07/05/2026
My thoughts this week.
*When Therapy Became an Identity: How We Taught a Generation to Name Their Pain but Not Always Survive It*
I have been thinking about this a lot lately.
This is not a post saying mental health issues are not real. They are real. Trauma is real. ADHD is real. Autism is real. Anxiety, depression, grief, burnout and emotional dysregulation are real.
But I do think we need to talk about what happens when therapy language becomes someone’s whole identity.
There is a difference between understanding yourself and being organised entirely around your wounds.
There is a difference between saying, “This explains why I struggle,” and saying, “This means I am not responsible.”
A diagnosis should explain.
It should not excuse everything.
Therapy should build capacity.
It should not become someone’s whole personality.
Support should increase independence where possible.
It should not train helplessness.
Validation should soothe shame.
It should not remove responsibility.
Many younger people today have incredible emotional language. They can name their triggers, attachment style, nervous system state, diagnoses and therapy modality. That can be powerful. Language can reduce shame. It can help people understand themselves. It can open the door to healing.
But language alone is not healing.
Being able to name your pain is not the same as being able to live with it, regulate it, take responsibility for it, repair harm, tolerate discomfort, or build a life beyond it.
Somewhere along the way, I wonder whether we gave some young people emotional language before we gave them enough life skills. We taught them to recognise discomfort, but not always to tolerate it. We taught them to name trauma, but not always to build capacity after trauma. We taught them to understand their nervous system, but not always to take responsibility for their behaviour.
And I say this with compassion, not criticism.
Many of us from older generations were raised in the opposite extreme. We were told to toughen up, get over it, stop crying, stay quiet, hide family problems, hide disability, hide abuse, hide depression, and just keep going.
That caused enormous harm too.
So the answer is not to go backwards.
The answer is balance.
We need to believe people when they say they are struggling, while still helping them build responsibility.
We need to validate pain, while still encouraging growth.
We need to support neurodivergent people, while still helping them develop practical strategies for adult life.
We need to recognise trauma, while still helping people move towards agency, repair and choice.
Good therapy should make a person’s world bigger, not smaller.
Good support should help people become more capable, not more dependent.
Good mental health care should help people understand their wounds without becoming permanently organised around them.
Because there is a real difference between compassion and capture.
Compassion says, “I can see why you are struggling. Let’s help you build a life.”
Capture says, “You are your symptoms. Keep identifying with the wound. Keep needing the system.”
That is the part that worries me.
When distress becomes profitable, when services are funded by how many hours people attend, when therapy becomes endless without clear goals, review or movement, we need to ask careful questions.
Not cruel questions. Not dismissive questions. Ethical questions.
Are we helping people recover?
Are we building capacity?
Are we teaching responsibility alongside validation?
Are we supporting independence where possible?
Are we helping people become more themselves, or more attached to a label?
Mental health support matters deeply. But the goal should never be for someone to become fluent in the language of their suffering while remaining trapped inside it.
The goal is not just insight.
The goal is life.
