How to Get the Most Out of Therapy: 10 Tips for the Savvy Intellectualizer or Feelings-Avoider

Hi friends! I hope you all are doing well. It's the very end of May-vember over here, and I know many of us are tired with all the events, stress and school burnout (if you have kiddos).

Today, I want to talk to a specific group of therapy-goers — current or potential clients who are ready to make real change, but feel stuck. This one’s for the intellectualizers or my feelings-avoiders. You know who you are: the overthinkers, the ones who can tell a great story about your week but freeze when asked, “And where do you feel that in your body?”

You might find yourself explaining your emotions instead of feeling them. You say things like, “I know I should feel upset, but I don’t,” or “I’ve thought a lot about it and here's my theory…”  You show up to therapy consistently, but deep down, you're wondering: Why isn’t this working yet?

Well, well, well... if it isn’t old me in disguise. I get it. I’m an intellectualizer, too. I can walk you through the why behind my behaviors, pinpoint exactly where I went wrong, and outline the family-of-origin dynamics that influenced it — but ask me to describe how it shows up in my body? Game over.

Here’s the thing: our cognitive brain feels like home — logical, articulate, safe. It helps us stay “regulated,” but it can also keep us disconnected from the parts of us that are asking to be felt, healed, and integrated. If we want more than insight — if we want real transformation — we have to shift how we show up in the therapy room.

Below are some tips for the intellectualizers (the ones who can explain everything, feel nothing, and meaning-make the hell out of their symptoms but can't actually sit with them for longer than 10 seconds) so they can get the most out of therapy.

10 tips for the Intellectualizer to get the most out of therapy:

1. You Don’t Have to Feel It to Begin Naming It. If someone asks what you're feeling and you draw a blank, it’s okay to just take a stab: “Maybe anxious? Numb? Not sure.” Naming a maybe feeling is a win. The goal isn’t accuracy — it’s contact. My clients often roll their eyes at me in session, because I will interrupt them after asking this question and they say things like "I think I just got to a place where..." and I'll say, "That's a thought, not a feeling." Thoughts aren't why you're here. If they were, you'd have already figured this whole damn problem out already. You're here because your feelings, body sensations, beliefs and memories are all giving you dang fits and you want to feel better or different now.

2. Guess When You’re Asked, “Where Do You Feel That in Your Body?” There’s no perfect answer. Try taking an elevator ride from your head down into your body and report any sensation that stands out, even if it's only a little bit — “My shoulders feel tight,” “My stomach is heavy,” or even “I feel nothing.” That’s still info for your therapist and it can bring insight to a very analytical discussion and make it more fruitful overall.

3. Use Physical Descriptions, Not Emotional Labels. If “sad” or “anxious” doesn’t land, try describing what’s happening in your body. Your body often tells a story before your mind does:

Tension

Shallow breathing

Coldness

Emptyness

Hunger

Thirst

Throat clearing/skin picking/itchy hands or feet

Wanting to leave the room

Numbness

Tingling

Warmth

4. Try “I Notice” Instead of “I Think”. “I think I’m frustrated” keeps you in your head.“I notice I’m clenching my jaw” gets you closer to the emotion without needing to explain it. For example in EMDR therapy, you'll hear your therapist say things like "What are you noticing?" between sets of bilateral stimulation. And here's a cool trick: anything you're noticing is worth bringing up here. Seriously. You can't do this part of therapy wrong.

5. Use Metaphors if That Feels Easier. Literal emotions not coming through? Try saying, “It feels like I’m carrying a brick,” or “I’m like a coiled spring right now.” These give shape to experiences that are otherwise hard to describe.

Here's an emotion wheel and metaphor wheel mashed together, courtesy of yours truly!

6. Let Your Therapist Know When You’re Feeling Disconnected. If you go blank, zone out, or just feel numb — say so. That is useful information. You don’t have to “perform” in here. Letting your therapist know what’s happening helps them tailor the work to where you are, and gives them ideas of where to press in gently, later on.

7. Give Feedback About the Therapy Process Itself. If a question or statement your therapist throws out feels confusing, confronting, or just not helpful (like “Where do you feel that in your body?”), say so. That’s not disrespect — it’s collaboration. Your therapist is human too, and feedback fine-tunes the work. Great therapists are hopefully already eliciting feedback from you regularly.

8. Pay Attention to What's Happening During a Session. Does your breath get shallower when you talk about something? Do you shift in your seat? Go quiet? These are clues. You don’t have to interpret them, that's your therapist's job, yo, but you can bring them up. A great therapist may also bring them to your awareness, or point out a pattern you've engaged in multiple times in session as well.

9. Know That Not Feeling Anything is a Valid Experience. Feeling “blank” or emotionally flat isn’t a failure — it’s usually protection. Instead of pushing past it, just name it: “I feel nothing right now, but I know this topic matters.” Ask yourself what 'feeling nothing' is protecting you from? What are you afraid will happen if you allowed yourself to just feel?

10. “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung. The goal of therapy isn’t to feel something on command — it’s to gently bring awareness to what’s been hidden. That includes defenses like overthinking and intellectualizing. The work isn’t about being put together perfectly. It’s about becoming aware, about bringing your whole self to encounter truth. The truth doesn't just set us free. It creates space for more.

So if you’ve been wondering why therapy feels like it’s not quite landing — even though you’re showing up, talking through things, and gaining insight — it might be time to gently invite your body into the conversation. No pressure to suddenly become a feelings guru or somatic expert. Just a willingness to experiment with new ways of being in the room.

Therapy isn’t just about insight; it’s about practicing connection, with a safe, regulated person offering presence and peace, (a.k.a. your therapist). If this post feels a little too accurate… welcome. You’re not alone, and you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just ready for the next layer of the work.

Take exquisite care of yourself,

Megan

The Difference Between "Good" and "Great Therapy"

Let me say this first: good therapy is still good. It’s not trash. It’s not useless. It’s the kind of therapy that makes you feel seen, supported, and validated. For many of us—especially if you’ve experienced invalidation, emotional neglect, or trauma—that kind of gentle, affirming space can be the first experience of psychological oxygen.

You finally exhale. You’re held. You feel safe.

But here’s the thing no one told me (or maybe I didn’t want to hear):

Good therapy might help you feel better. But great therapy will help you become better.

And the space between the two? That’s where the real magic—and real discomfort—lives.

I’ve done both kinds. I’ve been both kinds. I’ve sat on the couch, tearfully explaining the same relational pattern over and over again, only to leave feeling soothed but unchanged. And I’ve also sat across from a therapist who looked me in the eye and gently said, "I think you're being avoidant here with me, and it's playing out in your life in all of your relationships, too." It made my stomach drop—but damn if it didn’t change my life.

Let’s talk about what makes the difference:

1. Comfort vs. Challenge

Good therapy feels good. It’s warm. It’s validating. It builds trust.

Great therapy? It challenges you—without abandoning you. 

It invites you inward rather than outward. It reflects your blind spots and remains with you as you confront them. It is both supportive and stimulating. It’s an environment where your nervous system can relax, yet your patterns won’t be able to stay hidden indefinitely. Good therapists often know 'how' to do the work, but they don't always know how to 'deepen' your experience in the room.

This is where so many therapists (and clients!) get stuck. If every session feels like a cozy vent sesh, you might be doing good therapy. But if no one’s ever gently interrupted your spiral to ask, “What do you notice happening right now as you tell me that?”—you haven’t touched great therapy yet.

2. Content vs. Process

Good therapy tracks your story. Great therapy tracks how you tell it.

Look, I can hear a client talk about their mother’s harsh criticisms for six months straight. But the moment I start to notice that same self-criticism bleeding into the session—maybe they apologize every time they take up space, or they freeze when I gently offer a different perspective—that’s where the work is. It's seeing the client shrink away from me when I offer feedback. Therapists who aspire to greatness in their work are peeling back the layers of content to get to the process underneath. After all, we act out in the therapy room what we are doing in real life.

Great therapy lives in the process—not just the plot. It sees the reenactments. It calls attention to the shame that walks into the room with you. It notices how you move through connection and rupture. And it’s not afraid to name it.

3. Scripts vs. Creativity

Good therapy sticks to the script. You learn coping skills. You label your emotions. You get handouts. And yes, those things can be really helpful—especially early on.

But great therapy knows when to toss the script out the window.

It leans into silence. It follows the energy in the room. It holds space for nuance and humanity. It might mean sitting together and not "doing" anything at all. There’s an aliveness in the session that goes beyond the worksheet—and that’s often where the deepest healing happens.

Because people aren't machines, even if insurance would like to think so. Great therapy also involves a therapist who believes in themselves, not necessarily just the right modality. Great therapists are original, and they don't copy. They co-create with you to write new ways of being.

4. Clinging vs. Liberation

Let’s talk about this one because it makes me CRINGE:

I’ve heard therapists say, with pride, "That client will be with me forever."

...Why? Is it a lack of trust? Is it avoidance by the therapist? Do they not want you to be better? Are they holding onto a different vision of what healing looks like for you? Can they not refer out when they know they've met their match?

Great therapy doesn’t want to keep you. It wants to free you.

You might be in therapy for years (I have been), but the goal should never be dependency. We’re not here to be your emotional crutch. We’re here to walk beside you until you trust your own legs. Until you’ve built a community that can hold you. Until your inner compass is louder than your inner critic. There are many skilled therapists who may not recognize the right moment to encourage you to leave the comfort zone, much like a baby bird needs to leave the nest to strengthen its wings and learn to fly. Using another metaphor, young trees require the challenge of the wind to build resilience. If, as therapists, we act like the supports tied to young trees to keep them stable, we prevent your strength from emerging and growing.

5. Technical Skill vs. Self-Awareness

Good therapy comes from technically competent therapists. They know the models. They follow the ethics. They stay in their lane. They often consider themselves the 'expert' in the room. (LOL, as if any of us have life completely figured out)

But sometimes, those therapists are deeply disconnected from their own humanity.

They haven’t processed their own wounds, and that unexamined pain leaks out. Suddenly, clients are being labeled as "resistant" or "too much" or "manipulative"—when really, the therapist is triggered and doesn’t know it.

Great therapy comes from therapists who do their own work. Who sit in supervision and say, “This client is bringing something up in me, and I want to understand why.” Who notice when they feel annoyed or checked out or overly invested—and stay curious about it. Who have enough ego strength to admit when they’re wrong. Great therapists are those who consistently discover new ways to be present with themselves, rather than seeking another method that claims to heal in 8-12 sessions. Good therapists frequently pursue additional training; great therapists seek to understand their own inner selves and trust who they are, not what they can do.

Final Thoughts: What You Deserve

If you’re in therapy right now, and it’s helping, I’m genuinely glad. This isn’t about shaming “good enough” therapy. It’s about raising the bar.

You deserve a therapist who can hold your pain and your potential. Who can sit with your story and help you edit the next chapter. Who can be warm and real and human—but also clinical, sharp, and brave enough to meet you where you really are.

Good therapy is a start. Great therapy is a portal.

And if you’re ready, you’re allowed to walk through it.

Take exquisite care of yourself,

Megan

How to Set Down the Emotional Baggage That is Weighing You Down: Therapy After Major Weight Loss

You lost the weight. Yup, you finally freakin' did it, and you're proud. And you're scared. And you're happy and you're confused. Maybe it was through bariatric surgery, GLP-1 medications, lifestyle changes, or some combination of all three. The outside transformation is obvious. Clothes fit differently. Strangers compliment you. Maybe even loved ones treat you differently.

But inside? You feel unsettled.

If you thought the hardest part would be losing the weight, you’re not alone. Many people are surprised to find that the emotional and relational shifts that follow weight loss can be just as challenging—sometimes even more so.

Research backs this up: a 2016 review in Obesity Reviews found that psychological support is one of the key predictors of long-term weight maintenance. And yet, most people never receive that support. They're left to navigate major body and identity changes on their own.

So what does therapy actually do to help you keep the weight off?

Understanding the Deeper Roots of Weight Gain

Let’s be clear: weight gain is not a personal failure. It’s often an adaptive and intelligent response to chronic stress, trauma, or unmet emotional needs. Obesity is a chronic illness, much like any other illness. And it requires constant treatment and adjustment to maintain remission, in my humble opinion. I should know, I've gained and lost 180+ pounds on average over the course of my adult life time. In fact, for the past two years I've lost 94 pounds and counting, and now I'm in the final stages of losing the weight and will enter maintenance again. For the millionth time.

Here I am in 2020 at 259 pounds

And here I am last weekend, down 94 pounds. I understand your struggle, because it's my struggle too.

I see you. I know you. I am you.

From a biological perspective, the body is wired to protect you. In the face of a perceived threat—whether that's emotional neglect, abuse, burnout, or even consistent invalidation—the body responds. (I always say the body doesn't know if you're actually being chased by a tiger in the woods or not. The human brain designed to keep you alive, not happy.) And sometimes, that response includes holding onto weight.

There's even a bit of nuance here to be discussed around how food in developed countries, like the US, has changed over the last 100 years. Ultra-processed foods, which are cheap to make and cheaper to buy, use your body's natural tendency to seek out salt, sugar and fat, in order to increase your appetite and decrease the likelihood of you starving. We know that processed food isn't good for us, but we also know that the brain and body are primed to ensure survival right now, not a few hours, days or weeks from now. Hence, the choosing of foods that are 'easier' in the short term, but the debt they accrued in the long run is massive. (Moss, M. (2014). Salt, sugar, fat: How the food giants hooked us. Random House.)

In fact, studies show that early life trauma is strongly linked to obesity in adulthood. A 2012 study published in Pediatrics found that adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) increase the likelihood of obesity, particularly in women. Why? Because trauma affects the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, which regulates cortisol, metabolism, and hunger signals.

Caveat here: I don't want you to go buy another stupid cortisol regulating 'cocktail' from another influencer online. Health and wellness influencers who claim a lemonade flavored drink will 'regulate' your cortisol are LYING to you. They are the modern day snake oil salespeople. Don't fall for it. You can regulate your stress responses with the old fashioned shit that I am recommending in my therapy office all the time: time outside, reducing workloads, spending moments with loved ones, laughing more, getting enough sunshine, eating foods that are nourishing and tasty, etc. Those things actually regulate your hormones.

And here's the kicker: your brain doesn’t distinguish between emotional famine and physical famine. Emotional neglect, loneliness, chronic stress? The brain can interpret these experiences as threats to your survival. In response, it may signal the body to slow metabolism, increase fat storage, and drive cravings for high-calorie foods.

Weight, then, becomes a form of safety. A buffer. Seriously, I saw my weight as an armor against the world for a long time. It was the perfect excuse to not truly show up in my life as well.

Also, there's very little good research about how hormone disruptions, thyroid conditions, autoimmune issues and the old calories in-calories out model and how it keeps people stuck, because it doesn't include the whole picture!

Your body adapts as you lose weight, and it can take years to reach a new setpoint. Don't believe me? Check out this interesting research here: "A weight loss of 10-15% leads to a 20-25% decrease in thermogenesis (a fancy word meaning fat burn/calorie expenditure) over time. (Rosenbaum M, Leibel RL. Adaptive thermogenesis in humans. Int J Obes (Lond). 2010 Oct;34 Suppl 1(0 1):S47-55.).

If you're reading this and thinking, "Holy Shit.... this is why weight loss is so hard to maintain," you're right! You are pushing a giant boulder uphill metabolically, emotionally and societally. So it behooves us to get our emotional ducks in a row so we can enter and stay in maintenance for life.

This is why addressing trauma is essential to sustaining weight loss. If the original emotional wounds remain unprocessed, the body will continue to look for ways to protect itself—even if that means regaining the weight.

What Therapy Can Offer After Weight Loss

1. Therapy Helps You Understand the Emotional Roots of Weight Gain

Significant weight gain often doesn’t come out of nowhere. It can follow a period of trauma, grief, burnout, chronic stress, or emotional neglect. Food may have served as comfort, protection, or numbing.

In therapy, you can gently explore the "why" behind your eating habits—not with shame or blame, but with compassion and curiosity. When you understand the emotional drivers of past behaviors, you're more empowered to choose differently moving forward.

This might look like:

• Processing the grief of a past loss that triggered emotional eating

• Using EMDR or Somatic experiencing to help you reset your patterns and identify what your body really needs instead of food.

• Identifying childhood patterns of using food to self-soothe, or how your family treated food as love or a way to celebrate.

• Recognizing how high-stress environments led to disconnecting from your body’s hunger and fullness cues

  
  

2. Therapy Builds a New Identity Beyond the Scale

Weight loss makes you question your identities. Maybe you were always the "funny fat friend," the caretaker who always focused on others, or the girl no one wanted to date. Now, attention feels different—sometimes welcome, sometimes deeply uncomfortable.

Therapy helps you redefine your sense of self, explore who you are now, and process any discomfort that comes with being seen in a new way. It's not just about adjusting to your new body—it's about adjusting to the way your soul has shifted as well.

You may:

• Explore your relationship with visibility and attention

• Unpack discomfort around sexuality, desirability, or dating post-weight loss

• Rebuild your sense of identity outside of your body size

• Redeem yourself and your view of what 'you can do' now that your body is different and identify any area where you might be holding yourself back.

  
  

3. Therapy Helps You Navigate Shifting Relationships

You might notice people treating you differently. Some are more supportive. Others become distant or jealous. Some may offer backhanded compliments or fixate on your appearance.

Therapy offers a space to process those shifts, set healthy boundaries, and develop communication strategies that align with your values. It can also help you grieve relationships that no longer fit.

In the therapy room, this may include:

• Exploring fear of rejection or abandonment in relationships post-weight loss

• Practicing scripts for handling comments about your body, your eating habits, or your exercise routines. ("You're not going to lose too much weight, are you?" or "I feel like all you care about now is your weight and eating healthy and exercising. What about just living life? Why have you changed so much?") I know you've heard statements like this before.

• Processing resentment toward people who only value you at a certain size

4. Therapy Strengthens Your Grit

Knowing what to eat or how to move your body isn't usually the problem. But stress, overwhelm, and emotional dysregulation? Those can derail even the best intentions.

Therapy teaches you how to find routines that actually work, identify solutions to dumb problems like "I hate brussel sprouts but I should eat them because they're healthy." (Y'all, no, just say no to foods you hate. I don't care how healthy they are.) and create new habits that are flexible and creative,—so your choices come from self-connection rather than survival mode.

This might involve:

• Redefining what exercise means to you, and how you can create emotional safety by physically moving your body

• Working with your window of tolerance to handle big emotions without numbing

• Creating rituals of self-care that replace old coping mechanisms

• Figuring out how to shift behaviors you hate (like overeating or food 'pickiness') and accommodate them while you're in the process of changing.

  
  

5. Therapy Heals the Nervous System, Not Just the Mind

Our bodies carry negative experiences. When you've lived through chronic stress, neglect, or emotional pain, your nervous system adapts to keep you safe—often through behaviors that disconnect you from your body.

Therapy can include somatic practices that help you reconnect with your body in a safe, supportive way. This can be a critical step toward sustainable wellness and a more peaceful relationship with food, movement, and self-care.

Practices may include:

• Noticing sensations in the body without judgment

• Using gentle movement to build safety and agency, like toe yoga (a legit thing!) or bilateral swaying (I call it "the mom holding baby in church sway").

• Exploring how your body holds memories or emotions

The Brain-Body Connection: Why This Work Matters

Your brain's number one job is to keep you alive. If it learned at some point that extra weight meant extra safety—whether from starvation, assault, or rejection—it will do whatever it takes to maintain that safety.

That’s why therapy is about so much more than mindset. It’s about safety. Connection. Integration.

You’re not just unlearning old beliefs. You’re retraining your nervous system to understand:

“I am safe. I am fed. I am allowed to be well.”

This takes time. It takes support. And it takes a compassionate, attuned approach that honors both the trauma and the triumph.

The Bottom Line

Maintaining weight loss isn't just about willpower. It's about doing the inner work that makes outer change sustainable. Therapy provides a compassionate space to unpack the emotional layers of your journey and build a life that supports the healthiest, most authentic version of you.

If you're in the "after" phase of your weight loss journey and feeling lost, disoriented, or emotionally raw—you're not alone. And you don't have to figure it out by yourself. If you're just being super proactive and want to start working on these things regardless of weight loss, I'm here for that, too. I'm on your team. I want you to succeed.

You deserve support for this chapter, too.

Interested in exploring therapy that honors your full journey? Book a consult with me here!

Take Exquisite Care of Yourself,

Megan