A few months ago, a viral New York Magazine article accused Andrew Huberman, the popular optimization guru and neuroscientist, of emotional abuse. His ex-girlfriend described feeling deceived—not just by his behaviour, but by the language he used. Huberman speaks fluently in the vocabulary of self-work, using phrases like “repair,” “healthy merging,” and “emotional regulation.” But as the accusations played out online, a familiar pattern seemed to emerge: the language of healing, once meant to foster self-awareness, had instead become a tool for avoidance.
This is not just about one man. Over the past decade, therapy-culture has seeped into every corner of our lives—social media, workplaces, relationships. What was once confined to the consulting room is now part of daily conversation. We no longer “argue”; we “set boundaries.” We don’t dislike someone; they are “toxic.” We aren’t sad; we are “triggered.”
At first glance, this shift seems like progress. For years, mental health was stigmatized. Now, therapy is mainstream. Celebrities bare their traumas in Netflix documentaries. Instagram therapists dispense daily wisdom to millions. TikTok creators cry into their phones, narrating their self-diagnoses in real-time. Therapy itself has become an industry, from the billion-dollar rise of apps like BetterHelp to the growing investment in AI-driven online therapy.
But something strange has happened along the way. The more psychological language enters public discourse, the more people seem to pathologize their own experiences. Frank Furedi, author of Therapy Culture: Cultivating Vulnerability in an Uncertain Age addresses the paradox that “The presumption of vulnerability fosters a climate where people are encouraged to regard themselves as emotionally fragile and to interpret their experiences through the prism of psychological damage”. The more psychological knowledge people acquire, the worse they assess their own mental health. When every difficult feeling is framed as a symptom, when every interpersonal conflict is cast in the language of trauma, we risk losing something essential—the ability to tolerate discomfort without immediately labeling it as dysfunction.
This phenomenon is amplified by social media, where mental health struggles are not only discussed but also performed. In a recent article in Der Spiegel, Laura Wiesböck, a researcher on digital culture, describes the forces at play: the cult of authenticity, the emotionalized language, the simplified solutions. What gets rewarded—likes, shares, engagement—leads to imitation effects. People begin to shape themselves in relation to these narratives, sometimes unconsciously. A community forms—not just of support, but of identification. The line between self-exploration and self-branding blurs.
There’s also the issue of self-diagnosis culture. In my own private therapy practice in Berlin, I’ve seen a surge of patients coming in with labels they’ve found online. They tell me they “have ADHD” or “are definitely on the spectrum.” Some of these diagnoses may be correct, but as Wiesböck points out, others stem from what philosopher Ian Hacking calls the looping effect: when new diagnostic categories emerge, people begin shaping their self-concept to fit them. The same could be said for gender and identity—when society recognizes new categories, individuals naturally gravitate toward them. But this also reveals something deeper: the power of labels not just to explain, but to shape who we believe ourselves to be.
Meanwhile, in workplaces and schools, therapy-culture has become institutionalized. There are de-masculinization trainings, nonviolent communication workshops, and corporate seminars on psychological safety. The intention is good: to create healthier environments. But increasingly, I see patients seeking psychotherapy in Berlin who have absorbed these frameworks so fully that they struggle to speak in their own voice. They sound as if they are reading from a script, parroting the language of emotional intelligence while remaining disconnected from their actual emotions.
And there is a darker side to all of this: therapy-speak as a weapon. Words like narcissist, gaslighting, and trauma-bond are now wielded as definitive judgments rather than clinical terms. Calling someone “toxic” shuts down complexity. Labeling an ex “a narcissist” absolves one from reflecting on the relationship. When language meant to foster understanding is used instead to flatten, judge, and control, we aren’t healing—we are avoiding the messiness of being human.
Even the self-improvement movement has absorbed this shift. In tech-bro optimization culture, therapy is no longer about sitting with discomfort—it is about maximizing efficiency. Meditation is not for introspection; it is for peak performance. Sleep-tracking, cold plunges, microdosing—these are the new frontiers of self-optimization. But lurking beneath this drive for constant self-improvement is a defense against vulnerability itself. If you are always “doing the work,” you never have to actually be with yourself. And when the illusion of control inevitably cracks—when the breakup happens, when the business fails—shame and self-blame come rushing in.
None of this is to say that therapy itself is the problem. Done well, it is a profound tool for self-awareness, growth, and healing. But we must be wary of what happens when therapeutic language is adopted uncritically, when introspection turns into performance, when the desire for healing becomes an endless project. As Jonathan Shedler put it recently on X, “never mistake therapy-culture for legitimate, competent psychotherapy. They have nothing to do with each other.”
In my work where I offer attachment informed psychotherapy, I see firsthand how real therapy differs from the packaged, marketable version that exists online or in a corporate workshop. True self-knowledge is not about learning the right words—it’s about being raw and honest in your expression, even when it’s messy, uncertain or unpolished.
Further References for listening, reading or inspiring:
Jonathan Shedler on Tom Woods Show: Pop Psychology isn’t Your Friend, But Genuine Psychotherapy Can Be.
Chris Williamson and Alain de Boton: How to Fix Your Negative Patterns
Furedi, F. Therapy Culture: Cultivating vulnerability in an uncertain age. Routledge, 2004
Howler, K. Andrew Huberman’s Mechanisms of Control: The Private and Public Seductions of the World’s Biggest Pop Neuroscientist. New York Magazine, March 25. https://nymag.com/intelligencer/article/andrew-huberman-podcast-stanford-joe-rogan.html
Wiesböck, L. (2025, February 2). Mental Health: Die Macke als Marke. Der Spiegel. Retireved from https://www.spiegel.de/kultur/mental-health-die-macke-als-marke-a-44e892e3-0606-45f3-b1c2-428f8e05f2ab