The Gate
There is a metaphor I sometimes use in the therapy room when someone knows where they want to go, but for whatever reason, they just can’t seem to get themselves there. I imagine there is a gate.
On this side of the gate is where you are now. On the other side is the thing you want, or at least the thing you think you want.
Maybe it’s leaving a relationship, applying for another job, or setting a boundary with someone. It could also look like asking for help, going on a date, speaking up or resting without feeling guilty - You can see through the gate, you know what’s on the other side, and you might have spent months thinking about going through it. -And yet you’re still standing there.
This is usually the point where we can get pretty horrible to ourselves.
“Why can’t I just do it?”
“I know what I need to do.”
“I’m just procrastinating now.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
I find that last question particularly interesting, because I think we can become so focused on getting through the gate that we don’t spend much time wondering why it’s difficult to open in the first place.
I use this metaphor because I think we sometimes approach change as though the only thing required is enough motivation:
If I really wanted it, I’d do it.
If I was confident enough, I’d do it.
If I’d done enough therapy, surely I’d do it.
And I don’t think people are quite that simple! Sometimes there is a very good reason you’re still standing in front of the gate.
What happens if you actually go through it?
Imagine someone desperately wants to become better at saying no.
They understand boundaries, (they’ve probably read about them on Instagram). They know they’re allowed to have them, and they may even be brilliant at telling their friends they need better boundaries. Then someone asks them to do something they don’t want to do and out comes: “Yeah, of course. No problem.” And afterwards they’re furious with themselves…Why did I say yes AGAIN?
So we could spend our time practising different ways of saying no. And sometimes that might be exactly what is needed. But I think I’d be more curious about what happens if they actually say it.
What does no mean to them?
Perhaps somewhere along the way they learnt that saying no disappoints people. Perhaps someone became angry when they had needs of their own, or maybe they were praised for being easy-going, helpful or mature. Maybe being useful became a really important part of how they felt valued. Suddenly we’re not dealing with somebody who simply needs to learn the word no, we’re dealing with somebody for whom opening that gate potentially carries a cost - and I think that’s a very different conversation.
Sometimes we built the gate for a reason
I don’t necessarily mean that something huge or terrible has to have happened, and I think that’s important. We learn from relationships, we learn what gets us approval. We learn what causes tension, and we learn whether it’s okay to need things. We learn whether mistakes are tolerated, and we learn what happens when we disagree with someone… We learn a surprising amount of this without ever sitting down and consciously deciding to learn it.
Some of those lessons become incredibly useful ways of navigating the world:
If keeping quiet reduced conflict, keeping quiet made sense.
If being brilliant at everything got you attention, achievement made sense.
If looking after everyone else helped things feel stable, becoming the responsible one made sense.
Years later, the circumstances can be completely different, and we can still find ourselves doing versions of the same thing. This is where I think we can become frustrated with ourselves because the adult part of us is standing at the gate saying:
“Come on. This is ridiculous. Just open it.”
Meanwhile, another part of us remembers, in whatever way it remembers, that going through gates like this hasn’t always ended particularly well. Of course there’s a conflict.
I don’t really want to kick the gate down
I think this is where the metaphor has become useful for me therapeutically. If someone isn’t ready to go through the gate, I’m not particularly interested in dragging them through it. Actually, I’d probably want to sit down next to them for a bit.
What’s making you hesitate?
What do you imagine is going to happen on the other side?
What might you lose as well as gain?
That last one can be particularly interesting. We talk about change as though the new thing is automatically better, and therefore we should be racing towards it. Sometimes change involves loss too:
Leaving an unhealthy relationship still means leaving a relationship.
Becoming more boundaried might change relationships with people who preferred you without them.
Stopping being the person who fixes everything can leave you wondering who you are if you’re no longer needed in quite the same way.
Even getting something you’ve always wanted can be frightening because suddenly you have something you can lose.
Humans are complicated…I think we’re allowed to be.
Maybe the gate only opens a little
I also don’t think every therapeutic breakthrough needs to involve someone dramatically flinging the gate open and marching into their new life. Sometimes we just put a hand on it, or we look through it. Sometimes someone opens it slightly, panics and shuts it again…That gives us information too.
I think there’s a temptation when we’ve become more self-aware to expect ourselves to change much more quickly. Once we’ve understood why we do something, surely we should be able to stop doing it?
I see this frustration quite a lot.
“I KNOW why I do this, Sarah.”
Yep.
And you’re still doing it.
Knowing is important. I love a lightbulb moment as much as anyone. But knowing something intellectually and feeling safe enough to do something differently aren’t always the same thing. Sometimes we need to stand at the gate for a while and we might need to try opening it and closing it.
We might need to discover that saying no once didn’t cause the relationship to collapse, or that making a mistake didn’t make everybody think we were useless, or that asking somebody for help didn’t make us a burden.
Perhaps that’s how the gate starts becoming less frightening. Not through one enormous act of courage, but through gathering new experiences.
And sometimes it closes again
This is another bit I think matters - you can walk through a gate once and still struggle with it the next time…I don’t see that as going backwards.
Something might have changed. You might be tired, overwhelmed or dealing with something completely different. This particular gate might look remarkably similar to the last one while having something else standing behind it. We aren’t computer programmes where once we’ve corrected the code, the problem disappears forever.
Annoying, really. Therapy would be considerably quicker!
I think this is why I keep coming back to curiosity. When the gate won’t open, perhaps the question isn’t “How do I make myself go through it?” Maybe we spend some time understanding why a part of you is still holding onto the handle. What does it know that we haven’t listened to yet?
Because there may come a point when you realise you don’t need that gate anymore. Or perhaps you do still need it, but you’d quite like to be the person deciding when it opens and closes. And, for me, that’s much closer to what change actually looks like.
About the Author
I’m Sarah, a counsellor based in Canterbury, UK. I work remotely and face-to-face with adults experiencing anxiety, relationship difficulties, low self-esteem, life transitions, and the challenges that come with being human.
Alongside my counselling work, I write about therapy, relationships, personal growth, and the gap between psychological advice and the realities of everyday life.
You can find out more about my counselling practice at:
If you enjoyed this article, you'll find my latest writing on The Village Counsellor on Substack. I publish new blogs there first, along with additional thoughts and deeper explorations of each month's theme.
A Note About This Publication
The articles and reflections shared here are intended for educational, informational, and leisure purposes only. They are not a substitute for therapy, counselling, medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.
Reading about psychological ideas can sometimes offer insight, but it is not the same as having a therapeutic relationship with a qualified professional. If you are struggling with your mental health or need personal support, please seek appropriate professional help.
