The Therapist’s Nursery: How Our Beginnings Shape the Healers We Become

Sukriti Agnihotri

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Every therapist carries a story. Not the one of the client’s journeys they witness, but the story of how they became a therapist. 

Our beginnings, like the formative years of childhood, leave an imprint. Just as the environment a child grows up in shapes their way of relating to the world, our early training and first therapeutic encounters quietly build the foundation of who we become in the therapy room.

A famous question Freud would ask his patients was about their earliest memory. I’ll ask you the same, fellow therapist. Think back for a moment. Who was the first lecturer who truly saw you in a psychology or counselling class? Which subject felt like it wasn’t just information but something that spoke to you? Perhaps even named something deep inside? Who supervised you in your first placement, helping you navigate the messy beauty of real-life therapy? And of course, your first independent case. How has it lingered in your body and mind long after the session ended?

Over time, without even realising it, many of us begin to internalise a narrative or lens that helped us understand ourselves. Maybe it was trauma theory, attachment, neurodiversity, narrative therapy, or something more systemic. That framework didn’t just offer clarity; it offered language to what previously felt chaotic. And often, this same framework becomes the default way we start seeing others. The stories we tell ourselves become the stories we unconsciously ‘expect’ to hear from our clients.

But here lies the delicate line between competent therapy and unconscious projection.

Therapeutic competence isn’t just about techniques or theoretical knowledge. It's about self-awareness. It’s about knowing your roots, acknowledging your therapeutic ‘nursery,’ and being honest about the ideas and people that nurtured you. It’s also about learning to hold that lens lightly.

Because when we’re unaware of our filters, we risk turning into something dangerously close to the amateur psychology enthusiast, analysing others to reinforce our own narratives. The difference between the two is humility. A seasoned therapist knows, “This lens helped me, but it may not help you.”

The best therapists are the ones who know their own soil and water but don’t expect others to grow the same way.

So ask yourself:

Who first nurtured your therapeutic self?

What theory or perspective gave you your first sense of clarity or belonging?

And when does that lens help, and when might it hinder?

The more we revisit our own roots with gentleness and honesty, the more spacious and attuned we become for those sitting across from us.

Because in the end, the therapeutic space isn’t about our narrative. It’s about holding space for theirs.