Everyone who comes into my office has good intentions. Typically, they seek to become better individuals, live more fulfilling lives, or enhance their relationships.
I have the privilege of working with people who are thoughtful, articulate, and deeply reflective. Many of them have spent years trying to understand themselves, often because life required it. They can describe their emotions clearly, trace patterns in their relationships, and speak candidly about the experiences that have shaped them. This kind of self-awareness is not superficial. It has usually been earned through effort, pain, and a sincere desire to grow.
And yet, over time, I have noticed that understanding alone does not always lead to healing. People can know themselves quite well and still feel stuck, as though life keeps circling the same themes without much forward movement. They continue to reflect, explain, and search for meaning, but something essential does not quite take hold in their day-to-day lives or in their relationships.
What happens, slowly and without much notice, is that self-reflection begins to turn inward in a way that no longer serves growth. It makes them more stagnant.
When this happens, a person’s inner world becomes very familiar territory. They know their thoughts well, their feelings are clear, and their personal history is easily shared. At the same time, their way of relating to others remains largely unchanged. They may speak with insight and sincerity, yet struggle to adjust their responses when conflict arises, when limits are set, or when relationships require flexibility.
Often, these are individuals who have been wounded in real and meaningful ways. Over time, they have learned to speak about those wounds with great care and precision. They understand how they became who they are, why certain situations feel unbearable, and why particular relationships have been challenging to sustain. While this understanding is not incorrect, it can gradually become self-referential. The story remains familiar and convincing, yet there is less space to wonder how others experience them, or how their way of being might quietly contribute to the distance they feel.
Suffering adds another layer to this picture.
Living with chronic pain, illness, loss, or long-standing stress changes a person. It reshapes energy, patience, and emotional capacity. It is important to remain compassionate towards these individuals. At the same time, I have seen how suffering can slowly become the central lens through which everything else is understood. Pain and hardship in life help explain why growth feels impossible, why expectations must soften, and why withdrawal feels not only reasonable but necessary. Without much intention, suffering becomes an identity rather than something that moves alongside the rest of life.
Healing rarely asks us to deny pain or minimize its impact. It asks us to remain attentive to how pain shapes our sense of responsibility, our willingness to stay engaged, and our openness to change.
In other words, trauma, sorrow or pain doesn’t give us the right to be a jerk.
This same pattern often appears in relation to discipline and follow-through. People usually know what might help them feel better, more grounded, or more connected. They can name the habits, conversations, or changes that would matter. And yet, the effort required to practice these things day after day can feel overwhelming, intrusive, or even unfair. Reflection continues, but action unfolds ever so slowly. Their need to be understood takes center stage, while movement or change is postponed until life feels easier.
Over time, this becomes most visible in relationships.
One of the quiet truths of emotional and psychological growth is that it often reveals itself relationally. As people heal, they often become easier to be with. More open to repair. More capable of hearing feedback without collapsing or defending. When self-understanding deepens but relationships remain strained, distant, or repeatedly broken, it is often an invitation to pause and examine more closely the nature of the growth that is actually taking place.
This is not about blame or self-criticism. It is about discernment.
Self-reflection is meant to lead us somewhere. It is meant to shape how we respond when we are uncomfortable, how we take responsibility when things go wrong, and how willing we are to adjust rather than retreat. Real healing often unfolds quietly, through small acts of effort, a growing tolerance for discomfort, and a gradual shift away from protecting our explanations and instead, toward participating more fully in life. Strength does not come from endlessly turning inward. It grows through movement, through practice, and through the willingness to respond when insight asks something more of us than understanding alone.