When I first considered writing a blog on therapy, the most immediate thought that came to me was myths. This surprised me. After all, I must have encountered hundreds of posts, reels, and articles—by therapists, influencers, and mental health advocates alike—attempting to dismantle misconceptions about therapy. And yet, despite these countless efforts, I still encounter the same age-old assumptions I once carried myself, back when I didn’t even know how to spell the word psychology.
The myths are almost predictable by now:
- “Psychotherapists are mind readers.”
- “Why would anyone pay someone just to talk?”
- “Isn’t therapy a kind of moral charity?”
- “A therapist will give me the solution and then everything will be fine.”
- “You must know what’s going on in my mind—tell me!”
- “If you’re in therapy, something must be seriously wrong with you.”
- “Only weak people need therapy.”
- “Are you analyzing me right now?”
- “Why waste time in therapy when I can talk to a friend?”
- “There’s nothing wrong with me, so why would I go?”
- “Therapists have all the answers—they’re the experts.”
These myths linger stubbornly, almost immune to correction. What fascinates me is not merely their persistence, but whythey persist. Time and again, I’ve noticed that when people ask questions like, “So what really happens in therapy?” they often aren’t seeking to learn something new. Instead, they’re looking for confirmation of what they already believe. Curiosity, it seems, is often eclipsed by the comfort of familiarity.
This raises an important question: why do we cling to outdated ideas, even when offered opportunities to expand our understanding?
The answer, I think, lies in the psychology of knowledge itself. We thrive on what we already know—or at least, what we think we know. Our existing beliefs give us stability, identity, and a sense of certainty. Change, as any therapist will attest, is profoundly difficult. New information doesn’t just add to our worldview; it often threatens to destabilize it.
What makes this even more complex is the role of shame. In our culture, not knowing is often equated with inadequacy. People are embarrassed to admit ignorance, and the world is quick to humiliate or judge those who lack information that is deemed “common knowledge.” This creates a paradox: rather than openly embrace curiosity, people may cling rigidly to outdated beliefs simply to avoid the discomfort of admitting they don’t know.
Here, I find hope in a line from Criss Jami:
“Beyond all sciences, philosophies, theologies, and histories, a child’s relentless inquiry is truly all it takes to remind us that we don’t know as much as we think we know.”
This sentiment reminds me that we were not always so prideful about knowledge. As children, we questioned everything—not from arrogance, but from wonder. There is humility in admitting “I don’t know,” and a kind of grace in choosing to learn, unlearn, and relearn.
So perhaps the task before us is not to resent those who hold on to myths about therapy, but to gently reawaken the curiosity that allows for transformation. Therapy, after all, is not about confirming what you already know—it is about creating the courage to step into what you do not yet know. And in that space of not knowing, there is enormous potential for healing, growth, and discovery.
- Mitushi