My wife is often bewildered by stories of dysfunction in my colleagues.  They should know better, she’ll say.  But just as priesthood does not guarantee saintliness, and judgeship does not guarantee wisdom, practicing therapy has never been a guarantee of mental wellness.  It does not automatically confer intelligence, honesty, courage, responsibility or self-awareness.  In some cases it may even be an impediment.

There’s a Sufi story about a man who insists on searching for his house key under a street lamp even though he lost it in the house. “It’s light out here,” he explains.  “It’s dark in the house.”

I meet people like him occasionally.  They’re clients not ready for therapy, because they’re afraid to go into the dark.

The dark is where you keep buried feelings, painful memories, shameful secrets, dubious motives, embarrassing wishes, and whatever else you prefer not to look at.

It’s also where much of The Real You lives.

I believe in psychotherapy.  I’ve seen it save lives.  But successful therapy takes more than a good shrink. It also requires a good client.

And a good client is one willing to peek into the dark.