Emily sat at her computer waiting for her client to attend the pre-arranged and paid for session. Her heart seemed to be doing something weird, and she was unsure how the session was going to go. These were feelings and sensations that she didn’t normally associate with meeting with a client, especially as it wasn’t the first appointment.

Pretty soon it became apparent that the client was not attending. Emily checked her emails and phone for messages and to ensure that she had sent the correct information for the Zoom call session. All appeared to be in order, so not a technical or administrational glitch. So, what had happened, she mused.

Prior to this session Emily had emailed the client with her 3rd appointment information and had cordially enquired how she thought the process was going, also raising that some elements of the original problem stated at consultation had only been superficially discussed.

The therapeutic process had begun to unravel.

The Map Was In My Head

Emily’s story is not uncommon. As therapists, we spend years learning to recognise patterns. We do this in various ways like listening carefully and joining the dots. Then we begin to understand not just what has happened to someone, but why it continues to affect them.

Quite quickly, a map begins to emerge.

We can often see where we are, where we’d like to go and the safest, most efficient route to get there. Which sounds amazing doesn’t it? However, there is a problem.

The map is usually in our head, not the client’s.

Recently, I was reminded of just how important that difference can be.

A client challenged me, not aggressively, but honestly. They couldn’t see how the work we were doing related to the reason they had sought therapy. Reading their words wasn’t comfortable. Like many therapists, my first instinct was to question myself. It went something like this:

I sat with the uncomfortable feelings and thoughts for a while. As I reflected, I realised something slightly different. The therapeutic route hadn’t necessarily been wrong because I was using tried and tested methods that had served me well. So, no, that wasn’t the issue here. The issue was this – the route simply hadn’t been visible.

I knew why I was asking certain questions. I knew why I wasn’t rushing into the most painful material. I knew the foundations I was trying to build before we tackled the deeper work.

Unfortunately, the client didn’t. And this was not because they weren’t listening, it was simply because I hadn’t shown them the map.

I should have explained more.

Not because clients need a lecture on psychotherapy, but because they deserve to understand the journey they’re being invited to take.

Sometimes that explanation is as simple as:

‘Today I’d like to understand this pattern because I think it’s keeping the anxiety going. Once we understand that, we’ll be in a much stronger position to work directly with the experiences that brought you here.’

Just a few sentences can transform confusion into collaboration.

For me, this experience reinforced two principles that I now teach regularly to other therapists.

The first is Professional Voice.

Professional voice isn’t about sounding clever or being the expert in the room. It’s about having the confidence to share your clinical thinking in a way that helps clients feel safe, informed and included. Clients don’t expect us to have all the answers, but they do need to understand why we’re asking the questions we ask and how today’s work connects with tomorrow’s goals.

The second is Client Readiness.

We often think about readiness as something the client either has or doesn’t have. Yet readiness is also about the relationship itself. Do therapist and client have a shared understanding of the goals? Are expectations aligned? Does the client understand their role in the process as well as the therapist’s? Are they walking the same path, or are they unknowingly travelling on parallel roads?

Therapy is not something that is done to a client, and it’s not something the client simply receives, it’s a much richer experience than that. It’s about something that is built together.

To be successful at this we need to maintain curiosity from both people.

It requires honesty – from both people.

And sometimes it requires difficult conversations.

Here’s the sticking point and the reason we often shy away as therapists – not every therapeutic relationship with continue after those conversations.

But every one of them offers an opportunity to become a more thoughtful practitioner.

Perhaps that’s the real lesson.

The clients who challenge us are often the ones who quietly improve our practice for every client who comes after them.

Some of this, or maybe all of it, may resonate with you. If it does, let’s talk about how I can help.