I know what it is like to dive into therapy. A few years back, I found myself in the abyss: friendships were floundering, my love life was a dump, and my career, well, let us just say it had a mind of its own. It felt as if everything had cracked open, revealing layers of angst and existential dread I was not even aware I had. Life was so bleak I could not see a way out.
Then, I met my therapist. One session in, and I could tell this was going to be a long but meaningful journey. Yet somehow, just knowing I had a guide made the burden a little lighter. Our sessions were fascinating. Sometimes, my therapist would ask me questions that seemed too simple. Other times, he would echo back what I had just said, which was oddly effective — I could actually hear myself from another perspective. And I must admit, self-reflection can be oddly satisfying, especially when you are somewhat masochistic about exploring every flaw and fear under a magnifying glass. Over the months, therapy became my personal hobby. A dedicated hour just to talk about me, myself, and I? Shut up and take my money.
But then came a dangerous twist. I felt the urge to help. I started small, sharing insights with friends, which is normal enough. But soon, I slipped into this mindset where I honestly believed I knew how to improve everyone else’s life. Surely, with my newfound knowledge, I was practically equipped with the user manuals for all my friends’ psyches, right? Here are mistakes I made over the years, before finally realising it wasn’t my job to treat my dearest and nearest. That is why I am here with some advice (some things are never cured) — but this time it is different, I promise.
Stage 1: The therapy evangelist
Once I was just a couple of months into therapy, I began aggressively promoting it to everyone within earshot. “You need a therapist,” I would tell friends over coffee, as if I were imparting the wisdom of the ages. “Mental hygiene, darling, it is vital.” And while I still believe everyone could benefit from a good therapist, I failed to consider that not everyone is ready, willing, or even interested. So, here is a reality check: paving a way to the shrink’s cabinet for your friend is as helpful as it sounds — which is to say not helpful at all. It is intrusive, misguided, and presumptuous. If your friend wants advice, they will ask for it, and even then, suggesting therapy should be more of a gentle nudge than a forceful command.
By the way, if you start thinking you are better than those who do not see a therapist, you should probably bring that up with your own specialist.
Stage 2: Amateur diagnosis
My second stage of shrink-wannabe syndrome was the urge to diagnose. Now I see, this is not exclusive to therapy-goers; fans of psychological books and YouTube armchair analysts are equally guilty. Suddenly, every friend who seems tired has burnout; every quiet moment in a conversation must indicate anxiety or depression; every ex has narcissistic personality; and every night of reels binge watching marks ADHS. But here is the truth: diagnosing your friends is neither caring nor helpful — it is plain nosy and often, wildly inaccurate. Unless you are a trained clinician, leave the diagnoses alone. This kind of behaviour only fosters the same toxic denial our parents’ generation cultivated, just in a slightly different manner. We have already heard “Oh, depression is not real” enough times. Let us not replace it with “Oh, I can tell you have bipolar disorder based on that one text you sent.”
Stage 3: Friendship is not a therapy session
Friendship is not about fixing or analysing; it is about acceptance. If your friend wants to discuss the terrible fashion sense of their ex’s new partner, you are there to join the game — not to say, “How does that make you feel?” or “I can see you are triggered.” Your friend did not come to you for therapy; they came for gossip, reassurance, or maybe just a laugh. Dropping phrases like “I hear your anger” or “I feel your sadness” kills the vibe faster than you can say “trauma bond.” Gossip, after all, is a safe outlet to release suppressed emotions in the company of people who will not judge. There is a fine line between asking questions out of genuine interest and slipping into shrink-mode, which, let us be honest, often comes with a hint of superiority. No one wants to feel like they are under an emotional microscope.
Stage 4: Check your inner fixer
If you find yourself constantly analysing, diagnosing, or attempting to “fix” your friends, it might be time to pause and look inward. The desire to “help” often masks something deeper — a need to deflect from our own issues. Every time I was tempted to tweak someone else’s life, it was usually because I did not want to address something in myself (or even my self). Therapy helped me, and it might help you too. But if you are not ready for that — remember what I just said in Stage 1 — you don’t have to listen to met.
In the end, your friends do not need you to be their therapist. They need you to be their friend. So next time, instead of playing armchair psychologist, pour the wine, crack a joke, and just be there — no diagnoses, no deep dives, just good old-fashioned friendship.
Missing out on the coolest events in Dubai? We know where you’ll be in November: The Crowd Test Festival — the very first Art and Music Festival by The Sandy Times.
The lineup is incredible: Mainline Magic Orchestra from Spain, Eden Burns from New Zealand, and a lot of your favourite DJs like Hani J, Hassan Alwan, Bazzzuk, and more.
Mark your calendar, snag your tickets, and get ready: November 16, 2024, from 5 PM to 3 AM at Monkey Bar, Dubai.
Tickets are available
here