As therapists, we’ve all experienced those moments when a client hesitates to speak in therapy. They may shut down mid-sentence, smile instead of cry, or say, “I don’t know,” even when something deep is clearly stirring underneath the surface. Early in my career, I often wondered: Why won't they open up? Why won't they trust …
As therapists, we’ve all experienced those moments when a client hesitates to speak in therapy. They may shut down mid-sentence, smile instead of cry, or say, “I don’t know,” even when something deep is clearly stirring underneath the surface.
Early in my career, I often wondered: Why won’t they open up? Why won’t they trust me with what’s really going on?
I labeled it—like we’re taught—as resistance.
However, over time, especially through my reading of *The Body Keeps the Score*, I have come to see it differently:
What we often call resistance is actually a form of protection.
The Body’s Wisdom in Withholding
When someone grows up in an environment where vulnerability is unsafe—where speaking up leads to punishment, dismissal, or harm—the body remembers this. Even years later, in the safety of a therapy room, their nervous system might still be wired for survival rather than connection.
What appears as avoidance may actually be a sign that their window of tolerance is closing.
What sounds like “I don’t remember” might indicate a genuine disconnect from the trauma itself. The body often fragments memory to protect the mind from being overwhelmed. The client isn’t lying; they’re surviving.
Reframing Resistance as Intelligence
This perspective shift is subtle but transformative.
When we stop viewing resistance as something to push through and instead see it as an intelligent protective strategy, we begin to approach our clients with more compassion, patience, and trust in their process.
Their nervous system has done its job. Now, slowly and gently, we help it unlearn the feeling of danger.
Holding Space Without Forcing a Story
Trauma doesn’t always manifest in words; it often shows up in the body, in patterns, or in a client’s avoidance of eye contact. Sometimes a client laughs when they encounter something too difficult to articulate.
Occasionally, our role isn’t to dig deeper but to remain present with them.
We can offer a regulated presence, allowing their body to start believing: This is different. I am safe now.
A Final Thought for Fellow Clinicians
If you’ve ever doubted your effectiveness or felt like you “weren’t making progress” with a client, I encourage you to reframe your perspective:
They aren’t resisting you; they are protecting themselves.
And the fact that they are even in the room with you? That’s not resistance—it’s courage.
