I’m Over Blank-Slate Therapy

I’m going to say something that might make some therapists uncomfortable:

I’m over blank-slate therapy.

Not because I think the traditional therapeutic approaches that emphasized neutrality were useless. Not because I think therapists should turn every session into a conversation about themselves. And definitely not because I think therapists should push their personal beliefs, values, or agendas onto their clients.

I’m over the idea that being a “good therapist” means having no personality.

For a long time, therapy was heavily influenced by the idea that the therapist should be a neutral, relatively blank slate. The concept has roots in early psychoanalytic traditions, particularly the work of Sigmund Freud and the generations of mostly male clinicians who shaped psychotherapy in its early development. The therapist was often conceptualized as someone who should remain relatively anonymous and neutral so that the client could project their thoughts, feelings, and experiences onto the therapist.

There was a reason for this approach. It let therapists pay close attention to transference and helped establish important boundaries in the therapeutic relationship. It also created a framework for therapists to avoid making the therapy about themselves.

And honestly? That was valuable.

But therapy has evolved. Our understanding of relationships, trauma, attachment, nervous-system regulation, identity, culture, and the therapeutic relationship itself has evolved. We know more now about what helps people feel safe, connected, understood, and willing to do difficult emotional work.

And one thing I have learned throughout my own work as a therapist is that I am part of the therapeutic relationship. I cannot take myself out of the room.

Your therapist is a person, too.

There is a difference between a therapist having boundaries and a therapist having no personality.

There is a difference between maintaining professional neutrality and pretending you don't have a sense of humor, interests, reactions, warmth, or genuine human responses.

And, in my experience, allowing myself to actually be a person in the room has made me a better therapist.

I don't believe there is one way to do therapy. I don't believe there is one type of therapist who works for everyone. And I certainly don't believe there is one way for someone to benefit from therapy.

Some clients want a very quiet, reflective therapist. Some want someone who challenges them. Some want someone who teaches them concrete skills. Some want to explore the past. Some want to focus almost entirely on the present. Some people need a therapist who talks very little. Others desperately want a therapist who will engage with them more directly. There is no universal formula. But for many of my clients, being myself is what allows us to connect.

Rapport isn't a bonus. It's the foundation.

One of the most important parts of effective therapy is the relationship between the therapist and the client. You can have an incredible treatment plan. You can know every therapeutic modality. You can have a list of coping skills that could fill an entire notebook. But if your client doesn't feel connected to you, understood by you, or safe enough to be vulnerable with you, all of that knowledge can become much harder to access.

And I think it's difficult to build genuine rapport when a therapist is trying so hard to be a blank slate that the client doesn't get a sense of who they are. Reflection is an incredibly valuable therapeutic technique. Being able to accurately reflect someone's emotions can help a client feel seen and understood. Sometimes hearing your own experience reflected back to you is exactly what you need.

But some of my clients have come to me after years of therapy saying something along the lines of:

"My therapist just repeated what I said."

They weren't looking for someone to simply summarize their feelings.

They wanted to be challenged.

They wanted perspective.

They wanted education.

They wanted to laugh.

They wanted someone to help them make connections they couldn't see on their own.

They wanted to feel like they were having a relationship with another human being.

And I am personally very happy to give them that.

Yes, sometimes we laugh in therapy.

I love that therapy can hold multiple things at once. We can talk about childhood trauma and then laugh about something completely ridiculous. We can explore a painful relationship pattern and make an inside joke that comes up for months afterward. We can talk about shame, grief, anxiety, or identity and still have moments where the room feels light. We can cry, laugh, sit in silence, be serious, be sarcastic, and share together in celebration of therapeutic wins. I don't think those moments take away from the effectiveness of therapy. I think sometimes they are what make the seriousness of therapy bearable.

For clients who have spent years surviving, constantly monitoring themselves, or feeling like they have to perform a certain version of themselves for other people, having a therapist who feels genuinely human can be incredibly meaningful. Sometimes healing isn't just about processing the painful thing. Sometimes it's also about experiencing a relationship where you can finally show up as yourself.

But isn't there a line?

Absolutely. A therapist having a personality does not mean a therapist should make therapy about themselves. There is a significant difference between sharing something appropriately and using a client as an audience. There is a difference between saying, "I can understand why that situation would feel frustrating," and telling a client what they should do based on your personal beliefs. There is a difference between sharing a small piece of your humanity to strengthen connection and oversharing your personal life. There is a difference between having an opinion and expecting your client to adopt it. This is where therapist self-reflection becomes incredibly important.

I constantly have to ask myself:

Why am I sharing this?

Is this helping my client, or am I meeting my own need?

Am I giving perspective, or am I pushing an agenda?

Is this about their therapeutic process, or is this about me?

Being authentic as a therapist doesn't eliminate the need for boundaries. If anything, it requires more awareness of them. The goal isn't to turn therapy into a friendship. The goal isn't for the therapist to become the center of attention. The goal is to create a therapeutic relationship where the client can feel safe enough to be fully human.

Maybe therapy doesn't have to feel so clinical.

I think we sometimes forget that therapy is fundamentally relational. We are asking people to tell us things they may have never told anyone before. We are asking them to revisit painful experiences, challenge deeply ingrained beliefs, tolerate uncomfortable emotions, examine relationships, sit with uncertainty, and sometimes completely rethink the way they understand themselves. That's incredibly vulnerable work. So yes, I want to bring my clinical training into the room through the use of evidence-based interventions and an understanding of trauma, attachment, nervous-system regulation, cognitive patterns, and the many different ways people experience themselves and their relationships.

But I also want to bring myself. My humor, my warmth, my curiosity, my genuine reactions, my ability to laugh, my ability to feel deeply, and my ability to both challenge and comfort others because I don't think being a therapist means becoming less human.

I think it means learning how to use your humanity responsibly.

There will never be one “right” way to do therapy. Different people need different things, and different therapeutic relationships will work for different people. But if you're someone who has tried therapy before and left feeling like your therapist simply repeated your feelings back to you, I want you to know that therapy can look different.

You are allowed to want a therapist who talks with you.

You are allowed to want someone who challenges you.

You are allowed to want someone who teaches you things.

You are allowed to want someone who laughs with you.

You are allowed to want a therapist whose personality you actually like.

And you are allowed to want therapy to feel like a genuine human relationship while still maintaining the boundaries and professionalism that make it therapeutic.

I'm not interested in being a blank slate.

I'm interested in being a therapist who is fully present, genuinely human, clinically grounded, and willing to meet my clients where they are. And, for me, that's where the real connection happens.