Monet:
This conversation started in one of our previous talks about Exposure and Response Prevention (ERP)—how it works by intentionally walking clients toward discomfort rather than away from it. It got us thinking: discomfort isn’t just central to ERP. It shows up everywhere in therapy. So what does it mean, more broadly, when we say therapy is “supposed to be uncomfortable”?
Before we go any further, we want to name something important. The three of us—Whitney, Keisha (KD), and I—are white, cisgender women. That comes with a degree of cultural comfort and systemic privilege. So when we talk about discomfort in therapy, we’re always trying to be mindful not to conflate necessary therapeutic discomfort with harm, especially when harm often masquerades as "honesty" or “pushing growth” in marginalized communities.
Discomfort isn’t the same as harm. ERP is a great example: it’s discomfort for the sake of expansion. For learning to live with what we fear, without making our lives smaller.
Whitney:
Discomfort is baked into the therapeutic process. In ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), we talk about “psychological flexibility”—which is just a fancy way of saying, “Can you stay present with what’s hard, and still do what matters?” That’s the muscle we’re strengthening.
I’ve had clients say things like, “I’ve seen you three times and cried every time—am I doing this right?” And I often say, “Actually, yes.” This work is supposed to stretch you. If it didn’t, I’d worry we were avoiding something. It doesn’t mean therapy should always be intense or painful, but if we never touch discomfort, we may just be rehearsing avoidance with a licensed professional.
KD:
I’ve definitely been there as a clinician. Early in my trauma work, I wanted to take pain away. I think that’s where a lot of therapists start—it feels like the most compassionate response. But then I learned (especially through ERP) that healing isn’t about eliminating distress. It’s about changing our relationship to it. I use the metaphor of a rubber band a lot: what’s the soft landing, the thing that helps you spring back?
It’s not about never getting stretched—it’s about bouncing back.
Whitney:
There’s a phrase from ACT that’s always stuck with me: “It’s not about feeling better. It’s about feeling better.” You can’t avoid pain as a human. But you can avoid the suffering that comes from fighting the pain.
Living a values-based life doesn’t mean we bypass suffering. It means we let pain matter in context. You get to feel your feelings and still take steps toward what you care about.
Monet:
That’s such an important distinction. I think for so many clients, discomfort gets interpreted as failure. If I feel this bad, therapy must not be working. But often, the opposite is true—it’s working because the pain is being allowed to surface, instead of being shoved down again.
KD:
I sometimes struggle with how to talk about outcomes in therapy. I can't promise happiness. I can't promise ease. But I can say, “This will be worthwhile.” I’ve found that “worthwhile” leaves room for complexity. It doesn’t erase the reality of pain—it gives it shape and meaning.
Monet:
I’ve been thinking lately about how white supremacy culture teaches us that we’re entitled to comfort. That’s a concept from Tema Okun’s work—“the right to comfort” is a cultural norm that keeps us from being challenged or accountable.
Whitney:
Yes! It’s so sneaky. The idea that discomfort automatically equals harm is deeply wired in us, especially if we were socialized in white, middle-class environments. And if we’re not careful, that wiring shows up in the therapy room. We pull away from the discomfort, not because it’s unsafe, but because it feels unfamiliar.
Even something like the trope of “white women’s tears” can be viewed as a nervous system reaction—a fight-or-flight moment where discomfort registers as danger, and the system scrambles to self-protect.
But we don’t grow when we’re constantly avoiding discomfort. We stay small. We stay unchallenged.
Monet:
Keisha, you’re our nervous system nerd. Can you explain a little about how this works?
KD:
Absolutely. Fight, flight, freeze, fawn, and flop are survival responses—your body mobilizes or immobilizes to protect you from perceived threat. These are unconscious processes. They’re not bad. They’re not a sign of weakness. But when we’re therapists, we need to recognize that our own nervous systems are responding right alongside our clients’.
Sometimes, watching someone cry or be in distress lights up our own history. We brace, we contract, we rescue—or we withdraw. And if we’re not tuned into that, we might misinterpret a session. We might label a client “resistant” when what’s really happening is we got uncomfortable.
Monet:
Let’s go there—what’s your personal relationship with discomfort lately? KD, want to start?
KD:
I’ve been in this field for a while, so I can perform calm pretty convincingly. But recently I’ve been noticing that when things get sticky in session, I subtly tense up. My shoulders lift, my breathing shifts. I might interpret a client as being avoidant, but really, I need to check myself first. Am I present? Am I willing to tolerate my discomfort in order to help them tolerate theirs?
I’ve been doing some of my own trauma work around this, because it directly impacts how I show up.
Whitney:
Same here. I try to stay curious when something feels tight in the room. Sometimes I process it in real time, sometimes in supervision. What’s helped me most lately is the reminder that therapy works because it’s relational. It’s not just technique—it’s connection.
Monet:
Yes. And for me, discomfort shows up in witnessing. So many of my clients feel like misfits—like the world has told them, “You’re not who we wanted you to be.” In therapy, we sit with that truth. We say it out loud. That alone is uncomfortable. But it’s also liberating.
Monet:
One question I’ve started asking more in sessions is: “What are we not talking about?” It’s not confrontational—it’s invitational. And the answers are often profound. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s a tear. Sometimes it’s, “I don’t know, but I think I need to.”
KD:
That’s a great ERP moment. We’re not forcing discomfort—we’re inviting it. And we’re showing the client they can survive it. That’s the heart of good therapy.
Monet:
I’m really proud of how we lead at KDH. We don’t just talk about discomfort in therapy—we live it in our leadership. We have hard conversations. We check in. We reflect.
KD:
That’s been a growth edge for me. I’m naturally conflict-avoidant. But I care deeply about our team. Avoiding discomfort in leadership causes harm—it erodes trust. So I work on staying with discomfort instead of dodging it. Shared leadership helps hold me accountable.
Whitney:
I remember being a new therapist—nervous, uncertain, hypervigilant. Trusting leadership didn’t come easy. But at KDH, the transparency felt disarming in a good way. I didn’t have to pretend to be fine. I could ask for help. And that felt radical.
Monet:
Keisha, you’ve been in this field the longest. What’s been your experience of discomfort in the profession itself?
KD:
Early on, I had this idealized vision of therapists—that we were all gentle, wise, safe. But when I worked with the military, I encountered therapists who were harsh and hierarchical. It was jarring. There’s this unspoken belief that years in the field equals competence, and that’s just not true.
Whitney:
Yes! The research backs that up. It’s not time in the field that predicts clinical effectiveness—it’s things like humility, feedback-seeking, and specialization. Discomfort is part of staying teachable.
Monet:
If you’re a client and you’ve been in therapy for a while but haven’t felt challenged, ask yourself: What are we not talking about?
Whitney:
I tell clients all the time—my job is to poke at things. And your job is to push back. That’s part of the dance. That’s the work.
KD:
I poke, then pause, then poke again. And sometimes I warn them—“This next thing might be hard to hear.” And clients often appreciate the honesty. They don’t want endless comfort. They want change.
Monet:
That’s the takeaway: discomfort isn’t a sign that therapy is failing. It’s often the doorway into healing. Therapy isn’t about constant ease—it’s about deeper feeling, deeper truth, and deeper connection.
And yeah, that’s uncomfortable. And yeah, that’s okay.