Why therapy is political, whether we like it or not

I found myself doing something I rarely do this morning. Arguing with strangers on the internet. Strangers who were other therapists.

The topic was whether therapy should be “politicised”. And what struck me wasn’t just the disagreement, but how often this comes up. I’ve heard it in training, in professional spaces, and now again online.

It tends to split into two camps. On one side, therapists who believe therapy should be a politics-free space. A meeting between two people, grounded in the relationship, where the outside world is left at the door. On the other, therapists who recognise that the outside world doesn’t stay outside. That the therapy room is always shaped, in some way, by the social and political context we’re living in.

The latter is where I firmly stand. Not because I think therapy should become a political debate, but because I don’t think it’s honest to pretend it exists in a vacuum.

What do we mean by ‘politics’?

Part of the tension here is how we define politics. For some people, it seems, it’s distant. It's something that happens in the news: elections, policies, tax. It might affect them, but it doesn’t fundamentally shape their sense of safety or belonging. And if that’s your experience, it makes sense that you’d want therapy to feel separate from it.

But that isn’t everyone’s reality. For many people, politics is personal, and it shows up in questions like:

• Are my relationships recognised?

• Am I safe to be open about who I am?

• Will I be treated fairly in healthcare, education, or at work?

• Are people like me being debated, criticised, or dismissed in public spaces?

For some, politics is something that directly affects how they move through the world, it’s not just background noise. It doesn’t just switch off when they walk into a therapy session.

The part that makes me angry

I’ll be honest, this is the bit that grinds my gears. During my counselling training, another student once said to me that oppressed people are “choosing to be offended”. This wasn’t a troll online; it was someone training to become a therapist.

To say that is to completely miss what’s actually going on. It ignores history, context, and the cumulative impact of living in a world where your identity is questioned, limited, or debated. It reduces real experiences to over-sensitivity.

In the therapy room, that kind of thinking isn’t just unhelpful, it’s harmful.

Why this matters in therapy

In my work, I see how these wider dynamics show up in very real ways: as shame, anxiety, and self-doubt. As a constant awareness of how safe it is to be yourself in different spaces. These things don’t come from nowhere; they are learned.

If I ignore the context people are living in, I’m not being neutral. I’m missing something essential.

And sometimes, that so-called “neutrality” ends up placing the weight of the problem entirely on the individual, rather than acknowledging the environment they’ve had to navigate.

A personal perspective

I grew up watching my rights being debated on TV. I remember people openly debating whether gay people should be allowed to marry. Whether our lives should even be talked about in schools.

That kind of environment shapes you, whether you realise it at the time or not. It affects how you see yourself. What you feel is acceptable. What you learn to keep hidden.

And I see the same thing happening right now in the often traumatising “debate” around trans lives.

So when I sit with clients, particularly those navigating identity and belonging, I can’t separate their internal world from the world they’ve grown up in. Being relational, for me, means recognising that.

Where I stand

For me, being a good therapist means being aware of the systems, messages, and experiences that shape the people I work with. It’s certainly not just about how I vote. It means acknowledging that privilege is not equal, that the systems we live within are not fair, and that this has a real human cost.

I’m not going to ask my clients to leave parts of themselves at the door just to keep things neutral, or worse, to make me feel comfortable.

Arguing online won’t resolve this debate, but in my practice, I know exactly where I stand: creating and protecting a space where people don’t have to edit themselves to be accepted. That’s where the work of therapy happens, when we’re able to be our full selves. And that’s something I’ll continue to protect.