Working relationally has been the single biggest buffer for me against burnout—that, and many days off! Why? Because it means I don’t have to play the role of “the perfect therapist.” And as a therapist with chronic illness, most days I could never come close! I get to be myself—messy, imperfect, but deeply human.
Instead of pretzeling myself into a blank slate, I’m encouraged to take a stance and embrace my values. I can name when I feel distance in the room, acknowledge when I’ve misunderstood something, and repair when I inevitably mess up. Paradoxically, my clients actually trust me more when I show my humanity—they like knowing where I stand on issues that matter greatly to them and feel comforted knowing we are all fighting to move toward justice.
This shared trust cultivates therapist sustainability. It may be hard to believe, but my clients are actually happy for me when I take vacations and meet me with empathy when I seem tired or share that I’m not feeling well. Bringing my messy, human self into the room helps them to feel genuine care for me, too. Contrary to what we’ve been told, this is actually a good thing! Genuine, healthy relationships are two-way: where both parties are holding empathy and care for each other simultaneously. This is what we’re modeling when we work this way with our clients. And, a big bonus: I end my workdays less depleted because I don’t have to wear a mask or constantly pour out of my empathy cup for five sessions straight.
Relational therapy allows you, the therapist, to also feel supported and nourished by the therapeutic relationship—it works to refill your cup—even when the main focus of the work is supporting the client’s healing and growth. Relational therapy reminds us that authenticity creates connection. That being real is sustainable. And sustainability, for therapists, is survival.
Increasing Job Satisfaction and Therapist Engagement
Let’s be honest: sometimes therapy can feel monotonous. You’re listening, reflecting, interpreting, offering a skill or intervention…rinse and repeat. Relational work, on the other hand, is dynamic and vibrant—it’s alive. It’s about true engagement, moments of deep presence, and sitting in uncertainty, together. Sessions become less about “delivering” something and more about participating in a relationship that’s unfolding in real time.
I can’t tell you how many times a relational moment has surprised me awake—a client naming a fear of disappointing me, or laughing with me about something vulnerable, or bravely asking, “Do you actually like me?” These aren’t neat little interventions from a manual; they’re deeply human moments that change both of us.
When I’m engaged like this, I leave sessions feeling not just tired (because let’s be real, therapy is still tiring), but also inspired and grateful. This is where joy seeps back into the work, where curiosity feels natural again, and where we can remember: Oh yeah, I really like being a therapist.
Practicing Therapy That Aligns With Your Values
If you became a therapist because you believe in authenticity, justice, or simply the power of connection—you’re in good company. The beauty of relational psychotherapy is that it explicitly makes room for values in the room.
We don’t pretend that therapy happens in a vacuum. We acknowledge that race, class, gender, sexuality, disability, and culture all shape how we move through the world and how we connect with each other. Ignoring that would be unethical at best and harmful at worst; naming it, on the other hand, becomes a pathway to deeper trust.
For me, working relationally means I don’t have to split off parts of myself to fit a “professional” mold. On our team, we actually call professionalism “The ‘P’ Word” because to us, it evokes an icky feeling that works against leading with our values of showing up with vulnerability and realness. FYI, “fucks” and “shits” are welcome though!
I can be a feminist, a social justice advocate, a queer-affirming clinician, a disabled person, and a warm, flawed human—all in one body, all in the therapy room. Practicing this way feels more aligned with who I am, which makes the work more sustainable and a lot more satisfying.
Making Room for Play and Celebration
One of the surprising pleasures of working relationally is that it makes space for play. So much of therapy—both for clients and for us as therapists—can feel heavy: grief, trauma, injustice, existential dread (hello, Sunday Scaries). Relational psychotherapy reminds us that healing also happens in laughter, in delight, and in moments of shared joy.
When I started practicing relationally, I noticed I laughed more in sessions—not in a dismissive way, but in a deeply connected way that said, “We survived that really tough thing. We get to smile together now.” And, I felt permission to be more light-hearted and not always pulling for the dark, heavy, gritty stuff. Like we can listen to music with clients, we can talk about the movie they saw last week, we can even dance with them! OMG, what?! These moments weren’t “off-task.” They were healing. They signaled safety and trust. They reminded both me and my clients that we are more than our pain. And, that humor, levity, and enjoyment are some of the greatest resources for coping with pain.
A few years back, I watched a Janina Fisher Sensorimotor Training, Grieving a Lost Childhood: A Somatic Approach to Healing Emotional Wounds. One of the takeaways that I always carry with me was her reflection that our ability to feel pleasure is as important as our ability to feel pain. Resilience for moving through grief requires flexibility—being able to feel sadness AND joy—and to regularly undulate through these vastly different emotion states.
Celebration, too, is a crucial part of relational work. Many of my clients have never had anyone truly celebrate their wins with them—big or small. Naming their courage, honoring their resilience, even pausing to high-five (yes, I high-five and offer hugs to my clients) can be transformative. And honestly? It transforms me too. I relish in moments where my clients accomplish what they’ve set out to and delight in moments when they feel so proud and empowered! Those moments break up the monotony of back-to-back sessions and keep me connected to the joy of the work.
Making room for play and celebration in relational therapy isn’t just about “feeling good.” It’s about re-training nervous systems to recognize joy, building relational templates that include delight, and sustaining ourselves as therapists so we can keep showing up. Because if therapy is only ever trudging through mud, for either client or clinician, who wants to willingly sign up for that?!