Why Loving or Resenting Your Therapist Can Be Part of the Work

Artwork by Lisa Nelson

Strong feelings toward a therapist have been recognised in psychotherapy since its earliest days. We call them transference when a client’s feelings are shaped by earlier relationships, and countertransference when the therapist’s own feelings are stirred by the client. These patterns aren’t mistakes. They’re a natural part of working in a space where deep emotions and attachment are present.

For some clients, transference feels like warmth, trust, or even falling in love. For others, it feels like irritation, mistrust, or anger, especially if I’ve said or done something that has landed as hurtful. Sometimes, both experiences happen within the same relationship. In either case, talking about what is happening between us will reveal something important.

We live in a world without one fixed, objective truth. Each person’s experience is their truth, shaped by their history and perception. That means there will be times when I am experienced as having hurt or failed a client. When that happens, I want to take responsibility for my part and understand how it was for them. I don’t want to fall into the ego trap of believing I only have value when I am right. The work is about staying in conversation, owning what is mine, and being open to what my client’s truth can teach me.

I know how powerful repair can be because I’ve lived the opposite. Years ago, I told a psychologist that something she had said hurt me. She shrugged and replied, “Some people can’t handle how direct I am.” That was the end of it, and I didn’t go back. I still wonder how different things might have felt if she had been curious about my experience, acknowledged it, and helped me find a way forward that worked for my nervous system. That moment taught me what not to do, and it’s why I work the way I do now.

Discomfort in therapy can pull people toward old survival strategies like withdrawing, appeasing, going numb, or attacking. Polyvagal theory helps explain this as the body’s way of protecting itself. If we can slow down instead of stepping away, these moments can become a place to practise trust, courage, and new ways of relating.

In couples’ work, I’ve seen this clearly. One partner feels hurt by the other, and later in the session, feels hurt by me too. The very pattern we are talking about is right there in the room. This gives us a live opportunity to address it together, rather than discussing it in theory.

Feminist and queer psychology value this kind of engagement. Challenging the therapist or expressing dissatisfaction shifts therapy from a hierarchy into a collaborative process. Decolonising therapy means creating a space where both voices matter, even if it’s uncomfortable.

When clients bring frustration, anger, longing, or affection into the room, there is always value in working with it. These moments can strengthen trust, widen the space for honesty, and show that relationships can hold complexity. I see every client and every person I meet as one of my wise teachers.

In the animist traditions I work with, rupture and repair are like the cycles of the earth: the fire that clears, the rain that softens, the seeds that grow in freshly opened ground. Without the clearing, renewal cannot happen.

This is why I make repair a central part of my practice. If discomfort arises, I will make space for it and do not charge for that conversation. These exchanges are not a detour from the work. They are the work.

Repair can be tender and tiring. It can also be transformative. Meeting these moments together builds the knowing that truth can be spoken without losing connection, and that even conflict can bring medicine.

Reflection: If you notice strong feelings, positive or negative, towards a therapist or guide, what could happen if those feelings were named and explored together?