The weaponization of therapy speak
Are you holding space right now?
I was in the middle of a text argument yesterday and I sent a message that said: “I really need to protect my peace right now.” Oh god, I thought to myself. Did I really just say that? I sound like one of those people.
You know, the ones who are always “triggered,” “traumatized,” or “setting a boundary.” The ones who are quick to call a guy a “narcissist” because he doesn’t want to date them, and anyone who doesn’t agree with them is “gaslighting.”
The misuse of therapy speak has made it difficult to discern between true self-awareness and performative self-obsession. When I was sending that text earlier, I almost didn’t believe myself. Did I actually need to protect my peace? Or was I just saying it to get out of a conversation? Was this a legitimate need for self preservation? Or an avoidance tactic because the conversation was really killing my vibe?
We all seem to be doing The Work, but what happens when a culture obsessed with self-betterment turns healing into harm?
I once had a friend, let’s call her Anna.
Anna had a rough childhood, there’s no doubt about that. She experienced a series of unfortunate events that no child should endure. These events, however, thirty years later, made their way into just about every conversation we had.
Anna was beautiful. She was cold, angular, and austere. She spoke in a low, quiet voice and had a faint Russian accent. She was an actress (aspiring), and we became close friends very quickly after meeting at a house party in LA. Our friendship consisted of taking photos on the beach, talking about boys, and DMing psychology quotes back and forth on Instagram while simultaneously having a deep conversation about our avoidant tendencies over text.
When her birthday rolled around, she asked me to go to Hawaii with her. I had no desire to go to Hawaii. I’d been there a dozen times, I had like no money, and I had just gotten back from a work trip to Costa Rica days prior. Everything in my body was telling me not to go on this trip with a girl I just met. But I felt bad for her. The poor traumatized Anna who never got a birthday cake let alone a birthday trip!
So I drained the last bit of my paycheck and went to Hawaii.
The trip was a masterclass in weaponizing your trauma to get what you want. Each one of Anna’s desires or requests had to be met immediately and without dispute, otherwise it would result in tears, the silent treatment, or her knocking her knees together and turning her body away from me in the car like a pouting teenager. All under the guise of healing her inner child, of course.
The trip was emotionally exhausting. After we landed back in LA we hugged goodbye at the airport and neither of us spoke to one another again. After two weeks of radio silence I felt bad (her trauma!) and sent a text acknowledging the silence and the difficulty of the trip. I already decided this was not someone I wanted to continue to be friends with, but I thought at very least we could have a productive conversation. Maybe I’d even get an apology.
She responded immediately with a message saying that me not reaching out after the trip “triggered her abandonment wound.” I put down my phone and walked down to the beach for a swim. We never spoke again.
Anna’s method is not the only way to weaponize therapy talk. I’ve also seen the language of healing be co-opted for manipulation, avoidance, and control.
Fear the man who has never been to therapy.
But fear even greater the man who has been to therapy, adopted the language, and uses it against you.
The problem with this is that it’s slippery. And intentionally so. Emotionally expressive language can serve as camouflage—making someone’s statements seem deeper and sweeter than they actually are.
“I’m really hurt that you couldn’t hold space for the fact that I’m still learning. I wish you could meet me with compassion instead of criticism” can actually mean: “I want to guilt you for being upset with me.”
“I don’t feel safe in this dynamic” can be: “You’re calling me out and I don’t like it.”
“I don’t have the capacity for emotional labor. I need to step away from this conversation” could mean: “This is boring and I don’t care about your feelings.”
Or my personal favorite: “I’m on my own healing journey, and I need to honor where I’m at right now without forcing myself into relational patterns that don’t align with my energetic needs.” Aka, “I’m just not that into you.”
There’s an inherent virtue tied to this flowery therapy speak, which makes it difficult to criticize or negate.
How can we dispute someone’s “boundary” or their feelings of not “feeling safe”? We can’t. It’s an asshole’s get out of jail free card.
Not only does the manipulation of this language bastardize victims that suffer from actual diagnoses, but it can masquerade as vulnerability while in reality is functioning as control. The adaptation of therapy speech obscures accountability and creates guilt for the other. It’s a way of saying: “you’re not allowed to question me” while also posing themselves as the victim.
I obviously am not implying that all people who speak in this way are manipulative or insidious. It’s simply a warning that the bad apples have gotten smarter. They’ve learned that the best method for control is not to be mean, but to actually sound be nice.
Me personally, I prefer to be mistreated the old fashion way. Call me a bitch and tell me my hair is greasy. At least then I can respect you for being honest.
We’re living in a culture obsessed with the self. Before the invention of the mirror, man’s only reflection was catching a glimpse of himself in a rippling pond. Over time, the mirror we hold to ourselves got closer and closer. We look deeper and deeper. We navel-gaze so hard our stomachs suck up our heads and we become a snake eating its tail.
This precious self-protectiveness has made discomfort and accountability a dangerous threat to our fragile identities. By adopting the language of healing, we can shut things down instead of working through them. It’s avoidance dressed up as enlightenment—but one that soothes our conscious. Convincing ourselves that we are good. That we are right.
So what is the real “work”?
I haven’t got a fucking clue. But for me, personally, there’s more virtue in throwing a bag of shit at my face than handing it to me wrapped in a pretty bow. At least it’s honest. And at least it’s funny.
Fear the man who uses his adhd diagnosis for treating you badly.
this is couldn’t be any more true !