Part of the raw musings of a psychotherapist

The Buddha proclaimed that there is no self. Buddhism encourages us to realize that our sense of who we are is an empty construction. There’s even a Ram Dass film called Becoming Nobody.

In contrast, the West wants us to become somebody. That is, to develop a cohesive, functional self, capable of setting boundaries, regulating affect, relating, and working well.

Today I want to focus on the Western side of this equation; on something I habitually see in therapy, though it is often hard to spot: the fear of not existing, which has nothing to do with the Buddhist no-self.

It sounds kind of weird, doesn’t it? Like something out of a fairy tale. Alice fearing that she might be nothing but some sort of figure in the Red King’s dream. But this is no fantasy.

Have you ever met someone constantly needing to be acknowledged or even admired? I’m sure you have. We may even be among them! Some find ways to get it through legitimate means. They find a platform that provides much-needed validation: performing, teaching, helping, creating… Others look for it, or even demand it, from those around them: parents, partners, children, co-workers, lovers…

I often meet them in therapy when their loved ones grow tired of having to prop them up, or, for the most successful among them, when they realize that all the fame, adulation, and acknowledgment are never enough to fill what feels like a hole within.

It is tempting to label them as narcissistic, and some may be, but when we dig deeper, we often find a deeply wounded and scared person facing an unbearable emptiness. A dread that, no matter how successful, funny, accomplished, or accommodating they are, they don’t matter. They feel unsubstantial, lacking matter. Nobody really cares. They could cease to exist, and nobody would even notice.

Although rarely articulated, they seem to fear that, if not noticed, they could dissolve like a dream upon awakening. To be clear, they don’t fear they would literally fade away; but a strange compulsion keeps them demanding attention because the alternative terrifies them.

How can this be?

Psychologically, we develop our sense of being real in relationship. Early on, we need to be seen, recognized, and responded to, not as stars, but simply as beings whose feelings, presence, and existence register in someone else’s mind. This is why young children yell things like, “Look, Mom, no hands!”

When that recognition (known as mirroring) is reliable enough, a person slowly develops an inner sense of solidity: I am here. I count. I remain myself even when no one is looking. But when that kind of acknowledgment is missing, inconsistent, or conditional, the person may continue to depend on outer confirmation to feel real. Then, being noticed starts to feel less like a satisfaction and more like a necessity.

That is why, for some, the hunger to be seen carries such desperation. What they are really fighting is not anonymity, but the old terror of feeling expendable, forgettable, irrelevant, as if they had no psychological weight. In milder forms, this manifests as shame, emptiness, or a chronic sense of not being important. In more serious forms, it feels like a threat to existence itself: If I do not register anywhere, if nobody notices me, do I even exist?

To put it simply, the fear of not mattering can devolve into something primal: the fear of not being, of becoming nothing in the eyes of others and, finally, in one’s own.

How can therapy help?

In a therapeutic relationship, a good-enough therapist offers a new kind of experience: one of being truly seen, perhaps for the first time. Over time, as the client is met by someone who notices them, takes them seriously, and does not reduce them to performance, usefulness, or image, they begin to internalize a steadier sense of being real.

They no longer need quite so much external proof to feel that they exist, count, and have weight. The therapist may also help them develop ways to self-validate, with affirmations such as: “I matter,” “Even when nobody is there, my existence matters,” or, if they are spiritually oriented, “I matter because God sees me, loves me, and cares about me.1

It is interesting that, in psychedelic sessions, a recurrent insight is precisely how significant we are, how much we are loved, and how trivial our daily struggles can be. We learn that we are bigger, brighter, and more amazing than we can ever conceive.

Back to the Buddha.

So, should we build the self or see through its illusory nature? Do we matter, or are we empty? As often happens in therapy, the answer is both/and. Jack Engler famously said, “You have to become somebody before you can become nobody.”

Most Western psychotherapy focuses on helping people function in this material world. A healthy ego helps us remember where we parked the car, our Social Security number, and to pay our taxes. Eastern traditions aim toward liberation, toward becoming free from the limitations and illusions of this same world. Their goal is to go beyond the ego. But that’s a topic for a future article.

If you often feel like you need people’s acknowledgment, or if you have been accused of being too needy, insecure, or self-centered, you may have lacked the mirroring every single one of us needs. The good news is that this can be healed.

Remember that you matter and you are loved (and that you should not take yourself too seriously). If you are struggling, therapy can help you heal the fear of being inconsequential and free yourself from the harmful patterns that keep you from seeing who you really are.

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Tired of needing others to prove that you matter? If you often feel unseen, too needy, or dependent on others’ acknowledgment to feel real, therapy can help you build a steadier sense of self.
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  1. However, it is worth noting that such affirmations alone won’t be enough if the wound from early childhood runs deep, as often happens in these cases. ↩︎

How therapy can help us face uncertainty, grief, and meaninglessness.

In Before IT Hits the Fan… I wrote about how, as a therapist, I hear a version of the question that gives this article its title at least once a week; depending on what is going on, often many times per day.

Things Look Disheartening

We are living through what has been called a polycrisis: multiple crises that interact with and amplify one another. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Almost every conversation, if long enough, turns to politics, money, isolation, or the environment. Let’s face it: things look disheartening.

It is easy to lose hope when everything around us reminds us how bad things are. Crises breed helplessness, numbness, panic, and fatalism. It is tempting to disconnect through mindless scrolling, or to convince ourselves we must keep watching the news to stay informed. Cynicism and despair can feel almost rational when it seems there is nothing we can do.

Yet here we are. Do I wish things were different? Absolutely. I worry about my young daughters. I feel sad thinking they may inherit a worse world than the one I grew up in. So when clients, quietly or explicitly, ask me whether humanity will make it, my honest answer is that I don’t know.

This is not the first time things have looked grim. I find it hard to imagine how our predecessors endured wars, invasions, and upheavals throughout the ages. As a Mexican, I have tried to grasp how Native Americans must have felt when settlers and conquistadores shattered their cultures, or how European Jews must have felt during the Second World War. This is no consolation, but things have been worse1.

The Question Beneath the Question

And still, it is hard to make existential sense of any of it. When a client looks me square in the eye and asks, “What is the point?” I understand why Camus thought life was absurd. Is there a plan? Is this some god’s test? Karma? An illusion? Does humanity deserve it? Are we doomed to follow the dinosaurs as just another curiosity in the history of this planet? Again, I don’t know.

Fortunately, as a therapist, my job is not to reassure clients or provide neat answers, but to witness and accompany them on their life path. Therapy does not solve the polycrisis, but I deeply believe it serves a purpose. This is not me justifying my profession, but trying to understand how I, and all of us in the helping professions, can help from our trench.

How can therapy help?

How can meeting privately with another person possibly help? For one, nobody should suffer alone. Crises heighten isolation and powerlessness. We may ask: Am I the only one seeing this? What can one person possibly do? It is easier to fall prey to doomsday news and despair in isolation.

Therapy offers a place to grieve together. A place to regain dignity, lucidity, and perspective; to figure out what matters and how to proceed. It offers a potential space to stay present in the face of doubt and to wonder what life is asking of us now. It also offers the possibility of reclaiming agency and deciding how to act, how to relate, and what not to become. Despair deepens when we become spectators instead of agents.

A Different Kind of Hope

It is also a place to rekindle hope. Not the naïve hope that everything will be okay. History provides no guarantees. Mature hope is a choice (Macy). The decision to keep going without surrendering is already a victory. As Václav Havel suggested, hope is not the conviction that things will turn out well; it is the conviction that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.

Not Becoming Cynical

When, in therapy, we face anxiety, adversity, despair, and meaninglessness together, we claim the “courage to be” (Tillich). In the presence of another person, the client confronts fear and desolation. This can revitalize us and keep us from becoming insensitive. We may not be able to save the world, but we can prevent our souls from becoming cynical, cruel, or inert.

Furthermore, as Jung suggested, evil flourishes when humans repress their shadow. The unconscious person is easy prey to fear, hatred, and mass ideology. In therapy, we stay present instead of avoiding reality; we metabolize grief, rage, and fear. Only then can we move from protection or paralysis into action.

It is in relationship that we remember we hurt because we belong. With that clarity, we can decide how to proceed, how we choose to show up in times of crisis, and how to uphold our values and the dignity of life.

When therapist and client courageously affirm life in the face of suffering and uncertainty, we connect with a deeper dimension of identity within us that is more spacious than fear. We remember that we are more than a frightened, skin-encapsulated ego.

Facing Uncertainty Together

So, are we gonna make it? I still don’t know. I hope we will. In the meantime, let’s walk together, meet our pain, find meaning amid the meaningless, and trust, not in a Pollyannaish way, but, as Tolkien suggested, with the clarity that we have the opportunity, and perhaps the obligation, to decide who we choose to be in the time given us.

Facing uncertainty with support

If you are moving through some version of this yourself, you are welcome to reach out. Therapy can help you stay grounded and make meaning. We don’t have to face it alone.

Book a Free 15-Min Call or Contact Sergio

Related reading: Why the Relationship Heals


  1. We must remember that how we experience crises is relative to our level of privilege. Even if we are all going through this polycrisis, there are significant differences between how each group is being affected by it. Those differences matter. ↩︎

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