Tag: therapy

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.

Brightly colored transparent bubbles connected by glowing neon lines on dark background

You Don’t Have to Know How: Embrace the Journey

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in cognitive behavioral therapy

This week I completed my 600th group fitness class. It’s been almost 3 years and extremely transformative.

Since joining this community I’ve completed two half marathons in the past year. (I’ll be signing up for a third soon.) I’m confidently in the best shape of my life.

What surprises me most isn’t where I am.

It’s that, looking back, I have absolutely no idea how I got here.

I didn’t have a five-year fitness plan. I wasn’t trying to become “a runner.” I never had completing half marathon’s at 40 years old on the bucket list. I wasn’t really counting down to my 600th class. I paid attention to 500 but 600 just sort of showed up.

But really I just kept showing up.

Fittingly, this concept has weaved it’s way into conversation I have with many of my therapy clients over the past few weeks. I noticed this trend of: “I don’t know how to do this.”

Whether it’s changing careers, improving a relationship, managing anxiety, starting therapy, exercising consistently, or making any meaningful life change, we often believe we need to know exactly how to do things before we get started.

But that’s rarely how growth works.

You don’t have to know how you’re going to be successful.

You discover the “how” by repeatedly taking the next step.

Brightly colored transparent bubbles connected by glowing neon lines on dark background

Mental Health and Physical Health Were Never Separate

One unexpected consequence of consistently exercising wasn’t just that I became physically healthier.

I became mentally healthier too.

Not because exercise replaced therapeutic principles.

Because it changed the environment my mind existed in.

Regular exercise gave me structure which:

  • improved my sleep.
  • challenged my negative self talk or doubt
  • introduced a supportive community
  • held me accountable
  • motivated me with others
  • increase my faith in others by actively seeing people working toward their own goals.

None of those things cured stress.

None of them eliminated anxiety.

But together, they made me more resilient.

Exercise Isn’t Therapy

Sometimes conversations about mental health become overly simplistic.

You’ll hear people say:

“Just exercise.”

As though depression, trauma, OCD, or panic disorders can simply be run away from.

That’s not how mental health works.

Exercise is not psychotherapy.

A treadmill cannot help you process grief.

Deadlifts won’t challenge deeply rooted cognitive distortions.

A long run won’t repair childhood trauma.

There are experiences that require reflection, insight, emotional processing, and sometimes evidence-based psychotherapy or medication.

Exercise is an incredible supplemental intervention.

It’s just not the intervention.

Therapy Isn’t Just for Mental Illness Either

The opposite misconception exists too.

Many people think therapy only exists to treat disorders.

I don’t believe that’s true either.

Just as people exercise before they develop heart disease…

People can benefit from therapy before they’re in crisis.

Therapy can help you develop healthier relationships.

Increase self-awareness.

Clarify your values.

Improve communication.

Process major life transitions.

Build resilience.

Or simply become more intentional about the life you’re creating.

Sometimes therapy isn’t about fixing something that’s broken.

Sometimes it’s about building something meaningful.

Wellness Is an Interactive System

Physical health influences mental health.

Mental health influences physical health.

Better sleep improves emotional regulation.

Lower stress makes it easier to exercise.

Exercise improves confidence.

Confidence increases willingness to pursue difficult goals.

Healthy relationships improve motivation.

Purpose increases consistency.

Each area reinforces the others.

They’re less like separate buckets and more like interconnected gears.

When one begins to move, the others often become easier to move as well.

The Goal Was Never 600 Classes

If you had asked me years ago whether I’d complete 600 classes, I probably would have laughed it off.

“I’m not a joiner. I’m a solo practitioner, independently motivated man.”.. Welp… There goes that self-limiting schema.

I didn’t know how I’d get here.

I didn’t need to.

I only needed to decide on a direction.

Everything else came from showing up consistently and seeing where the journey would take me. We dictate the current but then go with flow.

One workout. One therapy session. One difficult conversation. One healthy choice.

One uncomfortable moment at a time…

can lead to some of the most meaningful changes in our lives. Success isn’t usually the result of having the perfect plan.

It’s the result of consistently becoming the kind of person who keeps moving forward

What “I Have Nothing to Talk About” Can Actually Mean

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

There are certain phrases psychotherapists hear that immediately get our attention.

One of them is:

“I have nothing to talk about.”

Now, if I’m being honest, most therapists don’t hear that statement and simply take it at face value.

We get curious.

Is there something they are avoiding?

Is there something they’re glossing over?

Is this an opportunity to dive deeper into something?

What uncomfortable feeling are we dancing around?

After all, avoidance is one of the most common patterns people bring into therapy.

Not because they’re dishonest.

Not because they’re resistant.

Because they’re human.

Why We Avoid

Avoidance gets a bad reputation, but it exists for a reason.

If something feels painful, uncomfortable, embarrassing, uncertain, or overwhelming, our minds naturally try to move away from it.

We change the subject.

We distract ourselves.

We stay busy.

We tell ourselves we’ll deal with it later.

We convince ourselves it isn’t a big deal.

For a brief moment, avoidance works.

That’s why people do it.

The difficult conversation gets postponed.

The anxiety temporarily decreases.

The uncomfortable emotion fades into the background.

The problem is that while avoidance often provides short-term relief, it tends to create long-term suffering.

The conversation still needs to happen.

The decision still needs to be made.

The grief still needs to be felt.

The fear still waits for us.

One of the primary goals of therapy is helping people gradually build the ability to approach the things that they would rather avoid.

Not because it’s pleasant.

Because it’s often necessary for change.

The Therapist’s Suspicion

This is why therapists become suspicious when someone says they have nothing to talk about.

We’ve heard it before.

Sometimes “nothing to talk about” means:

“I don’t want to discuss the fight I had with my spouse.”

Sometimes it means:

“I don’t want to admit how anxious I’ve been.”

Sometimes it means:

“I know exactly what I need to talk about, and I’m hoping we can spend the session discussing the weather instead.”

Years of experience teach us that there is often something sitting beneath the surface.

Which is exactly why a recent session stuck with me.

Sometimes There Really Is Nothing To Talk About

About fifteen minutes into a session, a client told me they didn’t really have anything to discuss.

My therapist brain immediately started searching.

Work?

Family?

Goals?

Stressors?

Future plans?

I explored a few areas.

And what I found surprised me.

There wasn’t a hidden crisis.

There wasn’t a conflict being avoided.

There wasn’t some painful topic hiding behind the curtain.

Things were simply okay.

Not perfect.

Just okay.

And that’s different.

There was still some anticipatory anxiety about the future. There always is. Life doesn’t stop being uncertain simply because things are going well.

But in this particular moment, this person had achieved many of the goals they had worked toward.

They had made significant changes in their career.

They felt more secure in themselves.

They were handling challenges effectively.

They had done the work.

Peace Can Feel Unfamiliar

What struck me was how unusual this moment felt.

Not because peace is rare.

Because we often don’t know what to do with it.

Many people become so accustomed to solving problems that they struggle to recognize when there isn’t one.

We become scanners.

Always looking for the next issue.

The next challenge.

The next thing to fix.

The next source of stress.

Sometimes this mindset is useful.

Sometimes it helps us grow.

But sometimes it prevents us from appreciating where we currently stand.

It’s difficult to enjoy a view when you’re constantly looking for the next mountain to climb.

Celebrating Progress

So instead of searching harder for a hidden problem, we spent time acknowledging something important:

How they got to this moment of quiet peace.

We talked about the work they had done.

The changes they had made.

The growth they had achieved.

The discomfort they had tolerated.

The risks they had taken.

The person they had become.

Therapy often focuses on what’s wrong.

Naturally so. People usually come to therapy because something isn’t working.

But growth deserves attention too.

Progress deserves attention too.

The absence of suffering isn’t always avoidance.

Sometimes it’s evidence.

Evidence that the hard work is paying off.

A Final Thought

Not every therapy session is challenging because life is difficult.

Sometimes the challenge is learning to be at peace when life isn’t difficult.

Sometimes the work is allowing yourself to stop searching for a problem and simply acknowledge:

“I’m okay right now.”

That may not sound like much.

But for someone who spent years anxious, overwhelmed, self-critical, or stuck in survival mode, that moment can be one of the greatest achievements of all.

Why Insight Alone Can’t Change Your Mental Health

Posted on by David Zerella, LCSW in anxiety, cognitive behavioral therapy, psychotherapy
A 3D illustration of a human brain with mechanical gears integrated into its structure, glowing with a soft red light against a pale background.

Most of my clients have incredible insight into their mental health. Many people who attend CBT therapy for anxiety or depression already know what they’re supposed to do. They understand it intellectually but still struggle.

They know when their thoughts are irrational.

They know avoidance worsens anxiety.

They know isolation feeds depression.

And yet—nothing changes.

This gap between knowing and doing isn’t a lack of intelligence. It’s certainly not for lack of effort. It’s a misunderstanding of how psychological change actually happens.

Insight Alone Rarely Creates Change

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) emphasizes the connection between thoughts, emotions, and behavior. Understanding your thinking patterns matters. Learning how to challenge unhelpful beliefs matters.

But insight alone rarely leads to sustainable growth.

Many people can accurately identify their cognitive distortions. They can explain why their anxiety “doesn’t make sense.” They may intellectually understand why avoidance keeps them stuck. Yet, they still feel anxious, depressed, or unmotivated. Sitting alone with your thoughts and repeatedly trying to think happy thoughts is not CBT. In fact, trying to think ourselves out of emotional distress often becomes exhausting.

Knowing what would help doesn’t automatically make it easier to do it.

Practice Over Theory

My clinical approach is grounded in Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT). This is a form of CBT that places particular emphasis on how rigid beliefs and internal demands fuel emotional distress.

From an REBT perspective, we work to replace demands (“shoulds,” “have tos,” and “musts”) with preferences. So we don’t have to do the work—we prefer to do the work, because we prefer to see progress.

But simply put, we still have to practice what we know.

Don’t just talk about it—be about it.

This applies to me as well. I can’t just preach mental health and wellness; I have to actively work at living by it. (Maybe that’s why they call it a private practice). What I practice in private tends to show up in the therapy office.

If I’m burned out, overextended, or ignoring my own limits, that doesn’t stay neatly contained outside of session. Practicing self-care isn’t just something I encourage—it’s something I actively work on. Being present, emotionally attuned, and grounded with clients requires ongoing practice, not just theoretical understanding. I am not alone, nor am I special. This is part of the human experience.

“I Give Great Advice—Just Not to Myself”

Many clients describe themselves as the wise friend—the one who gives thoughtful advice. They validate others’ emotions and see situations clearly from the outside. Yet, they struggle when it comes to their own life.

Often this happens because we:

  • Validate others’ emotions while minimizing our own
  • Apply compassion outward but demand perfection internally
  • Know what helps in theory but avoid it when it feels uncomfortable
  • Let ego convince us we “shouldn’t have to do the work”

This isn’t hypocrisy. It’s human behavior. And it reinforces the same idea: knowing is not the same as practicing.

When You Know What to Do—but Still Can’t Do It

A common frustration I hear in therapy sounds like this:

“I know I shouldn’t isolate, but when I’m depressed I don’t want to burden others.”
“I know structure or exercise would help, but I can’t get myself to start—or even get out of bed.”
“I know no one is judging me at this party, but I’m still worried I’ll look foolish.”

At this point, many people assume something is “wrong” with them. In reality, they’re encountering a very normal limitation of insight-based change.

CBT isn’t about waiting to feel better before acting. It’s about learning how to act while uncomfortable. Or, as I like to say, the beauty is in the work.

Midsteps: Acting Without Needing to Feel Ready

When anxiety or depression is present, meaningful change rarely comes from trying harder or thinking more rationally first. Instead, we focus on midsteps—small, intentional actions that are possible even when motivation is low.

For example:

You don’t go to the crowded store, but you walk to the mailbox
You don’t socialize for hours, but you step outside briefly
You don’t feel confident, but you take action anyway

These steps aren’t about eliminating discomfort. They’re about moving through it—gradually demonstrating to yourself that you can withstand it.

Experiential Knowledge Is What Changes Beliefs

In CBT and REBT, beliefs change most reliably through experience—not logic alone. While we may brainstorm cognitive reframes in session to reduce stress and anxiety, long-term growth comes from experiential learning and resilience-building.

Experiential knowledge is built by:

  • Doing difficult things while anxious
  • Acting while depressed, unmotivated, or self-critical
  • Learning firsthand that discomfort is tolerable
  • Developing resilience to frustration

Sometimes those actions feel empowering. Other times they come with sweating, self-doubt, tears, or a pit in your stomach.

It all counts.

Each experience provides evidence that:

“I can tolerate discomfort and still function. I can withstand this.”

Over time, this weakens avoidance and reshapes emotional responses—not through positive thinking, but through repeated practice.

Therapy as a Place to Practice, Not Just Understand

Therapy isn’t about convincing yourself you shouldn’t feel anxious or depressed.

It’s about learning how to act effectively while you do.

For clients seeking CBT therapy for anxiety or depression, this approach often resonates with people. It particularly appeals to those who value self-improvement. They emphasize personal responsibility and intellectually honest change.

That’s why knowing isn’t enough—and why meaningful progress comes from practice over theory.

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.