the time, it made perfect sense to me.

Not because they were built for running. They weren’t. It made sense because they matched who I believed I was.

Basketball was my sport. Basketball had culture. It had confidence, energy, familiarity. It was part of my history. Running, on the other hand, was something you did for conditioning. It wasn’t something I identified with. It belonged to a different type of person.

That distinction mattered more than I understood.

Because many of us do this in life.

We step into something new while trying to preserve an old identity. We say we want growth, but we bring outdated self-perceptions into new environments. We want new results while staying emotionally attached to the version of ourselves that feels familiar.

That creates friction.

Eventually, after enough feedback, my stubborn ass bought real running shoes.

Small purchase.

Big shift.

The shoes didn’t magically change my life. They didn’t make me faster overnight. They didn’t transform me into a runner.

What they did do was signal that I was ready to take this new chapter seriously.

They helped me stop relating only to who I had been and become more open to who I was becoming.

That’s an important distinction.

Real change usually starts with action. You show up. You practice. You make better choices. You build consistency.

But sustainable change often requires something deeper: a shift in identity.

You stop saying, “I’m trying to do this.”

And start saying, “This is part of who I am now.”

That applies everywhere:

The person trying to become healthier while still seeing themselves as someone who always quits. The professional stepping into leadership while still thinking like they need permission. The person rebuilding after divorce, loss, or burnout while still defining themselves by the old chapter. The entrepreneur trying to grow while still attached to the safety of playing small.

Behavior matters.

But behavior becomes more powerful when it aligns with identity.

I had already started running before I bought those shoes. But it wasn’t until I changed how I saw myself that it started to feel meaningful.

Sometimes the next level of growth isn’t more effort.

It’s updating the story you keep telling yourself.

You don’t need to start running.

You don’t need to buy new shoes.

But if you’re stuck between who you’ve been and who you want to become, remember:

You don’t have to run in Jordans.

Stop Trying to Optimize Your Life (And Why Self-Optimization Fuels Anxiety)

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in anxiety, burnout, cognitive behavioral therapy, perfectionism, personal-growth

There’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to improve your life.

The problem isn’t improvement. The problem is when improvement becomes a requirement or psychological demand for self-worth. Furthermore if we must always be constantly improving we leave no room for acceptance.

Bettering yourself is great. Telling yourself your not enough isn’t okay.

When Optimization Turns Into Pressure

We are living in a culture that encourages constant optimization.

Track your sleep.

Dial in your macros.

Engineer your morning routine.

Regulate your nervous system.

Maximize your potential.

None of this is pathological on its own.

But from a cognitive-behavioral perspective, distress is rarely caused by habits themselves. It’s caused by the beliefs attached to them.

When the belief becomes:

  • “If I’m not consistent, I’m failing.”
  • “If I can’t regulate my anxiety 100%, something is wrong with me.”
  • “If I’m not maximizing my potential, I’m wasting my life.”

We’ve crossed from growth into conditional self-esteem.

And conditional self-esteem is fragile. If self-worth is earned; it can be taken away.

Perfectionism in a More Sophisticated Form

Most people misunderstand perfectionism.

It’s not simply high standards.

It’s the belief that your value depends on performance.

That belief is strongly associated with:

Optimization culture often reinforces this pattern quietly.

It suggests that if you just refine the habits enough — sleep better, eat better, regulate better, focus better — you’ll finally feel like your enough.

But if your stability depends on perfect execution, you won’t feel stable for very long. Even if you capture it on one random occasion; then what? Are you required to replicated the performance indefinitely in order to maintain your worth?

That’s self-disturbing pressure, not self-actualization.

The Psychological Mechanism

Clinically, what we often see is rigidity.

Rigidity looks like:

  • Low tolerance for deviation
  • Intolerance of uncertainty
  • Excessive self-monitoring
  • Global self-judgment after minor mistakes
  • Negative self-rating

Missing one workout becomes evidence of inadequacy.

A bad night of sleep becomes a link to some personal failure.

An anxious day becomes proof that you’re not “cured.”

The behavior isn’t the issue.

The interpretation is.

This is a core principle in CBT and REBT: emotional distress is amplified by rigid, absolutistic beliefs — not by imperfection itself.

Control Is Not the Same as Health

Many optimization strategies are attempts to reduce discomfort through control.

Control can be useful.

But when control becomes an obsessive need to avoid feeling inadequate, anxious, or uncertain, it reinforces the very vulnerability it’s trying to eliminate.

The more you try to eliminate anxiety completely, the more sensitive you become to it.

The more you try to eliminate imperfection, the less resilient you become to normal human fluctuation.

Without acceptance, self-improvement becomes anxiety with better branding.

Unconditional Self-Esteem

Healthy discipline is compatible with unconditional self-worth.

Unhealthy discipline depends on conditional self-worth.

The difference is subtle but clinically important.

Unconditional self-esteem says:

I have inherent value as a human being. I can prefer to perform well, but my value is not dependent on it.

Conditional self-worth says:

I must perform well to justify my value.

The second creates chronic internal pressure.

The first creates cognitive flexibility.

And flexibility is what predicts long-term mental health.

A More Sustainable Model

Mental health is not optimal regulation.

It is psychological flexibility.

It is the ability to:

  • Miss a workout without collapsing your identity
  • Feel anxious without interpreting it as failure
  • Be inconsistent without becoming self-condemning
  • Improve without needing improvement to feel acceptable

Fixated attempts to optimize your life are often sub-optimal for your mental health.

Because they quietly reinforce the equation:

Performance = Value.

And that equation fuels anxiety.

Final Thought

You don’t need to abandon self-improvement. You need self-acceptance while doing it.

You need to loosen your attachment to optimization.

If your self-worth is stable, improvement becomes preferential.

Preferential thinking is sustainable.

Compulsive optimization (absolute thinking) is not.

Therapy FAQs: Why Am I Not Seeing Progress?

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy, personal-growth, psychotherapy, REFLECTION

One of the most common frustrations I hear in therapy is some version of:

“I’m doing the work… but I don’t feel like I’m making progress.”

That feeling can be discouraging. People accustomed to measuring growth may question therapy’s effectiveness. Those concerned with improvement or productivity might also doubt if therapy is working.

Not seeing growth in therapy doesn’t mean nothing is happening. More often, it means progress is showing up in ways that are slower. It can be subtler and also harder to measure than we expect.

Here are a few reasons why therapy can feel stagnant even when meaningful change is happening.

1. Change Is Slow

We live in a world of immediate gratification. When something doesn’t produce quick results, it’s easy to assume it isn’t effective.

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy isn’t fast-acting in the way people often hope for. But it is long-lasting. Real change tends to happen gradually, through repetition, practice, and consistency—not sudden insight alone.

That slowness can be frustrating, especially if you’re used to seeing effort quickly turn into outcomes.

2. Change Is Subtle

We love watching our kids grow up, but we don’t notice their growth day by day.

The same is true for our own personal growth.

Subtle progress is hard to see—even when it’s happening. When change occurs in small increments, it often only becomes visible in hindsight. That makes it easy to overlook and dismiss in the moment.

3. You’re Not Used to Looking for Progress

Many people I work with are high-demand, operating-at-maximum-efficiency types.

Your brain is used to looking for the deficit, not the progress.

By “deficit,” I mean the area short of perfection—the place where you could still improve. When your mind is trained this way, it becomes very good at spotting problems and very bad at taking inventory of wins.

We get so used to asking “What still needs work?” that we rarely pause to notice what has changed.

CBT sessions help slow this process down and intentionally identify progress—even when that progress is simply prioritizing mental health by showing up consistently to sessions.

That still counts.

4. Progress Is Not Linear

If we start plotting points of happiness or progress, it becomes clear pretty quickly that growth isn’t a straight line.

You’re not always going to feel good.

You’re not always going to be successful.

Sometimes you stub your toe.

Sometimes you get sick.

Sometimes you react to a trigger in a way you wish you hadn’t.

Those moments are just that—moments. Not the journey.

Temporary setbacks don’t erase progress. They’re part of it.

5. You’re Trying… But Are You Really Trying?

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

Effort can be difficult to define, especially in therapy.

It’s easy to feel like you’re trying just by talking about things in session. But are you doing the work outside of therapy?

That might look like:

Journaling Taking breaks Practicing boundaries Prioritizing the right kind of self-care

Insight matters—but insight alone rarely creates change. Behavior and practice are where progress tends to take root.

6. Effort Doesn’t Equal Outcome

This part is important—and often overlooked.

Sometimes we are doing the work.

We can do the right things, and it still doesn’t mean we’ll get the desired results—at least not yet.

That doesn’t mean the effort is wasted.

Keep up the effort.

Keep noticing the effort.

Give yourself some damn credit.

And trust the process.

Final Thoughts

Therapy isn’t about constant improvement or feeling better all the time. It’s about learning how to relate differently to your thoughts, emotions, and behaviors over time.

If therapy feels slow or frustrating, that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. It may mean the changes you’re making are quieter, deeper, and still unfolding.

Those changes tend to last.

Parenting by Example: How Confidence is Modeled, Not Taught

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy, PARENTING, REFLECTION
A close-up image of an adult hand and a child's hand touching, symbolizing connection and affection.

At this stage of my career, I primarily work with young adults and adults navigating anxiety, depression, and self-esteem. But not that long ago, I was the young, cool therapist—the one parents wanted their ADHD or ODD sons to connect with.

I still love child development. I still enjoy working with kids and adolescents.

But nothing grounds you quite like having an 11-year-old daughter and a 13-year-old stepdaughter.

I am no longer the young, cool therapist. And almost certainly not the cool guy at home. (The eye rolls out number the laughs nowadays)

And honestly? That’s probably for the best.

When Being “Cool” Stops Being the Goal

Not that I’m trying to be cool to middle schoolers. Insert generic dad joke about not having rizz. (Listen, I’m cool enough to know not to even attempt it.)

A man wearing a red cap and skateboard, dressed in casual attire, greets a group of young people with the phrase 'How do you do, fellow kids?'

What’s shifted isn’t my sense of humor—it’s my focus. Somewhere in the second decade of parenting, the question quietly changes. It’s no longer about telling them they’re awesome little achievers that can do anything they put their little minds to.

It becomes about showing them what it looks like to be proud of yourself in life.

Am I someone I’d want to become?

Am I leading by example?

The First Decade: Building Their Confidence and life. 

During the first decade of parenting, I spent a lot of energy cultivating my daughter’s self-esteem. I encouraged her and celebrated her achievements. I made sure she knew she was capable and worthy.

Lately?

She gives significantly fewer shits about what I think.

She rolls her eyes and sarcastically asks “is this another life lesson?!” She complains when I encourage her to be proud of herself. I get it. It’s dorky now. It’s parent stuff.

The Second Decade: Modeling Living a confident enjoyable life. 

What actually needs my attention now isn’t coaching her confidence—but modeling it.

That means being proud of myself.

Not “cool” (that ship sailed when I started making comments worthy of Progressive Insurance commercials).

But grounded. Intentional. Honest.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering:

Would my daughter want to live a life like mine?

Two individuals running on treadmills in a gym with large windows showing a view of the outdoors.

Leading by Example Isn’t About Control—It’s About Consistency

I hope my daughter continues to be her own independent, creative self. (Though, good or bad, she has many of my idiosyncrasies.)

My role now feels less about directing her growth and more about living in a way that demonstrates self-respect.

One of the best things we can do for the people we love is take care of ourselves. We are not do it performatively, not perfectly, but consistently.

Good parenting isn’t just being present and attentive.

It’s being able to stand behind the life you’re living.

That includes being proud of your own:

  1. Daily habits
  2. Physical health and movement
  3. Mental health and emotional regulation
  4. Relationships
  5. Interests, hobbies, and passions

Kids notice what we do far more than what we say.

A framed sign with the text 'SELF CARE ISN'T SELFISH' displayed against a pink background, accompanied by a shadow from a plant.

Modeling Matters More Than Motivating

Recently, our girls did wall sits for an absurd amount of time—because I was doing a wall-sit challenge at my gym.

No lecture required.

No motivational speech.

Just modeling.

My daughter has also been leaning into humor lately. (I like to think we’ve made her life just stressful enough to have good material, yet comfortable enough to feel secure being silly.)

She told me a story from school that stuck with me.

She wanted to leave school early. She Googled me, pulled up my website, and showed her friends my profile—where my session fees are listed.

She announced:

“Guys, I have to come up with at least a hundred dollars for my dad to come get me.”

I was proud—not because she was “flexing,” but because she was playful, confident, and comfortable sharing this tibdit with her classmates ( and now with me). She proceeded to ask her classmates if she looked like me. (She did not need confirmation—unfortunately- poor girl looks exactly like her dad.)

What that moment told me was this:

She wasn’t embarrassed by me.

She wasn’t hiding me.

She was proud.

A man in sunglasses stands with a water bottle and a towel over his shoulder, watching two children play soccer in a sunny park.

Being Someone Your Kids Can Be Proud Of Starts With You

I know 11 is still young. The next decade will likely involve plenty of eye-rolling, boundary-testing, and days where I unequivocally take the L.

But I want to give myself the best chance possible—not by being perfect, but by being someone I respect.

Because when I’m proud of how I live,

when I show up for myself,

when I take care of my mental and physical health—

I’m not just teaching her confidence.

I’m showing her what it looks like.

And hopefully, one day, she’ll be damn proud of herself too.

When Things Don’t Make Sense: Our Brain’s War on Randomness

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in Uncategorized

Our brains hate randomness.

They’re wired to make sense of things — to find patterns, explanations, and stories that help us feel safe in an unpredictable world. This instinct isn’t a flaw; it’s evolutionary design. Detecting patterns once helped us survive — to predict danger, find food, or spot threats before they happened. But in modern life, that same mechanism can backfire.

When things feel uncertain or chaotic, we start to search for meaning everywhere. We try to explain every silence, every coincidence, every delay. For those of us with perfectionistic or obsessive tendencies, this drive for control can become relentless. We organize, analyze, and overthink in an effort to turn the unpredictable into something we can manage. OCD, in many ways, is this process in overdrive — a mind trying to create order where none exists.

The irony is that our brains are not particularly good scientists. They make connections based on incomplete data, filling in gaps to maintain a sense of coherence. Psychology identifies these as cognitive distortions: such as confirmation bias, personalization, all-or-nothing thinking — mental shortcuts that make the random feel meaningful. These patterns can help us feel more in control, but they often lead us away from truth and toward anxiety.

Sometimes, things really are just random.

The person who gave you a dirty look.

The friend who didn’t text back.

The awkward silence.

The string of bad luck that makes you feel cursed.

Maybe none of it means anything. And that’s difficult for the mind to accept.

Accepting randomness challenges one of our deepest needs: the need for control and create predictability. Yet learning to tolerate uncertainty — what psychologists call uncertainty tolerance — is central to emotional health. When we stop demanding that every event carry meaning, we make room for peace and perspective.

So next time your mind rushes to interpret, pause.

Take a breath.

Ask yourself: What if this is just random?

You might find that letting go of the need to make sense of everything is, in itself, a kind of freedom.

Free Speech: Your Power Is in Your Reaction

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in Uncategorized

If we wish to preserve the First Amendment, we must amend our behavior.

Free speech is not the right to say whatever we want without consequence. It is the right for others to say what they want — and our responsibility to accept that reality. Acceptance is not agreement. Acceptance is not encouragement. It is simply the willingness to let words exist, even when we despise them.

Unconditional acceptance means I can acknowledge that people behave like flawed ignoramuses — not because I support ignorance, but because people are innately fallible, fucked-up human beings.

Here’s the truth: I cannot say whatever I want without repercussions, especially in the world of 2025 social media. My livelihood, my relationships, even my reputation can all be affected by what I say. So in practice, “free speech” lives not in the speaker, but in the reactor.

And yet today, it feels like everyone is pointing fingers — the extremist on my left blames the extremist on my right, and the extremist on my right blames the extremist on my left. Each side claims they are defending free speech while really just trying to silence their enemy. But free speech doesn’t die from what they say. It dies from how we react.

That means free speech isn’t preserved by canceling others, rallying outrage mobs, or gathering our proverbial pitchforks against those who hurt our feelings. That instinct to punish or silence only makes speech more fragile. Stop demanding censorship, start managing your own reactions.

If I want to preserve free speech, my civil duty is to control my response to ignorance, inflammatory rhetoric, and fearmongering. I may dislike it. I may be deeply offended by it. But I can accept its existence, because without that acceptance, I undermine the very freedom I claim to defend.

Freedom is not in demanding the right to say everything you wish. Freedom is in choosing how you respond to others. That is where your real power lies.

Take it back