Have you ever sat with a client, listened to their story, and caught yourself saying, “I know” or “I understand”—when in truth, you couldn’t possibly understand because you have not lived it?
Maybe you’ve thought: “I know nothing about that experience.” Or, “I cannot imagine living through that.” Or even, “Wow, I really don’t get this.”
And that makes sense. Many of us have never lived in a war zone, survived an assault, or endured chronic childhood neglect. It’s a mercy not to carry such burdens. Still, our clients often come to us carrying traumas that may be very different from our own lived realities. Beyond trauma, differences in race, class, nationality, gender, and culture can widen the gap.
So how do we create connection and safety when we don’t “get it”?
I like to be honest and say something like:
“There’s good news and bad news.
“The bad news is I haven’t lived that experience, so I don’t fully get it.
“The good news is, because I don’t get it, it doesn’t overwhelm me. I can really listen, stay with you, and not fall apart.”
It’s blunt—but when it’s true for me, it helps. And truth-telling is a cornerstone of healthy relating. Of course, don’t say it if it isn’t genuine for you. But when it is true,saying so can be a profound gift.
In many cases, it is actually helpful that I do not have the same lived experience as my client. It allows me to stay grounded, fully present, and hopeful. Clients don’t have to protect me from their pain; they can feel my steady presence as they unpack it. Often, that alone brings deep relief.
When I first began practicing in the ’70s, therapists were trained to say things like “I understand” or “Oh, I know.” We believed this showed empathy. But the truth? I was young, privileged, and relatively unscarred. There was much I didn’t know.
Decades later, I had a moment of reckoning. I realized that when I said “I understand” to someone who had lived through horrors I had never faced, it was hypocrisy. That’s when I shifted to honesty:
“I don’t know. I don’t get it. And I’m not going to get it. That’s the bad news.
But the good news is, I can stay with you. I won’t be overwhelmed. I’ll hold steady as you face it.”
Owning this truth gave me humility and openness. It reminded me that I cannot be the expert on experiences I’ve never lived. My clients are the authorities on their own lives. My role is to be authentically present, to regulate myself so I can help them regulate, and to walk with them as they face what once felt unbearable alone.