What I Had to Unlearn From Grad School:

Crying, Cursing, and Other 'Mistakes' That Create Safety

May 26, 2025

Your Trauma Therapist by Lauren Auer, LCPC is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. For more content follow me on Instagram.

I remember my first year in grad school, sitting in my counseling ethics class, frantically taking notes as our professor outlined the proper boundaries of the therapeutic relationship.

"Never self-disclose without therapeutic purpose." "Maintain professional distance." "Focus on the client, not yourself." "Don't sit on the floor." "Keep a neutral facial expression." "Avoid physical contact beyond a handshake."

These principles were hammered into us as the foundation of ethical practice. We practiced blank-faced reflections in small groups, critiquing each other when emotions leaked through. Our professors watched recordings of our practice sessions, marking down every time we said "I think" or shared a personal anecdote. The message was clear: professionalism meant careful distance, and stepping outside these boundaries risked harm.

I left graduate school terrified of breaking the rules. In my first sessions as a new therapist, I sat ramrod straight, carefully controlling my facial expressions, mentally filtering every word before it left my mouth. Was I being too personal? Too distant? Too directive? Not directive enough?

Looking back, I was so focused on doing therapy "correctly" that I sometimes forgot there was an actual human being sitting across from me.

But something interesting happened recently when I asked a simple question on social media: What did your therapist do that helped you know they were a safe person?

The responses flooded in – hundreds of them, each describing moments of connection that had changed everything for the person sharing. As I read through them, something caught in my chest. These transformative moments weren't about perfect empathic reflections or masterful interventions. They were about therapists who dared to be human.

The Power of Being Seen

"She cried with me when I was grieving my dog," one person shared. "She also let me schedule last minute that day. She knew I was completely broken."

Another wrote, "When I told my therapist about a moment I was triggered by my mom, and she said 'Oh wow that's triggering me right now.' That validation was EVERYTHING."

I felt a pang reading these, remembering a session early in my career when a client shared a devastating loss. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I panicked, desperately trying to blink them away. I had been taught that my emotions might burden the client, that my tears were unprofessional. Now I wonder what connection might have been possible if I'd allowed myself to be moved visibly by their pain.

Reading these comments, I thought about how often graduate programs emphasize neutrality. We're taught to be careful with our reactions, to process them later in supervision rather than share them in the moment. But for these clients, it was precisely their therapist's authentic emotional response that created safety.

It makes sense when you think about it. Many people come to therapy feeling alone in their pain, wondering if anyone could possibly understand. When a therapist allows themselves to be moved – to tear up, to express anger on their behalf, to acknowledge when something is genuinely hard to hear – it communicates something powerful: Your experience matters enough to affect me.

The Humanity in Imperfection

Some of the most surprising comments centered around moments when therapists were decidedly imperfect:

"He picked his teeth, apparently after lunch. He became real to me. The best therapist I've ever had!"

"Totally agree with just being human! One random one I love is when she was making a suggestion and said 'you can tell me to fuck off after I say this' and I love that. Never would tell her that but made it feel v safe."

"My husband's therapist slipped out of his super professional demeanor accidentally and called my husband's dad an 'SOB' under his breath. That changed their relationship. He tried to apologize but the damage was done. My husband trusted him."

These moments of unpolished humanity – the exact kind we're often taught to avoid – became pivotal turning points in the therapeutic relationship. They transformed the therapist from an untouchable expert into a real person who could be trusted.

I still remember the horror I felt during my third year as a therapist when I accidentally swore in session. A client was describing how their boss had thrown them under the bus during a presentation, and I muttered, "What an ass." The words slipped out before I could catch them. I immediately flushed red, ready to apologize profusely, when I noticed the client's expression. They were smiling – really smiling – for the first time in our work together. "Exactly," they said. "That's exactly what he is."

That moment changed our work. My accidental humanity had communicated something my careful reflections hadn't: I was really listening. I was really there. And I was on their side.

The Courage to Break Rules (When It Matters)

Some of the most moving comments described therapists who stepped outside traditional boundaries in service of their clients:

"She sat with me at the ER for hours for a psych evaluation knowing my SEVERE fear of inpatient. Mind you this was after her full work day."

"She physically put herself between my abuser and I, when they tried to invade her office. No one has EVER done something like that to stand up for me. I still cry thinking about it."

"When I was dangerously suicidal she rang me on her drive home from work every day to make sure I was still alive."

In graduate school, we learn about boundary maintenance, appropriate termination of sessions, and the avoidance of dual relationships. These are critical ethical principles that protect both clients and therapists. But these stories remind me that the heart of therapy isn't rule-following – it's deep, authentic care for another human being.

Sometimes that care requires flexibility. Sometimes it asks us to be more than just a professional in a designated hour. Sometimes it means standing physically between a client and harm, or making that extra call, or sitting in the hospital waiting room when our workday should be over.

The Balance of Humanity and Professionalism

Reading through these hundreds of comments, I wasn't surprised that so many mentioned validation, listening without judgment, and creating safe space. These are the foundations of good therapy, and they matter tremendously.

But I was struck by how many people specifically mentioned moments when their therapist showed their human side – through appropriate self-disclosure, through authentic emotional responses, through breaking the "blank slate" approach to be real with them.

This doesn't mean tossing out professional boundaries. It doesn't mean making therapy about the therapist's needs or experiences. But it does suggest that rigidity isn't the same as professionalism, and that allowing our humanity to show can be profoundly healing for the people we work with.

"One time I was triggered into a massive panic attack before I had to drive to go see my therapist, so I called to tell her I couldn't see her in person," one person wrote. "Initially she challenged me, but I lost it on the phone defensively dumped everything that had happened that led up to the panic attack and she straight up apologized and validated my feelings and overwhelm without making it about her by justifying herself. Instead of just ending/postponing the conversation, she then spent the hour talking with me on the phone until I calmed down. From that day on I knew I could trust her."

That's the balance – maintaining professionalism while being human enough to acknowledge mistakes, to adjust approaches, to meet people where they are.

The Unlearning Process

When I speak with seasoned therapists over coffee after conferences or in supervision groups, there's a common refrain that emerges once we feel safe enough to be honest: "I spent the first years of my career unlearning what I was taught in graduate school."

This unlearning isn't about abandoning ethics or boundaries. It's about finding a more nuanced understanding of what those boundaries are actually for. It's about discovering that professionalism isn't synonymous with emotional distance, and that authenticity isn't the enemy of ethical practice.

"I was so worried about doing something wrong in my early years," a colleague once told me over drinks at a conference. "I was more focused on following the rules than on being present with the human in front of me. It took years to trust my instincts again."

I nodded, thinking of my own journey. How long had it taken me to trust that my laughter, my occasional tears, my genuine care weren't therapeutic liabilities but assets? Too long.

This journey—from rigid adherence to rules toward authentic therapeutic presence—seems almost universal among therapists. But why should it be? Why do we teach in a way that requires such extensive unlearning?

What the Research Actually Shows

While graduate programs often emphasize theoretical orientations and technical interventions, decades of research tell a different story about what actually creates change in therapy:

Research consistently shows that the therapeutic relationship accounts for significantly more outcome variance than the specific treatment method used. The landmark meta-analysis by Wampold and colleagues (2002) found that the therapeutic relationship explained roughly 30% of therapeutic outcomes, while specific techniques accounted for only about 15% (Wampold et al., 2002).

The American Psychological Association's Division 29 Task Force concluded that the therapeutic alliance is one of the strongest predictors of treatment success across different types of therapy. Their ongoing research continues to confirm that the quality of the therapeutic relationship is more important than the type of treatment provided (Norcross & Lambert, 2018).

Let me pause here and be honest. Even though I've known these statistics for years, I still spent thousands of dollars on specialized technique trainings, chasing certifications I thought would make me a "real" therapist. I filled my office with workbooks and manuals. I joined consultation groups where we obsessed over the precise delivery of protocols. And all the while, the research was quietly, persistently telling us: it's the relationship that heals.

Rogers' core conditions of empathy, genuineness, and unconditional positive regard—essentially, authentic human connection—have been validated as crucial factors in therapeutic outcomes. A 2018 meta-analysis by Elliott and colleagues confirmed that therapist empathy is a robust predictor of therapy outcome (Elliott et al., 2018).

Perhaps most compellingly, research by Norcross and Lambert (2018) estimates that common factors like the therapeutic relationship, therapist effects, and client characteristics account for 85% of variance in therapy outcomes, while specific treatment methods account for only about 15%.

This isn't just academic theory. When researchers actually ask clients what helped in their therapy, the answers align remarkably well with what we see in the comments on my social media post. In a qualitative study by Levitt, Pomerville, and Surace (2016), clients consistently highlighted authenticity, emotional presence, and genuine care from their therapist as the most transformative elements of therapy.

In other words, the science clearly supports what clients have been telling us all along: the way we show up as humans in the therapeutic relationship matters more than the specific techniques we employ.

What Clients Actually Value: The Data Speaks

When I analyzed the hundreds of responses to my question about what made people feel their therapist was safe, clear patterns emerged. Here's what clients valued most:

Validation of feelings/experiences (17.5%) - Clients most frequently mentioned therapists who validated their feelings and experiences without judgment.
Respecting client autonomy/pace (12.5%) - Many appreciated therapists who let them set the pace and didn't push for disclosure before they were ready.
Human moments/showing imperfection (12.5%) - Surprisingly, clients often mentioned moments when therapists showed humanity through imperfection—cursing, admitting mistakes, or dropping the "perfect therapist" facade.
Active listening/attunement (10%) - Being truly heard and seen was frequently mentioned.
Going above and beyond (10%) - Actions that went beyond the typical therapeutic hour—answering late night calls, remembering personal details, physically protecting clients.
Appropriate self-disclosure (10%) - Therapists sharing relevant aspects of their own experiences in measured ways.
Emotional authenticity/vulnerability (7.5%) - Showing genuine emotion, including occasionally crying with clients.
Physical presence/comfort (7.5%) - Sitting on the floor with clients, allowing different seating arrangements, appropriate touch.
Creating safety/trust (7.5%) - Explicit statements and actions that built trust and safety.
Humor and personality (5%) - Using humor and showing genuine personality.

The most striking pattern is how many of these categories involve therapists "breaking" traditional therapeutic norms in some way. Nearly half (42.5%) of the responses fell into categories that explicitly involve therapists showing up as humans rather than maintaining rigid professional distance (human moments/imperfection, emotional authenticity/vulnerability, appropriate self-disclosure, and going above and beyond).

This presents a stark contrast to what many of us were taught in graduate school, where showing emotion, self-disclosing, or stepping outside the 50-minute hour are often treated with suspicion or caution.

Reimagining Therapist Education

If I could reshape how we train therapists (and honestly, sometimes I fantasize about starting my own graduate program just to do this), here's what I would change based on what clients are actually telling us they need:

Teach the why behind the boundaries

Instead of presenting professional boundaries as rigid rules to be followed without question, we might explore the purpose they serve. When we understand that boundaries exist to protect the therapeutic relationship—not to sterilize it—we can make more thoughtful decisions about how to embody them.

I'd love to see classes where we openly discuss questions like: "When might a therapist's tears be healing rather than harmful?" or "What's the difference between self-disclosure that centers the therapist and self-disclosure that normalizes the client's experience?"

Normalize therapeutic imperfection

Many comments mentioned therapists who apologized for mistakes, acknowledged limitations, or showed vulnerability in appropriate ways. What if we taught new therapists that perfect neutrality isn't the goal? What if we discussed how to recover from inevitable missteps rather than pretending they won't happen?

I still remember the shame I felt when a supervisor caught me checking my watch during a session. "Never let them see you check the time," she scolded. But what if instead, she had helped me consider transparent ways to manage time in session? What if we taught therapists to say, "I want to be mindful of our time together," rather than pretending we exist in a timeless void?

Expand the definition of professionalism

Sitting on the floor with a distressed client, shedding tears when hearing about profound loss, or expressing appropriate anger at injustice—these aren't failures of professionalism. They're expressions of attunement. What if our training expanded to include these forms of therapeutic presence?

"She straight out called me on my stuff," one commenter wrote. "She just said, 'Well, that is a choice you can make.' I called her out for the snappy sassy comment. She stopped and laughed and said, 'Let me try to make that more therapist-like.' Thought about it and then said, 'Naww. You get the real me.' I felt very deeply connected to her. I got the real her. Two humans connecting."

Center client experiences in our teaching

Reading these comments, I'm struck by how rarely client perspectives are centered in therapy education. We learn theories developed by therapists, research conducted by therapists, and techniques preferred by therapists. But the actual experience of receiving therapy—what makes clients feel safe, seen, and helped—is often relegated to the margins.

What if every therapy course included testimonials from real clients about what helped and hindered their healing? What if we required students to experience being clients themselves, not just to work on their own issues, but to develop empathy for the vulnerability of the role?

Create space for authentic practice

One commenter who identified as a new therapist wrote: "As a therapist I found myself wanting to read every single comment and not miss a single one! Realizing this is why I love my role and to continue showing up for people in the ways they may need even if I may think are small."

What if our training programs created more spaces like this—opportunities to hear directly from clients about what matters to them, without the theoretical filter that often colors our understanding?

Balance technique with humanity

The data from client responses shows a clear pattern: validation, respect for autonomy, and human connection matter significantly more than perfect technique. Yet most training programs devote the majority of their curriculum to intervention strategies and theoretical orientations.

What if we rebalanced our education to focus at least equally on the art of authentic therapeutic presence? What if we taught specific skills for showing up as real, attuned humans while maintaining appropriate professional boundaries?

From my analysis of client comments, it seems clear that we need to prepare therapists not just to do therapy, but to be therapeutic—to show up with their humanity intact, not despite professional standards but because true professionalism includes authentic human connection.

Finding Your Way as a Therapist

If you're a therapist reading this, especially a new one, I hope these reflections offer some freedom. The pressure to be perfectly boundaried, perfectly neutral, and perfectly professional can be immense. But what our clients seem to need most isn't perfection – it's authentic presence.

I think about the therapist who wrote: "When I was making a suggestion to my client, I told her 'you can tell me to fuck off after I say this.'" In graduate school, this would have been labeled as unprofessional, boundary-crossing, even potentially harmful. Yet for her client, it created safety. It acknowledged the client's autonomy and right to reject the therapist's ideas. It created room for authentic disagreement.

That doesn't mean we should all start cursing in session or abandoning appropriate boundaries. But it does invite us to consider: what forms of authenticity might actually strengthen our work rather than compromise it?

And if you're someone in therapy, or considering it, I hope these stories remind you that the therapeutic relationship is a real relationship. Your therapist is a real person. The best therapists maintain professional boundaries while still bringing their humanity into the room.

As one commenter wisely noted: "In grad school they teach us the what. It's up to us to provide the how."

The "what" is the theoretical orientation, the evidence-based practices, the ethical principles that guide our work. The "how" is the humanity we bring to it – the authentic connection that makes healing possible.

That's the gift and the challenge of this work: holding both the professional and the personal, the boundaries and the genuine care, the techniques and the heart. It's a balance I'm still learning, but one that feels more and more like the truest path forward.

I'm reminded of something a mentor once told me years ago: "The rules aren't meant to be a shield between you and your clients. They're meant to be a foundation that makes it safe for both of you to be real with each other." That perspective has transformed how I think about therapeutic boundaries – not as walls, but as the steady ground that makes authentic connection possible.

Your Trauma Therapist