I Might Be Wrong

Quiet therapy office with two chairs and a hanging sign that reads I might be wrong.

I say this in therapy a lot.

“I might be wrong.”

Usually right before I tell someone what I think might be happening.

I might notice a connection between what they’re telling me now and something they told me six months ago. I might wonder if the reason something feels so big has less to do with what happened Tuesday and more to do with what Tuesday reminds some version of them of.

I might have a theory.

Sometimes it’s a really good theory.

And I still might be wrong.

We know a lot about people. Therapists study behavior and relationships and trauma and attachment and all the strange and creative ways human beings learn to survive things.

But sitting in the therapist chair doesn’t suddenly give me access to some hidden truth about your life that you don’t have.

I have a different view.

That’s useful.

I’m standing somewhere you aren’t, looking at your life from an angle that’s hard to see when you’re the one living inside of it.

Sometimes I’ll notice something and say, “I wonder if…”

And the person across from me gets quiet.

Then they’ll say something like, “Oh.”

Those moments can matter.

But other times I’ll offer an observation and they’ll look at me and say, “No. I don’t think that’s it.”

Okay.

Then maybe that’s not it.

We don’t need to spend the next twenty minutes trying to make my idea fit. I don’t need to explain it better until you agree with me. And you definitely don’t need to assume that because I’m the therapist, I must be seeing something about you that you aren’t ready to admit yet.

Sometimes therapists have very convincing explanations.

You’re avoiding.

You’re resistant.

You’re intellectualizing.

You’re afraid to go there.

A part of you isn’t ready.

Maybe.

Those things certainly happen.

But maybe what we’re saying doesn’t fit.

Maybe we’re looking in the wrong direction.

Maybe you said no because the answer is actually no.

Therapy should be one of the places where you get to disagree.

You get to tell me I misunderstood you. You get to say, “That’s not what I meant.” You get to tell me the thing we’re doing isn’t helping.

None of that makes therapy harder.

It makes therapy more honest.

There are absolutely times when I will challenge someone. There are times when I won’t immediately agree with the story they’re telling themselves. There are times when I will point out a pattern they don’t particularly enjoy having pointed out.

“I might be wrong” doesn’t mean I don’t trust my training or my instincts.

It means I don’t confuse them with certainty.

Because the second I become certain about what your experience means, I stop being as curious about what it actually is.

And curiosity matters here.

Maybe more than being right.

I don’t think my job is to figure you out.

I think my job is to sit beside you while we get curious about what is happening, what happened before, what still hurts, what doesn’t anymore, and what you might want to do differently now.

I bring training.

I bring experience.

I bring a perspective you can’t have because I’m not living your life.

You bring the one thing I will never have.

You were there.

Embracing Shadows, Illuminating Hope,
Chelsey Fjeldheim, LCSW
Empowering Souls on the Path of Healing

Copyright © 2026 Chelsey Fjeldheim, Courage Speaks Counseling

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