Exploring another core condition of person-centred therapy

Following on from my previous posts about the person-centred approach and unconditional positive regard, I wanted to turn to another core condition of person-centred therapy — one that feels especially close to my heart: empathy.

Carl Rogers, the founder of the person-centred approach, spent many hours listening to recordings of therapy sessions. What he noticed was striking: the greatest positive change in clients occurred when therapists were not offering advice or solutions, but when they were able to feel and express real empathy.

But what exactly do we mean by empathy in this context? It’s a word we hear often, but Rogers had a very particular meaning in mind. He described empathy as the ability to:

“Sense the client’s private world as if it were your own, but without ever losing the ‘as if’ quality… To sense the client’s anger, fear or confusion as if it were your own, yet without your own anger, fear or confusion getting bound up in it.”

In other words, empathy isn’t about imagining what you would feel in someone else’s situation — it’s about doing your best to understand what they feel, from their own point of view. And while this requires deep emotional openness, it also involves a certain steadiness — an ability to stay grounded and not become overwhelmed by the client’s experience.

Rogers described empathy as a gentle and healing form of companionship, writing:

“The gentle and sensitive companionship offered by an empathic person… provides illumination and healing. In such situations deep understanding is, I believe, the most precious gift one can give to another.”

That’s exactly how I feel about it too. In the therapy room, one of my main intentions is to offer that kind of deep, attuned understanding. I want to really imagine what it’s like to be in my client’s shoes, in their world, from their perspective — recognising all the ways their experience is unique.

Even if I’ve lived through something that seems similar, I know it’s essential not to assume it feels the same. If a client is grieving a loved one, for example, and I’ve experienced loss too, it’s even more important that I listen closely — not to relate their story to mine, but to understand their version of that pain.

A strong therapeutic relationship is built, in part, on the client sensing that the therapist truly understands them. But receiving empathy isn’t always easy. Sometimes, clients may have gone through life being judged or misunderstood. They might find it hard to believe someone else could genuinely want to understand them, or struggle to trust that the therapist’s empathy is real. For others, deep-rooted feelings of shame can make being seen with compassion feel unbearable.

These challenges are all part of the therapeutic journey. Slowly, and with care, therapy can become a space where empathy feels not only possible — but transformative.

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Thanks for reading — I hope these reflections on empathy offer a gentle invitation to consider how healing it can be to feel truly understood.