I was talking recently with a friend going through a hard time. When I mentioned the obvious—after all, I am a therapist—she said, ‘I know it sounds arrogant, but I’m afraid I won’t find a therapist smart enough to understand and help me.’

Freud (1856-1939) of course will have a lot to say about the nature of the “unconscious” activity that Nietzsche (1844-1900) boldly claims underlies all great philosophies. Nietzsche relished being a provocateur, so this claim, like so many of his claims, is to be taken in that light. But he’s right that the Unconscious plays an outsize role in why philosophers (and the rest of us) feel and say and do—and think—as we do. It also plays an outsize role in human suffering, and therefore in healing.

Parents, therapists, teachers, and leaders can respect, and even admire, resistance from those we’re working with. (Which is not to say we have to like it!) Resistance helps us individuate, grow up, and become who we truly are. Here I look at what one of history’s great psychologists has to say about using a hammer to resist.

Some patients seek me out because I have a PhD in philosophy and had been a professor before becoming a psychotherapist. I always ask what makes this background attractive, and the answers fall along one or two lines. Some imagine I’ll somehow be more likely “to see through the bullshit to what’s really going on,” as one man put it. Others believe philosophy offers more depth and clarity on the big questions about the meaning and value of human life (and by extension their personal life) than they are likely to get from psychology. They’re right about this second point, though it is unlikely to come into therapy in the way they imagine. But I’m skeptical about the first assumption.

In lieu of my usual Monday morning note on the art, science, and philosophy of helping relationships, I want to offer a simple but powerful exercise that can contribute to making the new year a happier one. It’s called a Past-Year Review, and it takes less than an hour to do. Think of it as an annual ritual the guiding spirit of which is, “Out with the bad and in with the good!”

I find it helpful to remind myself and the individuals I see in therapy that our lives and days have their seasons, and their weather. Moods and feelings are like the weather in being changeable and not entirely in our control. Letting this sink in brings a measure of acceptance and relief. Feelings are also, like the weather, capable of being experienced without being identified with: I can feel the shadow growing, and my darker turn of mind, without mistaking the weather for an existential crisis. Usually.

I feel nervous, the way I used to feel at the start of intro to philosophy courses. Many students were there for credit-hours, not because they were curious about philosophy. So to make it a good class, I needed to spark their curiosity. Finding ways to do that was part of the fun of teaching. What made me nervous was knowing that thinking (not to be confused with memorizing and regurgitating) is hard work. And reading great philosophers thoughtfully is some of the harder cognitive work out there. So I knew it was a tough sell. If all that weren’t hard enough, to “get” philosophy you need to have, or acquire, a taste for thinking for its own sake. Or, as my beloved and scientifically minded sister would say in mock exasperation, “Navel-gazing.”

Years ago now, a colleague replied to an email with the suggestion that I might not want to include my PhD in the signature line of my professional emails; it might mislead people into thinking I had a PhD in “something relevant” to being a therapist. After containing my irritation at his confident, condescending tone, I replied, telling him I was open about my PhD being in philosophy, and that in any case philosophy is relevant to being a therapist. After all, I said, psychotherapy and psychology in general are rooted in philosophy. This was news to him. But it would not have been news to Freud or Jung that their work leaned heavily on philosophy.