I work with a lot of smart people.
And I’m not just saying that because I like to think that I must be smart if smart clients want to work with me. No, these are genuinely intelligent humans. They rapidly progressed in their careers and invented new ways to solve old problems. These are people who are used to figuring things out.
And it should come as no surprise that they apply the same rigor and logic to their work in the therapy room. They can tell you their attachment style, trace their childhood patterns into adulthood, and recognize when the part speaking is actually the voice of their parent. But that doesn’t always translate into change—and these brilliant folks get frustrated when they find that understanding themselves isn’t enough.
Not to knock understanding! As a species, we are meaning-makers. Whether it’s looking at the sky and writing myths to explain natural phenomena or obsessively solving today’s Wordle, we are wired to find patterns, solve puzzles, and understand the world around us. I’m just saying that understanding has its limits, especially when it comes to inner work.
I know that I need to relax more. I understand this deeply—I’ve read the research, spent my time in the client chair in therapy, and had my fair share of stress-related ailments. But when I find myself with a free afternoon, do I lay down and take a nap? No. Do I pick up that book I’ve been trying to finish for months and find myself a comfy chair? No. I worry about why my afternoon is free and what I’m forgetting. I think about how I should be spending my time, making lists to see what the best use of the afternoon will be. I chide myself for not having something already lined up that would help me relax and ensure I made the most of this. I understand the value of relaxing, and yet something in me just can’t.
Knowing isn’t the same as experiencing
Now, here’s the part where I normally would try to explain to you why understanding doesn’t work and pull out some research to prove it. But honestly, that would just be me trying to get you to understand understanding. And that just doesn’t seem like a good use of anyone’s time.
Instead, I want you to think about a time when you felt something but didn’t understand it. Imagine you’re watching, binging your favorite show, and all of a sudden a scene comes out of nowhere and hits you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you feel warmth in your stomach, or your chest and throat start to tighten, and your eyes start to well up. And you have no idea why. There’s just something that touches you, moves something inside you, and allows you to feel deeply.
This is not new technology. For centuries, art has been allowing us to experience emotion without understanding it. Aristotle wrote about katharsis, the way that watching a tragic drama can evoke feelings in us and leave us changed. It’s not that the ancient Greeks invented somatic therapy, but they were on to something—we can be moved by something before we understand why. And I’m not saying everyone should quit therapy and go see a Broadway show (I like my job!), but I do think there’s some wisdom to learn here. We spend a lot of time up in the old cantaloupe (as a mentor of mine once said). And for some of us, that’s the only way we know how to be. But what would it be like to just feel things without needing to understand them?
The program was built for a reason
Sometimes, it feels like these patterns are long-running computer programs that desperately need an update. Some of mine have been running for a very long time. But it’s silly to think that 8-year-old Jaron was sitting around thinking, “Hmm. In order for me to avoid feeling pain, I think I’ll develop a cognitive schema that keeps me in the realm of understanding rather than risking me feeling something icky.” No, this process was likely rooted in the data that I had available to me at that age.
When I did well in school, I was praised. When I anticipated what someone wanted, I was shown affection. When I solved a problem, I didn’t feel helpless. When I understood why I didn’t get a part in the musical, it hurt less. And so I wove all those threads together and came up with a system designed to keep me praised, loved, in control, and out of pain. Insight didn’t build this—experience did. And if experience built these patterns, then I have a sense that new experience may be what starts to untangle them.
So, maybe the next time I find myself with a free afternoon, I’ll allow myself to indulge in a little experiment. Maybe I’ll sit down with my long-ignored book, and when that urge to make a “how to better use my free time” list comes up, I won’t run from it. I won’t try to figure out how to make the feeling go away. I’ll just experience it. And maybe my body will recognize that, uncomfortable though it may be, I am still ok. I am not less loved or deserving of praise because I didn’t figure out how to optimize my time.
Full disclosure, even now as I write, I can feel myself trying to figure out how to systematize this. Maybe that tells you how deep this program runs. But maybe the update doesn’t come from knowing the old software better. Maybe it comes from finally getting some new data.
To find a therapist, visit the Psychology Today Therapy Directory.
