Therapy-for-Therapists: Who “Holds” the “Holder”?

People become therapists for all kinds of reasons: a desire to help, a fascination with the human condition, or a history of facing down demons and making it through.

Or, sometimes, it’s because they were the ones everyone else leaned on.

Often enough, that pattern starts in a certain kind of childhood—not necessarily catastrophic but, at the very least, skewed. One where the roles invert: the child becomes the adult and caregiver. This is what’s known as parentification.

The Early Shift: From Being Held to Holding Others

Parentified children take on adult responsibilities before they’re developmentally ready. Sometimes the reason why is obvious—like managing an alcoholic parent’s morning routine. Other times, it’s more subtle: Simply having to step-up to help out overwhelmed, inconsistent, or emotionally unavailable parents (see more on that one, here).

In these environments, children learn to manage their emotions alone. They care for siblings. They become hyper-attuned to others’ needs. They keep the peace and smooth things over before anything explodes.

That’s the seed.

Then, they grow into highly competent, emotionally intelligent adults. Calm in a crisis. Skilled at making space for others. Maybe they’ve even been told, “You’d make a great therapist.”

And then they do just that, and they’re great at it. In a sense, they get paid to hold others.

But over time, a quiet question surfaces: Who holds me?

Therapist, Treat Thyself

Many therapists seek therapy not because they lack insight, but because they’re tired of always being the one who holds. For those who were parentified, asymmetrical relationships feel familiar—even inevitable. Being the strong one, the regulated one, the one who never needs.

And when someone does offer reciprocity, it can feel uncomfortable. Foreign. Maybe even wrong.

That discomfort often runs deep. Sometimes, they avoid letting others share the burden because they don’t know how to accept it. Other times, they’ve surrounded themselves with people who don’t—or can’t—offer to. Either way, they’re still alone in the holding.

This is where therapy becomes more than a tool—it becomes an experience. When the pattern is named and worked through, something shifts. The act of letting someone else carry part of the emotional load, even briefly, can be quietly revolutionary.

It’s not about regression. It’s not about becoming the child again.

It’s about letting someone take responsibility with you—not for you.

And that changes everything.

How do we change it?

Some therapists come to therapy thinking they need new tools, better boundaries, or more self-care strategies.

And then they discover that isn’t what’s missing.

What they need is something deeper and more subtle: a space where they’re not the container. Where they don’t have to be the one with the insight. Where they can stop holding it all together.

They need someone to “hold” them—with structure, depth, and humanity.

And when that happens, something softens and they stop overfunctioning. They experiment with letting go of control, helping others, and always knowing what to do.

They stop trying to earn their place by being endlessly competent.

Ironically, that’s what makes them better therapists, too. Sometimes, the best help for a client is to do less and let them struggle more.

Put more bluntly: We don’t learn to wipe our ass by having someone else do it for us.

Because when you finally have felt held, you learn how to choose holding others—rather than feel compelled to do it by default.

The Takeaway

If you’ve always been the one who holds—at work, at home, in your friendships—maybe it’s time to ask:

What would it be like to figure out how to break this pattern and let others carry some of the weight, even just for a while?

Not because you’re weak. Not because you can’t.

But because you know reciprocity and symmetry in relationships is vital to meaningfully connecting.