The Dark Side of Social Media Therapy:

“It’s Not Your Fault” Isn’t the Full Truth

Somewhere along the way, healing got watered down into slogans.

“It’s not your fault.”

“You were doing your best.”

“It was your nervous system.”

These phrases might offer temporary relief—but they also risk becoming a trap. A detour. A dead end.

Especially in online spaces, where complex trauma is condensed into 15-second reels and “nervous system regulation” has become a one-size-fits-all bandage.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand:

True healing doesn’t come from naming a condition or blaming your body.

It comes from working with the subconscious programming that shaped how you respond to life in the first place.

This is the part social media therapy often misses:

It confuses discernment with self-betrayal.

It praises boundaries without context.

It says, “you don’t owe anyone anything,” without acknowledging that sometimes we choose to give because it serves us—our values, our relationships, or our long-game strategy.

When Labels Become Cages

This is something I see far too often in the neurodivergent community:

Once someone receives a label—ADHD, C-PTSD, HSP—they’re offered permission to stop blaming themselves.

That part is beautiful. And often necessary. But if we stop there?

We begin to build identities around our limitations.

We pathologize our personality.

We attach to the label instead of investigating the pattern.

We repeat the same nervous-system flare-ups and call it “just who I am.”

It becomes less about healing—and more about resigning.

And then come the hacks.

Cold plunges.

Box breathing.

Meditation.

Somatic exercises.

All useful. All powerful. But none of them are the work.

Because if you still believe you’re “struggling,” your subconscious stays on high-alert. Your system listens to your language. And it will continue to act out whatever identity you’ve attached to your pain.

Emotional Maturity Isn’t Trendy, But It’s Required

There was a time when I wouldn’t have written any of this—especially not publicly.

Because I was still afraid that acknowledging my emotional immaturity would diminish my authority as a therapist and coach.

But the truth is: I used to pout.

I shut down.

I expected people to know what I needed without me ever having to ask for it.

And I called that “sensitivity” instead of what it really was: unspoken expectations and fear of rejection.

I’ve had friendships collapse under the weight of that immaturity.

One, in particular, still sits with me. A friend offered to help me move. She was the only one, but she got lost, and I became stressed and impatient. It didn’t feel like help. It cost me something that at the time felt important. Later, she asked for help with her resume—something that was scribbled on a piece of paper—and I stayed up refining it for her, giving it my best. It felt like something of value—something concrete. It felt different from what she’d offered me.

When I asked for reciprocal support—for her to answer questions to help her resume stand out, she vanished.

For years, I told myself that she was unreliable. That she flaked. That she let me down.

But now?

I see the truth.

I overgave and under-communicated.

I gave with strings attached.

I wanted loyalty—but I hadn’t offered clarity.

My former friend and I were perfect mirrors of each other.

Our patterns reflected each other.

Ouch.

What Emotional Maturity Sounds Like Now

If I could go back, this is what the adult in me would say to her:

“I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been—for you to offer help, only to be met with my stress and snappiness. It must have felt awful. You were the only one who showed up with light when I needed it most. And you didn’t deserve my withdrawa and judgmentl. I deeply regret that. I can see how much it hurt you.”

But I didn’t say that.

Instead, I made her the villain and nursed that resentment for nearly a decade. And hey, I may still be a villain in her life, but that is not my business. That’s her healing journey.

True healing means addressing what’s complicating my own life—not using others’ behavior as a distraction. (Though understanding another’s POV is a vital skill in conflict resolution, discernment is key.)

So, in truth, I turned my unspoken pain into a private grudge, never questioning how my own subconscious was keeping me from love, clarity, and peace.

“It’s Not Your Fault” Has a Shelf Life

Let me be clear:

“It’s not your fault” can be a gateway to healing.

But it can’t be the destination.

Because if all we do is soothe our shame, but never explore the stories we created from it, we stay stuck in loops—repeating the same karmic roles with new faces, over and over.

You can’t manifest safety if you don’t first own your survival patterns.

You can’t rewrite your story if you’re still casting everyone else as the antagonist.

And you can’t step into sovereignty if you’re still trying to prove you’re the victim.

Currently, your inner architecture is designed for these very adaptations—not owning, judging, and proving. To heal, you’ve got to tear that structure down and build something stronger—something meant to hold all of you— not just the palpable parts of you.

A More Honest Reframe

Instead of “It’s not your fault,” what if we said:

• “It’s not all your fault—but your healing begins when you take radical responsibility for your part.”

• “You didn’t cause their dysfunction—but you did play a role in the dynamic.”

• “You’re not broken—but you’re not exempt from the work.”

That’s not blame.

That’s freedom.

That’s how we stop recreating pain with new actors and different costumes.

MentalHealth

EmotionalHealing

SubconsciousMind

SelfAwareness

TraumaHealing

TherapyCulture

ShadowWork

EmotionalMaturity

RadicalResponsibility

PersonalGrowth

HealingJourney

NervousSystem

SelfLeadership