Years before my work as a therapist, I worked as a youth counsellor at multiple shelters and mental health centres in the city. The work was challenging but invaluable, both professionally and personally.
Early in my first year, my supervisor pulled me aside after observing me on the floor one day. She said, “So, Cody. When the kiddo goes into distress, you go into distress, don’t you?” I was taken aback, even mildly defensive. But I soon realized she was exactly right. I needed the kids to be okay so that I could be okay. I needed them to regulate their emotional state so that I could regulate my own.
I have since called this moment The Trap. It’s a moment when someone else is dysregulated or emotionally distraught and our first instinct is to try and make that person feel “better.” We might try to find solutions to their distress or distract them from it, or try to shut it down entirely.
But in actuality, who are we trying to soothe when we do this? Are we only trying to support the other person? Or are we trying to calm them down so that we can feel better?
This dynamic is especially common with parents and their children. When a child is emotionally distraught, they’re often told to hush and be quiet. They’re told, “Come back when you’re better.” Sometimes they’re simply ignored. Boys especially are told to “suck it up” or “be a man.” Is this an act of support? Or is the parent, often unintentionally, seeking relief from their own discomfort by shutting down the child’s emotions?
The Trap even shows up in therapy. A therapist may jump to solutions and problem-solving when their client becomes visibly upset. They may try to normalize or self-disclose as a way of softening the emotion in the room. They might shift into providing research or psychoeducation—often relevant, but ultimately more intellectual, and thus safer. But that shift may be more about ending the therapist’s discomfort than meeting the client where they are.
While often well-meaning, The Trap ultimately feels invalidating on the receiving end. The unspoken message becomes: Your emotions are unacceptable. That their feelings must stop now. And the other person doesn’t end up feeling supported at all. They feel censored. Unwelcome. Alone.
Several years later, working in a different centre, I found myself burned out and emotionally exhausted. I met with my supervisor to tell him I should probably quit. I said I didn’t feel like I was helping, that I was failing at my job.
And he said, “Cody, if you are working with the kid and you are regulating yourself, you’re doing your job. Don’t try to change their emotional state. Don’t try to change their life or their trajectory. You won’t. That’s not your job.” He told me that my job was to remain present, to show these kids what regulation looks like, something they may have never seen modelled by a caregiver.
The difference between supporting someone and trying to calm them down is this: support means allowing the other person to have their emotions. We don’t try to change them. We validate them. We show them we understand. We show them that we care precisely because they are in distress, not as a means of eliminating their response to that distress. And at the same time, we take responsibility for our own emotional regulation, rather than placing that burden on someone who is already overwhelmed.
Two tricky dynamics can sometimes show up with The Trap. First, some people expect us to fix their emotions. This is often the case in intimate relationships with partners who never learned to regulate their own emotions. If the only comfort they knew was someone stepping in to solve things, they may expect the same from us. Setting a boundary here can be hard, but it is necessary. We can let our partners know we are present, that we care, and that we will sit with them in whatever they’re feeling, but we cannot fix it. That work is theirs. Otherwise, we risk reinforcing the very dynamic that is keeping both people stuck.
Others go the opposite way; they hide their emotions entirely. They say they’re fine while clearly distressed. Often, this comes from a history where vulnerability was punished. Our instinct might be to pry or push, but that too is The Trap. We end up trying to make them open up so that we can stop feeling helpless or distant. What’s needed instead is quiet clarity. Let them know we see them, that we respect their decision to hold their feelings close, and that we’ll still be here when they’re ready. This is what builds safety and trust.
All of this is certainly not easy. Especially when we dearly love the person who is hurting. We often feel a similar pain because we are attached to them. And sometimes, we convince ourselves that if they stop showing their pain, then the pain itself is gone. But it’s not. All we’ve done is shut down the emotional response, potentially making their pain even worse.
But by allowing our loved one to have their experience, by offering calm without condition, we show them that they’re not alone in their pain. That’s the key difference.
