“Life’s good, but not fair at all,” so said the late Lou Reed when singing about the death of his dear, longstanding friend to cancer on the album ‘Magic and Loss’. Pain seems woven into the fabric of life. And so, in our own ways, we seek distraction, escape, and control. We drink too much, download a new dating app, or purchase compulsively and, at least to begin with, all these things can bring a sense of temporary relief.
In some respects, modern culture reinforces the idea that suffering is alien and a sign of weakness or failure, rather than a part of life. We receive encouragement to fix, optimise, remove discomfort, and purchase the right solution.
These cultural trends also influence psychotherapy. There are now countless different therapy models and techniques to choose from, each of them making its own claim to superiority. Yet research over many years suggests that differences in outcomes between major approaches (CBT, psychodynamic, person-centred therapies) are relatively small; it is the quality of the relationship between the therapist and patient that does most of the work in determining outcome.
People often seek therapy to eliminate symptoms, but therapists offer a relationship that allows them to be known and understood, and this is often what helps most. Now, I am not suggesting that the tools and techniques are unimportant; they can be very beneficial indeed. What I am suggesting is that sometimes we might come to therapy with the conscious or unconscious hope for a magical solution. We might hope for an insight that will change everything, a technique that will remove our anxiety; a way to escape uncertainty, vulnerability, and pain. Above all, we want to be fixed.
When we come to therapy hoping for magic, several things can happen. One possibility is that we become disillusioned, disappointed, and give up. Often, the search for an instantaneous solution will continue elsewhere with another therapist, or perhaps we conclude that therapy is not for me or doesn’t work. Another possibility is that our desire for a silver bullet draws the therapist into trying to provide it. Therapists are human and usually deeply want to help. Faced with another person’s suffering, they might try very hard to provide certainty, quick solutions, or magical transformation.
The problem is that genuine change is seldom magical. There is another path, though. For some of us, it might involve acknowledging and letting go of our expectation for a quick, easy, and painless solution. It might mean understanding that we cannot force or purchase recovery. Psychotherapy can play a very important part in that journey, and entering therapy with an attitude of honesty and openness can help create a space where growth can happen. There is a wealth of research that tells us that most people find psychotherapy helpful, but it rarely offers a quick fix. What it might involve instead is allowing ourselves to be known, listening carefully to our feelings and bodily experience, tolerating uncertainty, speaking honestly about the past and understanding its legacy, and gradually discovering new ways of relating to ourselves and others.
I think it’s also worth stating something obvious: meaningful change happens not only in therapy. Many ordinary experiences can change us profoundly, such as getting sober and attending a first 12-step meeting with a knot in the stomach; or adopting a dog and, perhaps for the first time, experiencing something like unconditional acceptance. Recovery from loss and healing from painful experiences we never would have chosen can sometimes present unexpected possibilities for growth. Psychologists sometimes refer to this as post-traumatic growth, and Christian spirituality has recognised something similar. The antithesis of the quick fix could be Jesus’ words to St. Paul: “My power is made perfect in weakness.”
The trouble with magic may be that it is a mirage: promising an escape from what is most essentially human. Yet it is often within those very conditions — limitation, vulnerability, uncertainty, and interdependence — that new meaning, healing, and change can take shape.