Why I Stopped Trying to Save My Clients
- Jeniffer Johnson
- Mar 27
- 3 min read
When I first started my master’s program, one of the very first questions our professor asked was, "Why do you want to be a therapist?"
The answers came quickly, almost as if rehearsed: "To help others." "To heal people." "To be there for those who need support."
I nodded along, feeling the same conviction. I had always wanted to make a difference, to be someone people could lean on.
But as I moved deeper into my studies and my practice, I learned something that completely shifted my perspective: stepping into the role of a "rescuer" isn’t what therapy is about. In fact, it’s the very thing that can hold both the client and therapist back.
In those early days, I thought being a therapist meant saving people. Being there for them. Doing everything I could to take their pain away. But this belief? It led me down a path of frustration, self-doubt, and eventually, a deep realization about what therapy truly is.
I still remember one of my first cases vividly.
A client came in struggling with a deep sense of loneliness. On the surface, everything looked fine, she had a good job, a few close friends, a seemingly stable life. But as we began our sessions, it became clear she felt invisible. As though, no one really saw her. She was exhausted from constantly pretending to be okay and craved genuine connection.
And me? I wanted to help her. I saw the pain, the confusion, the burden she carried, and I felt this urgent need to step in and "fix it."
As we continued our work together, I began to feel frustrated. "Why was she not getting it?" I thought. Her patterns seemed so clear to me, and I wanted to spell it out for her. I believed that would help her faster.
At the time, it felt like I was being deeply empathetic. But in hindsight, I was overcompensating. I was so afraid of her feeling abandoned that I abandoned the boundaries that would have actually helped her feel safe.
After one particularly emotional session, I noticed how drained I felt. Not just tired, but emotionally depleted. That’s when it hit me: I had made the therapy about me. About my need to be enough, to be appreciated, to be the one who finally made a difference in her life.
I later wondered: ‘Why was I so eager to save her? Why did I need that sense of accomplishment?’
The truth was uncomfortable; I wasn’t just trying to help her. I was trying to validate myself. I wanted to feel effective. Competent. Needed. That realization hit me hard.
And in doing so, I had crossed the line between a therapist and a rescuer.
I remember how our supervisor explained it to us: "Allow your clients to discover their patterns. It is their gift to open. Let them take their time to open it and discover it for themselves. If you step in as a rescuer, then you will always have clients as victims. You will always see them as people who can’t help themselves."
That hit me. I needed to be their coach. See them as people who have the potential to heal.
That’s when I started learning to let go of the rescuer mindset.
I wasn’t there to save my clients, I was there to empower them. Therapy isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about creating a space where clients can discover their own. And most importantly, I learned that my role wasn’t to be their hero, but their guide.
Over time, I started embracing the discomfort of not always knowing, of not always fixing. I practiced patience, both with my clients and with myself. I sat with the uncertainty, the messiness, the in-between. And I saw how powerful it was when clients found their own insights. When they made decisions for themselves, not because of me, but because of themselves.
Now, whenever I feel the old temptation to "fix" creeping in, I remind myself: My job isn’t to rescue. It’s to help people step into their own strength. Give them tools that they can use.
Therapy is a journey. And I am simply a companion on that road, walking beside, not ahead.
If you’re someone who struggles with the need to "help" others, I encourage you to pause and reflect: Is your desire truly about them, or is it about proving something to yourself?
Because sometimes, the greatest gift we can give others is not to save them, but to believe in their ability to help themselves.